Without You I Have Nothing (2 page)

BOOK: Without You I Have Nothing
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Karen interrupted with a shrill shriek of derision.

“Bridge, who plays Bridge?  No wonder the boys think
you’re...”

“Different,” Ruth interjected, looking severely at
Karen who blushed with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” Karen added, trying to cover her
unthinking comment, “I didn’t mean... well, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Jennifer smiled, acknowledging
Ruth’s attempt to be diplomatic. “Thank you. I know the men around the office
call me the Ice Maiden. Well, at least, that’s one of their polite terms.”

“You know!” squealed Karen.

“Let’s change the subject,” said Ruth. “Have you
noticed Bob and his mates at the bar?”

“Oh, are they?”  Excitedly Karen swung around to
look.

Automatically, Jennifer followed her gaze.

“He’s here,” breathed Karen.

Jennifer looked - towards the bar - towards those
same two eyes still boring into her from across the room. ‘Bob?  Is that Bob
dressed in casuals? No! It couldn’t be he worked for the same firm and he had
approached her seeking a date.’ she wondered as she lowered her eyes. ‘The man
must surely be looking at Karen.’

“As if you’re surprised?”  Ruth exclaimed cynically.
“Isn’t Bob the reason you wanted to come here?”

Now Karen was completely composed.

“Yes,” she confided. “And if I can make him come
over here with his friends, do your best to play along. I really like him.”

“Well, I consider Ted’s a heart throb, so it’s all
right with me,” added Ruth. “You can bring Ted over for me.”

Karen began an animated and detailed account of her
last encounter with Bob. As she primped and posed, demonstrating each part of
her story with exaggerated gestures, Jennifer could see that Karen’s
body-hugging pale blue dress with its revealing neckline accentuated her fluffy
prettiness. She had already noticed how men’s eyes roved in Karen’s direction
and clearly, this was part of the attraction for Ruth to be her best friend.

Ruth was plain, but smart. Her nose was
unfortunately a little large and her dark features heavy, with eyebrows plucked
to a thin line, but expert make-up and a good hairdresser had achieved a chic
appearance. With her ultra fashionable, avant-garde, red and black outfit, she
presented an attractive image. Friendship with Karen would bring men to spare
for Ruth.

Jennifer’s thoughts strayed to the sounds in her
stomach, rumbling because she had skipped lunch. Her mind told her that she was
hungry. Then her thoughts fluctuated between wishing she were at home with a
good book and wanting to be here meeting someone new. Although she was
naturally reticent, she considered that she would like to become friends with a
good man who could talk sensibly and wouldn’t rush her.

Looking across at the bar again, Jennifer noticed
that the man with ‘the eyes’ was now in conversation with his companions. This
gave her an opportunity to study him. Those two eyes belonged to an interesting
face. However there they were, studying her again. For a fraction of a second
Jennifer allowed her eyes to linger, then quickly turned away to watch Ruth and
Karen who were engrossed in a giggling, secretive conversation.

Appearing to become confused, the man in the casual
clothing dropped his gaze.

Over at the bar, Peter O’Brien sipped his drink, a
fresh lime and soda. As usual, he had turned down all offers of alcohol, but he
always made sure he shouted the others, no matter what they ordered. With his
friends occupied discussing the details of their latest stock purchases, he
felt free to survey the scene.

That magnificent young woman he had been studying
caught him staring. How could he meet her?  Surprised at his own reaction, he
knew he was usually at a loss in female company, but now he found his mind
concentrating on that face, the face of the girl with the auburn hair sweeping
down over her shoulders.

“Well, is the car finished yet?”  Ted was
interrupting Peter’s thoughts, his pleasant voice now anxious and insistent. He
had invested a lot in his new toy. “Will it be ready for Sunday’s race?”

His thoughts still on the girl, Peter was slow to
respond as he turned to Ted. “The car’s done and will finish the race if Bob
doesn’t red-line it trying to fly.”

Peter grinned at them, knowing that over the years
Bob had proved a most considerate driver, babying the cars, always knowing
there would be more than one race in a season.

Ted - rich Ted - was content to reap the benefits
from advertising and to supply the cars, allowing Peter to reign as engineer,
rarely ordering Bob and Peter about, even though he had sole rights to the
machinery.

“What do you suppose our chances will be?”  Really,
Bob was more interested in the beer at his elbow than the forthcoming race. To
him it was merely a Sunday drive. “Will the car be competitive?”

“Sure will. Just take it steady. No dancing with the
fences or other cars and you’ll give everyone a shock.”

Peter was confident in his workmanship. His
engineering degree, so difficult to earn, and his hard work preparing the car
had born fruit, but for some reason, tonight he seemed to have lost enthusiasm
for it. Needing a break, he had joined Bob and Ted at their usual Friday night
watering hole just to get away from the constant grind of work.

While the others talked about tactics, his eyes
returned to the young woman across the room but hastily he looked away again as
she seemed to be studying him intently this time. To cover his confusion, he
turned back to make a comment to his friends. Instead, he heard his thoughts
coming from his mouth.

“Who’s the red-head?” he asked.

Peter shocked himself. Even at this distance, the
beautiful girl had broken through his reserve and he could not believe how
easily he had dropped his guard.

“Where?”  Bob interrupted his discussion of race
strategies.

“Over there,” Peter nodded with his head, “sitting
with two of the secretaries from your office.”

“With Karen and Ruth?”  The added need in Peter’s
voice aroused Ted’s interest. His normal matter-of-fact accountant’s voice
became animated. “She’s certainly a stunner. That auburn hair tells me she’s
red-hot.”

“Give it away, you two. She’s beautiful if you like
that sort of woman. Under that black suit and hiding behind that heart-shaped
face of hers is an iceberg.”  Bob gave them the benefit of his knowledge.

“Forget her,” he continued, “that’s Jennifer Blake. She’s
just arrived from our Melbourne Office to run our legal branch. Believe me,
there’s more life in a customer’s long term insurance policy than there is in
her. She’s a typical lawyer, the original Ice Maiden, beautiful but frozen. I
even phoned people, in the Melbourne Office, and they verified the fact.”

Turning back to his beer, he resumed his
conversation with Ted.

“That reminds me, Ted. You should call in at Peter’s
workshop to check his books more often. After all, you are his accountant.” 
Bob leaned back against the bar. “Last week, I was there to assess the damage
to a client’s car and met a gorgeous little blonde who was gushing all over
Peter. You’d have assumed she’d have more sense. Boy was she stacked!  Her car
wasn’t finished so I offered her a lift as any gentleman would.”  Bob laughed
at his own joke. “There’s nothing like a grateful, older woman.”

Peter had heard Bob’s endless stories of his conquests
- the same old story with different players. As they all followed such a
similar pattern, he seriously doubted their truth. Surely, these accounts of
his success with women were a figment of his imagination. What was his problem?

Unwilling to listen to another blow-by-blow
description, Peter deliberately turned his head. Once more, he stared across
the room at the girl still seated there. He prayed that she wouldn’t again
catch him studying her.

When she had first drifted past him outside the
building with her two friends, she had gained his attention. As he observed her
walking into the bar, he had appreciated the swing of her hips and her long
tapering legs. Her severely tailored business suit had not hidden her delicate
figure. When she sat, modestly she smoothed her skirt to conceal the view of
her thighs.

Bob guffawed suddenly, crashing into his friend’s
thoughts. He turned to Peter and gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs.

“Steady on, mate. You’re panting and almost foaming
at the mouth. Take your eyes off Jennifer.”  He placed another lime soda at
Peter’s elbow. “You’re staring so hard you’ll frighten the poor girl. Any time
now, you’ll rip your shirt off and start beating your chest like a bull gorilla.
Give it away. You’re wasting your time.”  He called the barman and ordered a
new round.

“Believe me,” he continued, “an old square like you
has no chance. When a ‘smoothie’ like me can’t even get a date, what chance do
you have?  That girl has a heart of stone.”  Pausing, he looked across the room.
“My God, if only she could read your thoughts. Give it away.”

“Don’t judge me by yourself,” Peter retorted
angrily, stung by Bob’s assessment.

Staring at Bob he allowed his thoughts to wander. ‘So
they genuinely assume I am an old square, unsuccessful with women - yes, I am
that - always. I am just so awkward in their presence. I know that I don’t have
the glibness of Bob or the quiet authority of Ted. My intense attitude often
frightens women away or they ridicule me because of my quick anger and jealousy.
I am painfully aware that, emotionally, I am a boy in a man's body unable to
express my feelings easily with no family love to guide me. The heinous trauma,
that was my early life, still controls my social behavior with women.’  Peter
tried to rationalize his thoughts.

Although withdrawing into his shell, Peter still had
enough dry gunpowder to fire broadside. “Just because you didn’t ultimately
manage to make her drop into your hands doesn’t mean a gentleman like me -
someone with a few manners - will have no success.”

Unable to accept that Peter was a sensitive,
well-mannered man. Bob and Ted roared with laughter.

To Ted, Peter was the struggling owner of a panel
shop whose business partner had been killed in an accident and whose ledgers
were often covered in greasy fingerprints.

Bob, as an insurance assessor, knew Peter as the
overall-clad worker whose quotes for repairs were mostly accurate.

In truth, Ted and Bob had no knowledge of their
friend’s background. Peter had been extremely careful to conceal the width of
his business interests and the scope of his wealth. Neither friend knew that he
owned Ted’s company in addition to the BMW dealership beside his panel shop, as
well as being the majority shareholder in Bob’s multinational insurance
company.

They had often wondered about his early life but
made no inquiries, as it was obvious Peter would say nothing. Many times
previously they had tried, but they had learned that such inquiries were most
unwelcome. They knew nothing of his horrendous life as a child slave in the
Malaysian Jungle and nothing of his education in the East. There was no
suspicion in their minds of his exemplary degrees in Mechanical and Electrical
Engineering and in Psychology or even his honorary rank as a Ghurkha Major in
the British Army.

The men had been friends since Peter had returned to
Sydney, from Asia, four years previously
knowing he could no longer be an outcast
- a loner immersed in the academic world. He had met his friends when he opened
his workshop and the three had forged a strong bond at both work and play. Ted
became the workshop’s accountant and Bob was the Insurance Assessor. They
played tennis together and belonged to the same club. As well they worked as a
team racing cars.

Their laughter stung Peter.

“She’s got too much class. You two make me sick
always bragging about your prowess and success with women.”  Peter’s eyes were
red with anger and his two friends backed away.

“Now a girl is frigid because she turned Bob down. What
rot!  The fact of the matter is she has excellent taste.”

“Steady on. Let’s not argue.”  Bob, always cocky and
considering himself as the modern Don Juan, was contrite.

“Let’s not get so hot under the collar over women. They're
simply not worth it,” Ted added his ideas to calm the situation. “Hey, time for
another round of drinks. It’s your shout, Peter. You know you couldn’t shout
even if a shark grabbed you. Open your wallet and let the moths out. Come on,
buy us a drink and stop staring at Jennifer. You’ll terrify the poor wench.”

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