A Wedding To Remember

It was easier to live from day to day in a relatively undemanding routine, easy to sink into an emotional limbo where not even her mother’s narrow attitudes irritated her. On a superficial level they were company for each other. Besides, after the seven-year rift caused by her marriage to Rory, the reconciliation with her mother was comforting, taking the edge off her loneliness.

It was Brad who had lifted her out of the passivity she had fallen into, giving her a more active interest in life. A positive focus. He was good for her. Good to her, as well. They shared the day-to-day happenings at the school, played tennis at weekends, went to concerts and plays together.

He might not be a madly exciting lover, but Brad was offering her the problem-free security she had never had in her first marriage. This looking back to what she had once shared with Rory was stupid, yet she had been doing it continually ever since Brad had left for the conference.

It had to stop.

Her mother rose from the table and took her breakfast things to the sink.

“I’ll do the washing up after I’ve eaten, Mum,” Joanna quickly offered. “It’ll give you a few more minutes with Jessica before she leaves for tennis,” she added with a persuasive smile.

Her mother returned a fond look, not really for Joanna. It was more in thought of her other daughter, who was the light of her life. Jessica had done everything right, especially marrying a dentist who was a professional man. He was also a pillar of rectitude in providing a good home for his wife and being a splendid husband and father.

“I really enjoy my day with the children,” her mother said.

And why not? Joanna thought with dry irony. She had two beautiful granddaughters to spoil while Jessica played tennis, and the little girls were already moulded into the kind of little girls their grandmother approved of. Joanna idly wondered how well her mother would handle a rambunctious little boy.

“Give them my love,” she said, encouraging her mother to be on her way.

She was already dressed to go in a smart forest-green pant-suit. Her pearl brooch was precisely positioned at the throat of her beige blouse, pearl earrings in her lobes. There was not a hair out of place in the short white waves that framed her face. Apart from lipstick, which she would undoubtedly apply at the hall mirror near the front door, her make-up was perfectly in place. Fay Harding judged others on appearance, and never would she drop her own standards, not even to mind children.

How she had hated Rory in his scruffy university clothes! And the unshaven stubble that he hadn’t bothered about before calling by to see Joanna!

“Have a nice day, dear.”

“I will, Mum,” Joanna replied with no inner conviction whatsoever.

As she waited to hear the front door closing behind her mother, Joanna considered various plans of action. The telephone directory would give her the information she needed, but if she called Rory, he would undoubtedly take savage satisfaction in reminding her of her last words to him, that they had nothing more to say to each other.

He would hang up on her with the same relentless decisiveness she had displayed in showing him to the door out of her life after their last bitter showdown before the divorce went through.

Besides, she did not want to talk to him. Seeing him would serve her purpose, and the more impersonally she could achieve that, the better. The best place would definitely be in his office. Surely she could work out some way to finagle a few private minutes with him. She mentally practised some lines to justify such a visit.

No grudges, Rory. I’m getting married again. I hope you’ll find someone you can be happy with, too.

The decisive door click of her mother’s departure spurred Joanna into action. She looked up the market research listings in the telephone directory and had no difficulty in finding the company she was looking for. She circled the number, noted down the new business address in Chatswood and paused to wonder if that was an up-market or down-market move from Rory’s last premises in North Sydney. Had his business grown or slumped since the divorce?

With an impatient shake of the head, Joanna dismissed this irrelevant speculation. She was not interested in what had happened to Rory. Or why. She simply wanted to see him one more time. That was all. The question she needed answered was whether or not he was at his office today.

Having thought her way around the problem for several minutes, Joanna dialled the number, intent on playing whatever response she got by ear.

“Grayson and Associates,” a woman’s voice piped cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

“Is Mr. Grayson in today?” Joanna asked.

“Who’s calling, please?”

That put Joanna on the spot. Giving her name would almost certainly defeat her purpose. A wild invention leapt into her mind.

“I’m calling for Mr. Kawowski of Matchmakers Incorporated,” she rattled out, wondering if it was some kind of Freudian slip to think of a fabricated dating service as a means to get to Rory. “He wants to know if Mr. Grayson would be free to see him later this morning.”

“Mr. Grayson is in a meeting right now. Can I ring back to confirm?”

“Would you hold on a moment?” Joanna counted to ten then said, “Sorry. Mr. Kawowski has decided to use another company. Thank you for your time.”

She put down the receiver and heaved a sigh of relief. Mission accomplished. No more shillyshallying over the past or the future. Her course of action was decided. Rory Grayson was about to receive an unexpected visitor.

CHAPTER TWO

THE ULTRA-MODERN office building in Chatswood was impressive, but Joanna was not certain it was an up-market move for Rory until she arrived on the floor occupied by his company. When they parted three years ago, he was managing everything himself with a casual staff of five. One glance at the layout of his present premises told her that his business had greatly expanded.

From the reception room, a glass-panelled wall revealed a veritable hive of industry. A huge open area was broken into partitioned computer cubicles with people busy in all of those she could see. At the far end was a row of more private offices for executive staff.

Joanna could not help marvelling over the evident success of Rory’s idea to provide qualitative as well as quantitative market research. Statistics, he had been convinced, did not supply an accurate enough picture. The reasons behind the statistics, why people did what they did, had to be known, as well. Apparently his theory had not only found many receptive ears, but had proven more accurate or effective in application than more traditional ways of collecting information.

Somehow that knowledge undermined Joanna’s confidence as she approached the receptionist’s desk. Rory had grown far past the situation they had known and lived together. Not that such a factor should affect her purpose in any way, Joanna sternly told herself. She had simply come to see him. However, it might not be as easy as she had first thought, given this new set-up.

“Good morning.” The receptionist looked at her with bright anticipation. She had the fresh young face of a woman barely out of her teens. Not someone with a lot of experience at fobbing off people, Joanna hoped.

“Good morning,” she returned, projecting a completely at-ease smile to cover her inner tension. It was almost afternoon. It had seemed best to arrive just before twelve o’clock, giving Rory time to finish his meeting but ensuring he had not yet gone out for lunch. Now she had to ascertain if her timing was right. “I’ve come to see Mr. Grayson,” she announced.

“Your name, please?” The receptionist glanced down at an appointment pad.

“I don’t have an appointment. Is he free at the moment? It’s a personal matter that won’t take long.”

This information earned a frown. “If you’ll give me your name, I’ll check with Mr. Grayson.”

And that would be the end of that, Joanna thought grimly. Giving her name was too risky. “I have a better idea,” she said, her eyes flashing with what she hoped looked like flirtatious mischief. “If you’ll lend me your pad and pen, I’ll write him a note and you can take it to him. I’m sure when he reads it he’ll make time to see me.”

The receptionist hesitated, clearly finding the suggestion irregular and the situation suspicious. Joanna confidently reached out for the items she’d asked for. Capitulation came after a few uncertain moments. As Joanna poised the pen to write, she could feel the young woman’s eyes roving over her in intense speculation.

Her mind was rife with questions. What were the best words to provoke Rory’s interest? Was the receptionist comparing her to some other woman in his personal life? Or—her heart clenched—his wife? Rory might have remarried. Why hadn’t she thought of that? And why did she feel such a cramp of revulsion at such an idea? She didn’t care what Rory did. He had killed her caring years ago.

An idea finally came to her, and she quickly wrote the words.

Success must feel sweet. Congratulations, Rory.

It was an objective comment, fair-minded, without rancour, hopefully ego-stroking enough to persuade Rory into seeing her for a moment or two. After all, the most sensible, rational thing to do was to expunge any lingering acrimony between them before moving on with their lives.

She added her signature, tore off the note page, folded it, handed it to the receptionist with a confident smile, put down the pen and turned aside as though considering sitting in one of the leather armchairs to wait.

She heard the receptionist leave the office. Nervous anticipation fluttered through Joanna’s stomach. She forcefully assured herself it had nothing to do with Rory or what he might think of her visit. It was perfectly natural to be on edge. The moment of truth and decision was at hand.

Now that she saw how well he had done for himself without her, Joanna was glad she had taken pains to look her best. Rory might scorn the superficiality of appearances, but Joanna didn’t care about that. Pride demanded that he see she was doing fine by herself. More than that. Another man found her a very desirable asset to his life, and not just any other man, either. A highly eligible and discriminating one.

The sage-green knit suit she wore had border stripes of peach on the sleeves, the tunic and around the hem of the skirt. The effect was soft, feminine and elegant. The colour picked up the grey-green of her eyes, and she had matched the exact shade of sage in her high-heeled pumps and leather handbag.

She had spent an hour washing and blow-drying her long blonde hair so that it fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her feathery fringe had a sweeping flyaway look on both sides of her face. Her make-up was faultless, a touch of silvery green on her eyelids, a grey pencil line to increase interest in the shape and width of her eyes, a subtle shading of blusher highlighting her cheekbones and a deeper shade of peach emphasising the sensual curves of her full-lipped mouth.