Contract with Consequences

It had been eighteen months ago, at their street Christmas party. Jason was unable to go with her, saying he had a work-related dinner at the Terrigal hotel which he was obliged to attend. She was showing everyone her engagement ring and having a wonderful time when John Mitchell—the party was at the Mitchells’ house that year—took her aside and very quietly told her the most devastating piece of information.

Her first instinct was disbelief and denial. It couldn’t possibly be true: her fiancé was not gay. He couldn’t be!

It was the gentleness in John’s voice—and the compassion in his eyes—which finally convinced her he was speaking the truth. For it wasn’t like John Mitchell to be that nice to her. Deeply distressed, she left the party straight away, sending Jason a text that she had to see him. She arranged to meet him at the park opposite the Terrigal hotel where she confronted him with John’s allegation. He initially denied being gay, but she wouldn’t let him lie to her any more, and he finally admitted the truth. He begged her not to tell anyone else, as he hadn’t fully accepted it himself, and she hadn’t, but she broke her engagement.

Christmas that year, therefore, was not very happy. Neither was the New Year. Totally shattered, Scarlet resigned her real-estate job—she couldn’t bear to run into Jason all the time—and went back to hairdressing where she hid herself away for the whole year, her spirits very low. She never told anyone the truth about Jason—not even her mother—saying instead that she’d found out he was cheating on her. Her girlfriends were very sympathetic whilst encouraging her to keep on dating. But she simply hadn’t had the courage to put herself out there again. She’d felt like a fool, and a failure.

Scarlet had been quite relieved when John Mitchell hadn’t come home last Christmas. She hated the thought of his looking at her with pity again, or saying something crass like ‘I told you so’. Apparently, he’d broken a leg climbing up some stupid mountain in South America and was unable to travel. She was relieved, too, that he wouldn’t be at the party today. He’d planned to come, but his flight from Rio had been indefinitely delayed because of volcanic ash in the air. Fate was being kind to her for once.

Scarlet knew it was silly of her to feel awkward about seeing John Mitchell again. But she did.

To be fair, he was not an easy guy to be around at the best of times. Despite being a very good-looking man, John’s social graces left a lot to be desired. Had a brilliant brain, though; this Scarlet knew first-hand, since they’d always been in the same classes at school, right from kindergarten through to their final exams. But being classmates and neighbours had not made them friends. John had never played with the other kids in the street, despite Scarlet asking him more than once. All he’d cared about was studying and surfing—the beach was a relatively short walk away.

Scarlet recalled how John had bitterly resented being asked by her mother to mind her on the school bus when bullying had become rife. Admittedly, he’d done it, even to the extent of fighting with another boy who had called her a foul name. He’d got suspended for a day over that, and a bloody nose as well, which hadn’t exactly endeared her to him. Not that he had said anything directly to her. But when she’d thanked him, he’d scowled. Scowling at her was something he’d done quite often back then. She remembered once going to him for help with a maths problem in high school—he really had been terrific at maths—only to be told bluntly to stop being so bloody lazy and work it out for herself. Naturally, she hit back—Scarlet was not a girl to accept such rudeness meekly—screaming at him that she thought he was the meanest, most horrible boy she’d ever met and she would never ever ask him for help again, even if she were dying. A rather over-dramatic declaration, but she’d meant it at the time.

After graduating, John had gone on to Sydney university to become a geologist. She’d hardly ever seen him after that. He’d gone overseas to work once he had his degree, and only darkened his family’s doorstep around Christmas, when he would stay for a week or two at most. Even then, he spent most of his time surfing by himself.

He did deign to attend the Christmas street-party which they held every year, and where their paths inevitably crossed. And, whilst John wasn’t openly rude to her any more, their conversations were hardly warm or communicative. What she knew about his life was gleaned via his mother who belonged to the same quilting group as Scarlet’s mother. According to Carolyn Mitchell, her son had become extremely wealthy in recent years after finding oil in Argentina and natural gas in some other South American country. He’d also bought a house in Rio, so it seemed likely that he wasn’t coming home to Australia to live any time soon.

And wasn’t getting married any time soon, either, Scarlet warranted. Loners like John didn’t get married.

However, Scarlet had no doubt there was a woman—or women—in his life. Good-looking guys with money to burn didn’t do without sex, even if they were antisocial bastards with about as much personal charm as a rattlesnake!

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.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE 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.