The Paler Shade of Autumn (13 page)

“The worst part was this four-year-old little girl I saw. She had her own little shack on one of the prisons’ grounds. Her shack had nothing but a dirt floor. She would beg for food from the prisoners and take it back to her home and eat it by herself from a little wooden bowl. She had been on her own, fending for herself since she was two years old. Two years old,” she says incredulously. “What type of world is this, Jet? That a little girl has to fend for herself from the age of two.”

“You don’t have to make sense of it. Just know that it is how it is and do all you can to create change.”

She nods. “I started my own charity that I run in my spare time to raise money for the orphanages. I’ve done alright, but nothing even remotely in the proportions you achieve.”

“Anything is good enough.”

“I’ve been working in business ever since I got home from Cambodia and seven months ago I got this job at Stark Consulting. Not much more to say really.”

“Do you have a partner?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not so successful in that department. It’s tough when you know every thought in your boyfriend’s head.”

He smiles. “That would be tough.”

“So now I am going to keep working at my charity and working at my position in your company. I’m planning to make another trip next year to see how my efforts in Cambodia are being implemented on the ground.”

The waiter interrupts, relieving the table of empty plates and refilling their port glasses.

“Is there anything else I can get for you this evening, Mr Stark?” he asks.

Jet turns to Autumn. “Would you like anything else? More dessert?”

“Um, no. I think I have definitely had enough.”

“If you could leave me a bottle of this port in the lounge that will be all I need for the evening.”

“Certainly. Have a good evening, sir.”

Jet nods.

The waiter leaves through the doors and Jet stands. “Let’s move this into the lounge, shall we?”

Autumn lifts her glass, taking a small sip as she stands. Having been seated for the entire night, she hasn’t realised the extent to which the champagne and port has affected her. Walking behind Jet, each step feeling as though she is wading through thick clouds and her mind swirling with indulgent gluttony, she says, “I’ve had more than my fair share of alcohol today.”

“Are you ok?” Jet asks, stopping dead in his tracks. Autumn’s attention not on her surroundings, her mind otherwise numb, doesn’t stop in time and walks directly into Jet. She spills her drink down the front of her blouse, as well as Jet’s drink. He takes her by the shoulders to steady her, looks at the ruby spillage down her shirt and then at Autumn’s expression. The corners of his mouth curl until he can no longer stifle a hearty chuckle. Autumn, not of her most lucid or rational or responsible, but rather full of drunken candour, begins to laugh as well.

“What is it with you and spilling things on your clothes?”

She shakes her head, still laughing. “I have no idea. You seem to be the only person I do it around.”

He takes Autumn’s glass and places it on the coffee table. “Come with me,” he says, heading off in the direction of his bedroom. Autumn follows.

Jet leads her through his bedroom and on to the bathroom that lies behind two more double doors. The Victorian theme seamlessly flows through to the bathroom, from the marbled floor and walls, to the silver vertical striped wallpaper and gold, ornate tap-ware. Autumn peers around, eyes wide. It is bigger than her own ensuite and bedroom combined, back in her poky unit across town.

He grasps a white face washer from the vanity and runs it under some cold water.

“Here you are,” he says, handing the washer to her. “Do your magic. You’re obviously an expert at removing stains.”

She tries to return him an offended glare but a grin betrays her. She takes it from his hand, their fingers briefly touching. She flinches back as her heart is filled with an incredible heaviness.

“Thank you,” she says, a whisper.

“I’ll, ah, leave you to it.” He turns and strides out of the bathroom, sliding one of the doors to give her privacy.

Autumn is in no state to clean anything. She dabs with little effort at the stain, leaving a large wet patch and doing nothing in the way of removing the ruby remnants of port. It is a futile effort. The shirt will need to be soaked and failing that, thrown in the bin.

She leaves the washer, now pink, on the basin and walks out to meet Jet. She finds him closer than expected, sitting on the end of his bed, head in his iPad, fingers madly flying over the touch keyboard. Not wanting to interrupt him, she quietly sits on the bed beside him, leaving at least a metre between them, trying to maintain some professionalism in the least professional location possible—his bedroom and, worse than that, his bed. Jet hits the send button and the iPad whooshes. He clicks it off and lays it on the bed beside him.

“Sorry,” he says, looking sheepish. “You were quicker than I anticipated.”

She looks down at her ruined shirt and can imagine how she must appear through his eyes at the moment. “It was a futile effort,” she says, frowning.

“I can see that.”

“But as my dad would say: plenty more shirts in the sea.”

Jet laughs. “I share your father’s sentiments.”

“Me too. And thinking of this in a positive light, now I have an excuse to go shopping.” She lets out a breathy sigh and flops back onto the bed, stretching her arms above her head. “I think I have more than extended my welcome tonight.”

Jet lies back, rolls on his side to face her. “Definitely not,” he says. “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed your company. I would have otherwise spent the night working and eating on my own.”

She rolls over to meet his gaze, lifting her head up on her hand. “I should probably get going. Got an early start tomorrow. I have an important position to fill now.”

He smiles. “I remember you telling me about that. Did you ever find out if that boss of yours discovered your existence?”

“Turns out I had actually met him a couple of times.”

“I thought so.”

He rolls onto his back and looks to the ceiling, his voice now devoid of cheek. “Can I tell you why I came back to Australia?”

“I’d… yes, of course.”

“Seeing you today has brought it all home again. It’s been a while since I’ve thought about it all. It’s very easy to be distracted by the material universe—extravagant hotel rooms, expensive suits.” He looks at her from the corner of his eye. “Women.”

Her eyes narrow. He rolls over again on his side, mimicking her position, placing his head on his hand. “After you left,” Jet closes his eyes and swallows heavily. “Darshan, ended up,” he breathes in, trying to control the crack in his voice, “he died.”

“Oh my God.”

“It was an incredibly tough time.”

“How? What happened to him?”

“Malaria.”

“I’m so sorry, Jet. I mean, I felt a heaviness when you touched my hand just before in the bathroom, but I’ve drunk too much, I couldn’t form the pictures in my head.”

“He died in my arms, Autumn. It broke me in half. I was all he had and I let him down. With the proper medical care he would have survived, but we didn’t have the funds or resources available to give him what he needed.”

Autumn feels a tear roll down her cheek and she wipes it away with her hand.

“I knew then that I could do so much more, could make a much broader impact by earning money to provide medical care, education, food, clothing and general opportunities. So I came home and started Stark Developments. I had not one cent to my name, but I made it happen. Every dollar I earned above basic living expenses I sent back to the orphanage and then as the business began to grow, I looked further afield to Mongolia, and South and central Africa. It’s not something I let too many people know about, but with our history, I thought you should know.”

Autumn grips the necklace around her neck and feels an unstoppable wave of grief saturate her. Her throat is constricted, aching. “I’m so sorry, I know how much you loved Darshan.”

“He was like my own son.” His eyes begin to flood. “It almost fucking broke me. I swear, I have never felt such pain and I chickened out, Autumn. I fucking chickened out. I couldn’t do it anymore. It was just too hard.”

“What about Jenny?”

“She’s still there, but she’s stronger than me. Always has been. Her purpose line is greater.” She catches a tear with her thumb as it rolls down his cheek. “I loved that kid.”

“I know you did,” she whispers.

He tries to smile, but only half his mouth can do it. “Master Shen told me it’s simply the natural cycle of life and Darshan would now again be a son or a daughter to some other lucky parents.”

“I believe that.”

Jet nods. “Me too. It doesn’t make it any easier though.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Autumn’s eyes open to a dark room. She sits up slowly, disoriented, head throbbing from need of water. She peers around at her unfamiliar surroundings until the sights of the room bring memories, enough to explain her whereabouts: Jet’s hotel room. She glances at her watch: nine-thirty a.m.
What happened last night?
She had been talking to Jet on his bed, the same bed she is in now, and must have fallen asleep. She thumps her forehead with her palm.

“Jet?” she says to the silent room. But no-one answers. “Hello? Jet?” she says again, throwing the thick cover back and rolling out of the bed, letting her stocking covered feet feel the satiny carpet beneath. Autumn turns on a lamp beside the bed and jumps when her mobile vibrates loudly against the timber surface.

She picks it up and answers. “Hello, Autumn speaking.”

“Good morning. It’s Scott Majors.”

“Hi, Scott.”

“Jethro asked me to call you this morning. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Um, no. I was awake.”

“Good. First of all he wanted me to let you know that he enjoyed your company last night and he is sorry to have kept you up so late.”

“Oh, ok,” she says.
Why couldn’t Jet have called and said that himself?

“I will organise the hotel to bring up some clothing for you to wear today, along with all the other necessities.”

“Um, ok, but…”

“Good. I will also let them know to organise breakfast. You prefer coffee?”

“Yes.”

“You will find all the toiletries you need in the bathroom. I’ll drop by in an hour to collect you and drive you to the office. Is there anything else you need, Miss Leone?”

Autumn gapes like a fish before she can find words. “Um, a couple of Panadol?”

“No problem. See you soon.”

“Scott,” she said quickly. “Where is Jet?”

“He has an engagement with Blossom Banks, interstate. He will back in the office late this afternoon.”

Blossom Banks, of course. She is the woman Autumn saw in Jet’s mental pictures, a popular Australian actress. It crushes her to hear that he has gone to be with her today.

“Last night, so you know, Jet and I, we didn’t, you know, I fell asleep and…”

“It’s none of my business either way, Miss Leone.”

“Please, it’s Autumn.”

“Autumn,” Scott says. “Jethro’s personal life is none of my business.”

“I know, I just don’t want you thinking I’m trying to intrude on anyone’s property.”

“I’m paid a lot of money to keep my eyes and ears closed. I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Ok.”

“Bye, Autumn.” And then the phone disconnects.

She peers around the silent room, at the crumpled sheets where she slept.
How could I let myself fall asleep?
She knows the answer—she drank too much and ate too much and talked too much.

Autumn turns her mind back to last night, vague memories returning. She remembers she spilt port on her blouse, lying with Jet on his bed and hearing about the fate of Darshan, and hearing the grief in his voice and witnessing the pain in his eyes as he spoke. They talked for hours about everything and nothing, their childhoods, their goals, their families. Then Jet excused himself to use the bathroom and she closed her eyes, heavy and burning from need for sleep, for a second; a second that turned into an entire night.

In retrospect, she had the most perfect evening with Jet. If it had been a date, she would be swooning now, her belly tightening as she anticipates their next contact. But it wasn’t a date. She had woken in a man’s hotel room with him not even there. The phone call that would come after a date letting her know he enjoyed her company was made by his assistant. And now, when she should be thinking about the possibility of a second date, she is thinking about how Jet has flown interstate to see his girlfriend. She groans, angry for allowing herself to be swept up in the pleasure of the evening; the pleasure of simply being with Jet. Once, briefly, a lover, now her boss, and in a relationship with one of the highest profiled actresses in Australia.

Autumn takes her time in the shower, allowing the warm water to wash away the subtle nausea that accompanies the morning following an afternoon of heavy drinking. The mere thought of Guinness is enough to churn her stomach. When finished she wraps a towel around her head, envelops her body in a fresh bathrobe and meanders out to the lounge to await her clothes.

Already in the lounge, hanging on a line of racks, are six outfits of various designs and sizes. She hadn’t even heard anyone come in. She runs her fingers along them, feeling the different textures of material, admiring one outfit in particular. From the racks, she lifts a sleeveless, fitted dress, in a thick, grey material with a thin black belt. Her fingers fish for the tag; it’s in her size.

She notes an array of underwear and stockings on the shelves below the racks along with small sample-sized cosmetics and a few hair clips and baubles. Autumn shakes her head, bemused that anyone could be taken care of so entirely, at the drop of a hat, by complete strangers.

Behind her on the coffee table sits a tray of foods: coffee and Burcher muesli and fresh sliced fruits. She pours a mug of coffee and eats her breakfast alone, hoping the presence of food in her stomach will reduce her hangover symptoms, if that is what they are. Her wretchedness, more likely, as much as she denies it, has been caused by something entirely different. If she were to be truly honest, she would admit that this nausea and dull ache in her heart has nothing to do with pints of Guinness and glasses of whisky and flutes of champagne, and everything to do with allowing herself to fall, just a little last night, again, for Jet.