Contract with Consequences (2 page)

The bitchiness of this last thought startled Scarlet. It wasn’t like her to be bitchy.

John Mitchell brought out the worst in her. But she really hated the way he didn’t need anybody; hated his self-containment. She couldn’t imagine John Mitchell ever having his heart broken. His heart was as hard as one of his precious rocks.

‘Better get a move on, Scarlet,’ her mother called through the bathroom door. ‘It’s twelve-twenty-five.’

After giving herself a vigorous mental shake, Scarlet hurried back to her bedroom, where she quickly hooked a pair of silver and crystal drops through her earlobes, then bolted back to the living room where her mother was waiting for her, dressed in a tailored cream trouser suit with a caramel-coloured blouse underneath.

‘You know, Mum,’ she said, looking her mother up and down. ‘You don’t look a day over fifty.’ Yet she’d turned sixty-two last birthday.

‘Thank you, darling. And you don’t look a day over twenty.’

‘That’s because I have great genes,’ Scarlet replied.

‘True,’ Janet agreed, though the thought did occur to her that maybe her daughter had inherited one particular gene which wasn’t as desirable as a youthful face, good skin and a slender figure—she herself had found it very difficult to get pregnant, which was why she’d only had the one child. It surprised her that a girl as intelligent as
Scarlet hadn’t asked her about that. But she hadn’t, and Janet wasn’t about to mention it. Not today.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Janet said instead, and picked up the present from the kitchen counter. Inside the rather exquisite red box was a ruby-coloured water jug and matching glasses which she’d found in a local antique shop and which she knew Carolyn would love. Martin probably wouldn’t, but then Martin was one of those men who didn’t enthuse over anything much. Except his grandson. There was no doubting that Melissa’s little boy, Oliver, was the apple of his grandfather’s eye. ‘I won’t need a jacket, will I?’ Scarlet asked her.

‘I shouldn’t think so. Besides, it’s not as though you have far to walk if you do get cold.’

‘You’re right. In that case, I won’t take a handbag, either. Here, let me hold the present whilst you lock up.’

They went out the front way, Scarlet glad to see that the early cloud had lifted, letting the June sun do a decent job of warming up the air. Winter had not long arrived down under, but it had already been one of the coldest in a decade. And the wettest. Fortunately, the rain had stayed away today, which meant they wouldn’t be confined indoors at the party. By the look of the number of cars already parked up and down the street, this was going to be a well-attended affair. There was nothing worse, in Scarlet’s opinion, than having lots of people jammed into a couple of rooms. Admittedly, the Mitchells’ two-storeyed home was very spacious, with large open-planned living areas. But even so …

‘They’ve been lucky with the weather,’ she remarked to her mother as they walked together across the road.

‘Indeed. I …’

Whatever her mother was going to say was cut off by
the Mitchells’ house. The front door was reefed open and Carolyn ran out, looking flushed but happy.

‘You’ll never guess what’s happened,’ she said excitedly. ‘I’ve just received a call from John. His plane was able to take off last night after all. Admittedly, a few hours late, but because of favourable winds they made good time and landed at Mascot a couple of hours ago. He tried to ring me earlier but I was on the phone so he hopped on a train. Anyway, he’s going to be arriving at Gosford station in about twenty minutes. The train’s just pulled into Woy Woy station. He said he’d catch a taxi, but you know how scarce they can be on a Sunday. So I told him to wait outside the station on the Mann Street side and I’d get someone to pick him up.

‘Of course, he said that I shouldn’t bother, but I said what tommyrot, that if he could fly here all the way from Brazil we could at least pick him up from the station. But once I hung up, I began thinking who I could ask. I couldn’t very well leave my guests and I didn’t like to ask Martin. Then I saw you two through the front window, and I thought who better than Scarlet? You don’t mind, do you, dear?’

What could Scarlet possibly say?

Scarlet forced a smile and said, ‘It would be my pleasure.’

T
HE
train trip from Sydney to Gosford was a very pleasant one, once you left the city, especially if the train was half-empty and you were able to get an upstairs window seat on the right side, which John had. After crossing the Hawkesbury River, the track followed the water in long leisurely curves, giving even the weariest traveller a panoramic and relaxing ride.

Not that John was weary. That was the advantage of flying first class; you could sleep on board and arrive at your destination, refreshed and ready for anything.

Which was just as well, given what he would have to endure today.

Parties were not John’s favourite pastime. He wasn’t much of a drinker and didn’t care for empty chit-chat. But it had been impossible not to come to his parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary. He loved his mother dearly and would not hurt her for the world.

His father, however, was another matter entirely. It was difficult to love a parent who’d rejected you when you were only a child.

Nevertheless, John
did
still love his father, a discovery he’d made when his mother had rung him recently to tell him that his father had had a heart scare. John had
actually been relieved that his old man hadn’t died. He’d actually
cared
.

There was no getting over the fact, however, that what his father had done all those years ago had hurt him terribly. Thank God he’d had Grandpa. If it hadn’t been for his grandfather stepping in, then Lord knew where he would have ended up. He’d probably have run away from home and been living on the streets. Maybe even ended up in jail. That was how wretched he’d felt after his brother had died. Wretched, confused and angry.

Yes, he’d become very angry. Sometimes, when he looked back over his teenage years, he felt guilty over the mean way he’d acted, especially how he’d been to Scarlet.

He’d been extra-mean to her.

But that was because he’d liked her so much. It had been perverse of him; he could see that now. But back then feeling anything for anyone scared the hell out of him. He didn’t want to like her, or need her. So he’d pushed her away right from the first time she’d rocked up at his front door and asked him to come out and play. Not that she took no for an answer easily. Scarlet had always been a stubborn child with a will of iron. But she’d got the message in the end and had stopped asking him to come out and play. Perversely again, he’d been deeply hurt by her perfectly understandable rejection, deciding childishly that if she was going to ignore him, then he would ignore her.

Anything she could do he could do better!

Unfortunately, they had always been put into the same class—the ‘gifted’ class—so ignoring her totally had been a bit difficult. But he did his best. He hadn’t been able to believe his bad luck when they’d been put in the same classes in high school. But worse had been yet to come. During that first year, puberty had struck both of them. Overnight, Scarlet had gone from a pretty but skinny little
thing to a seriously hot-looking babe, whereas he had gone from an okay-looking boy into a too-thin, too-tall streak of hormone-muddled misery. Once the testosterone had started charging through his veins, however, he had begun fancying Scarlet like mad, which naturally had made him act even worse around her. But, privately, he had fantasised about being her boyfriend.

No no, let’s not sugar-coat this, John. You didn’t fantasise about that. You never wanted to be Scarlet’s boyfriend. Being her boyfriend would have required a degree of emotional intimacy, something you were incapable of. Still are, if truth be told. You just wanted to have sex with her
.

John smiled wryly to himself at the thought of how Scarlet would react if he ever confessed to lusting after her when they’d been at school together. Not that he ever intended telling her. What would be the point? She’d made it patently clear to him over the years that she couldn’t stand him. Not that he blamed her. He’d started the hostility between them.

It was one of the many things he regretted now. She really was a lovely—if somewhat spoiled—girl, and hadn’t deserved the way he treated her. Hadn’t deserved getting conned by Jason Heath, either. Telling her the truth about that bastard was one thing he didn’t regret. Scarlet might have ended up feeling miserable in the short term, but she’d have been even unhappier in the long term if he’d let her remain ignorant. He hadn’t really loved Scarlet, he’d just been using her to hide behind.

John wondered if Scarlet would be at the party today. He wouldn’t mind catching up with her and seeing how she was. His mother had told him during one of her phone calls that Scarlet had been inconsolable after finding out that Jason had been cheating on her—apparently, that was the story she’d put around to explain her broken engagement. Scarlet’s teachers hadn’t been the only ones to be shocked when she hadn’t gone on to university. He’d been appalled, and had told her so on one occasion. After all, she was as smart as he was!

John chuckled wryly at himself, recognising his arrogance. At least he didn’t strut around like some men, bragging about his successes. Bianca used to say that he was the strong, silent type.

John’s heart contracted fiercely as it always did when he thought of Bianca. One day, perhaps, he would get over her death. But not yet. The memory was still too raw, too painful. One thing was sure, though—he would never go back to Brazil. That part of his life was over. For the next couple of years at least, he would live and work in Australia. Not here on the Central Coast, however. Aside from the fact it was hardly the mining capital of the world, he was never comfortable spending time at home. Too much bad karma.

No, he would base himself in Darwin, where he already owned an apartment and where he stayed for a few weeks each year. Not that his family knew about any of that. If he’d told them he holidayed here in Australia every winter, they would have been offended that he hadn’t visited, or asked them to join him—his mother especially—so he’d simply never told them.

But he’d have to tell them something soon, he supposed. Though not the total truth, of course.

Over the past couple of weeks, John had tidied up all his loose ends in Rio. He’d given away his house to Bianca’s family, as well as everything in it. He wanted no memories of his life there. All he’d taken with him to the airport was his wallet, his passport and his phones, plus the clothes on his back. During his long wait to board his flight—which had turned out to be even longer than he’d anticipated—he’d bought a small winter wardrobe at one of the many
boutiques. He’d also used the opportunity to have his thick dark hair clippered again in the close-cropped style he’d become used to since being in hospital last year. One of the nurses had become frustrated with his increasingly shaggy mane and shaved it off to less than a centimetre all over his head. Despite having worn his hair longish all his life, John found he rather liked the buzz-cut look. It suited him and was easy to look after. He didn’t even have to own a comb. John always liked to travel light.

The train pulling into Point Clare station brought his mind back to the present. In a few minutes they’d be at Gosford station. He wondered idly who would be picking him up. Not his father, that was for sure. Maybe Melissa. Or Leo, Melissa’s husband. Yes, probably Leo.

He liked Leo. He was one of the good guys. Anyone who’d married his little sister had to be. Melissa was, without doubt, the most spoiled girl he’d ever known. Even more spoiled than Scarlet.

Scarlet again…

It would be good if she was at the party. Good to know if she’d finally forgiven him for telling her about Jason. But he rather doubted it. When news was bad, people liked to blame the messenger. Scarlet had been furious with him that night, calling him a liar at first. She’d finally calmed down enough to listen to what he was saying, but he suspected he was still not her favourite person. But then, he never had been, had he?

The announcement that they were approaching Gosford station had several people in the carriage standing up and making their way down to the doors at the lower level. John knew there was no need to hurry so he stayed where he was, gazing out at the expanse of almost-still water on his right, and the many boats moored there, bobbing gently up and down. Spread out around this expanse of water
lay Gosford, the gateway to the Central Coast beaches, but not a beach town in itself, the sea being a few kilometres away. The train rumbled over a bridge then went past Blue-Tongue Stadium which had been a park in the old days but now hosted football matches and the occasional rock concert. Soon, they were pulling into the station where John took his time alighting.

It was a habit he’d got into when coming home, being slow to get off the train, doing everything he could to shorten the time of his visits. He still wasn’t looking forward to today, but he no longer felt the gut-wrenching tension he used to feel at the prospect of being around his father. Which was a good thing. Not that he intended to stay too long. Masochism was not his style!

No one was there, waiting for him at the spot where his mother had instructed him to go, so he dropped his bag by his feet and waited. Less than thirty seconds later, a shiny blue Hyundai hatchback zoomed up the ramp and braked to a halt beside him.

He didn’t recognise the car. But he recognised the beautiful blonde behind the wheel.

It was Scarlet.

Y
OU
could have knocked Scarlet over with a feather once she realised that the gorgeous man standing at the five-minute pick-up spot, dressed in snug-fitting black jeans, black T-shirt and a black leather bomber jacket, was actually John Mitchell. It was a realisation that didn’t come instantly, not even when he stepped forward and tapped on her passenger window. She’d thought he was some stranger wanting directions.

But as soon she wound down the window and he took off his wrap-around sunglasses, the penny dropped.

‘My God,
John
!’ she gasped as she stared into his familiar blue eyes.

‘Yup,’ he agreed. ‘It’s me.’

Scarlet could not believe how different he looked without long hair. Not better looking—he’d always been good-looking—but way more masculine. Without the softening effect of his hair, his facial features came into sharper focus: his high cheekbones. His long strong nose. His square jawline. Of course the clothes he was wearing added to the macho image. Scarlet wasn’t used to seeing John dressed in anything other than board shorts and T-shirts, his visits home long having been confined to summer. And, whilst she already knew he had a good body, there
was something about a man dressed all in black that was very, very sexy.

Once she realised her staring was tipping into ogling, an embarrassed Scarlet swiftly pulled herself together.

‘I didn’t recognise you there for a moment,’ she said brusquely. ‘What happened to all your hair?’

He shrugged, then ran a slow hand over his near-smooth head, the action sending an erotically charged frisson running down Scarlet’s spine.

‘It was easier to look after,’ he said. ‘Where do you want me to put my bag? On the back seat, or right in the back?’

‘Whatever,’ she said, her offhand attitude a defensive reaction to her underlying shock at the situation. She wasn’t used to finding John sexually attractive. It was highly irritating. There she’d been on the way in, thinking how awkward driving him home would be, only to find that it was going to be extra-awkward now. She hoped he hadn’t noticed anything untoward. She would have to make sure she didn’t act any differently with him from usual. No way was she going to compliment him on either his haircut, or his clothes, reminding herself forcibly that, underneath his sexy new facade, he was still the same selfish, rude, antisocial bastard who’d given her hell over the years.

‘Mum shouldn’t have asked you to do this,’ he said as he climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door after him. ‘I could easily have caught a taxi.’ And he nodded towards the taxi rank ahead where several taxis stood, waiting for fares.

‘No pointing in worrying about it now,’ Scarlet said as she drove past them.

‘I guess not,’ he agreed. ‘This is more pleasant than a taxi, anyway. Thank you, Scarlet.’

She could not have been more taken aback. Not only did John look different, he was acting different too. She
almost asked what had happened to him in the eighteen months since he’d last graced home, but decided not to go down such a personal road. He might start asking her what had been happening to her. No way was she going to tell John Mitchell anything! Best keep any chit-chat in the car strictly superficial.

‘Your parents have been lucky with the weather,’ she said as she drove down the almost deserted main street of Gosford. ‘This is the first decent day we’ve had so far this winter.’

He said nothing in return, for which she was grateful. But his silence didn’t last for long.

‘Mum tells me you haven’t met anyone else,’ he said when they stopped at a set of lights at East Gosford.

‘No,’ came her rather terse reply.

‘I’m sorry, Scarlet. I know how much you’ve always wanted to get married and have a family.’

Her head whipped around, her face flushing with a sudden spurt of anger. ‘Well, if you know that, then you shouldn’t have said anything to me about Jason. If you hadn’t, I would have been none the wiser, and I would have been married by now. Instead, I …’

Scarlet broke off when she felt tears sting her eyes, her knuckles showing white as she gripped the steering wheel tight and battled for composure.

John was appalled at the level of Scarlet’s distress. Appalled and sympathetic, but not guilty.

‘I am truly sorry, Scarlet,’ he repeated. ‘But I had no choice in the matter. I couldn’t let you marry a man who was just using you.’

‘There are worse things to happen to a woman than having a gay husband,’ she threw at him.

‘He didn’t love you, Scarlet.’

‘How on earth could you know a thing like that?’

‘Because he told me.’

‘You!’

‘Yes. I felt sorry for him—he was too scared to publicly accept who he was. Even I wasn’t as lonely or lost as that.’

Scarlet was moved by the grim bleakness in John’s voice and the stark reality of what he’d just revealed.

‘The lights are green, Scarlet.’

‘What? Oh yes, so they are.’

She drove on, her thoughts muddled by the sudden sympathy she felt for the man sitting next to her. Who would have believed it? First, she’d started finding John incredibly sexy. Now she was feeling sorry for him as well. Life could be very perverse, she decided.

‘So why
haven’t
you found anyone else?’ John persisted.

Scarlet sighed a sigh of sheer frustration. The one thing she could have depended on with John in the past was his brooding silences. Now, suddenly, he was turning into a conversationalist! And there she’d been, thinking she wouldn’t have to answer any awkward questions today.

‘I’ve stopped looking, okay?’ she replied somewhat aggressively. ‘I could ask you the same question, you know,’ she swept on, always having been skilled at the art of verbal counter-attack. She hadn’t been captain of the debating team at school for nothing! ‘Why is it that
you’ve
never found anyone? No one you dared to bring home, that is.’

He laughed. John Mitchell actually laughed. Things were getting seriously weird here.

‘Come now, Scarlet, you know my mother. If I brought a girl home, she would immediately start wanting to know when the wedding was.’

‘I could tell her that. It would be never!’

‘You know me too well, Scarlet.’

‘I know you well enough to know you’re not interested
in marriage. If you were, you’d be married by now. You’d have no trouble finding a wife.’

‘Thank you for the compliment,’ he said. ‘But you’re right. Marriage is not for me.’

‘That’s still no reason not to bring a girl home occasionally.’

‘I can’t agree with you on that score. There’s enough tension whenever I come home as it is.’

This was true, Scarlet conceded. John and his father didn’t get along. She’d always blamed John for this; he’d been such a difficult boy. But she now wondered if there’d been some secret reason for John’s antisocial attitude, something which might have happened before they’d come to live in her street. He certainly wasn’t being his usual gruff self with her right at this moment. Frankly, he’d spoken more words to her since getting into her car five minutes ago than he had over their whole lifetime together! Curiosity demanded she use this uncharacteristic chattiness to find out some more about his personal life.

‘Do you have anyone back in Brazil at the moment?’ she asked, glancing his way.

His face, which had been open and smiling, suddenly closed up again.

‘I did have,’ he answered. ‘Till recently.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quite sincerely, and wondered what had happened.

‘So am I,’ he said. ‘Now, that’s enough personal information for one day.’

Scarlet’s teeth clenched hard in her jaw. She should have known that his being nice and normal wouldn’t last.

‘Why didn’t you keep going straight along the main road?’ he asked when she swung right onto Terrigal Drive. ‘It’s quicker.’

‘Not any more, it isn’t. It’s suffering from terminal roadworks.
If you came home a little more often, you would know that,’ she pointed out somewhat waspishly. ‘Apart from that, I’m the driver here. You’re the passenger. The passenger does not tell the driver where and how to drive. That’s bad manners.’

He laughed again, though this time it had a harsher sound. ‘Glad to see you haven’t changed, Scarlet.’

‘I was just thinking the same about you. You might look different, John Mitchell—you’re certainly dressing a damned sight better—but deep down, you’re still the same obnoxious boy who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.’

This time he made no come-back, leaving Scarlet to feel totally ashamed of herself. She’d overreacted, as usual. She’d always had a quick temper, especially around John.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said swiftly into the uncomfortable silence. ‘That was very rude of me.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said, surprising her with a wry little smile. ‘It wasn’t far off the truth. I can be quite arrogant.’

She couldn’t help it. She smiled back at him.

Their eyes met for a long moment, Scarlet being the first to look away, John’s eyes still on her as she struggled to put her mind back on her driving. It kept rattling her, this sudden attraction between them.

‘Will you stop staring at me?’ she snapped at last, but without looking his way.

‘I wasn’t staring,’ he denied. ‘I was just looking and thinking.’

‘About what?’

‘Don’t forget there’s a speed camera just along here.’

Scarlet rolled her eyes. ‘For pity’s sake, John, I
live
here twenty-four-seven. I know about the speed camera.’

‘Then why are you doing nearly fifty?’

‘I can do fifty. It’s not a school day.’

‘The sign said forty. Roadworks ahead.’

Scarlet jammed on her brakes. Just in time, too.

‘If they dig up one more road around here,’ she muttered, ‘I’m going to scream.’

‘No screaming,’ John said in droll tones. ‘Can’t abide screaming women.’

When she glared over at him, Scarlet was astounded to find him smiling at her.

‘John Mitchell,’ she said, her mouth twitching. ‘You’ve actually found a sense of humour.’

‘I have today, it seems. Which is just as well. I’m almost home.’

Which they were.

The street where Scarlet lived was no different from most streets on the Central Coast, full of a motley collection of houses of all different shapes and sizes. It was a family-friendly street where the inhabitants actually stayed put, rather than moving every seven years or so, as seemed to be ingrained in the Australian psyche. Of course, it
was
in Terrigal, which had been voted recently one of the ten most desirable places in the world to live.

It would be difficult to find anywhere better to bring up a family. Admittedly, they didn’t have ocean or lagoon views in their street, but that made the houses more reasonably priced. They still enjoyed the wonderfully mild climate which came from living near the sea. On top of that they were so close to everything, not just the beach. Erina Fair shopping centre was only a ten minute drive away and Sydney a little over an hour.

Scarlet could never understand why John didn’t come home more often.

‘Looks like a big turn-out,’ John said once Scarlet turned the corner into their street.

‘You have your mother to blame for that. If she didn’t put on such a good spread, she wouldn’t get so many people
accepting her invitations. It’s always like this when it’s your family’s turn for the Christmas party. Look, there’s your mum and sister on the front porch, waiting for you.’ No father, though, she noted. ‘I’ll just stop in our driveway and you can get out. I want to put the car in the garage.’

‘Fine,’ he agreed, hopping out and taking his bag from the back seat before slapping the car on the roof and shouting thanks to her.

She pressed the remote for the garage door, watching John in the rear-vision mirror whilst she waited for the door to roll its way slowly upwards. He really did look amazing today. Great buns in those jeans. Great body all round. If he’d been anybody else, she might have been tempted to flirt with him.

Just the thought made her laugh.
Flirt
with John Mitchell? What would be the point in that?

Scarlet laughed again. She was still amused over the idea when she returned to the party.