sky, a whispered promise, an intoxicating elixir. She had steeled herself for this moment, knowing the golden timbre of his voice would weaken resolve, knowing it had both bewitched and betrayed, and that its siren call must be resisted at all cost; but the spell fate had cast when it had brought the two of them together would not be easily broken. It would take more than a voice on a phone line, more than her own jealous supposition before she would relinquish her claim on him.
It would take Jason himself to say it, to declare in his deep, satin, captivating way that he had given his heart to another, that there was no longer - and never had been - any hope for Estelle who was, after all, just another of his students. If he actually spoke the words, then, and only then, would she accept it was over.
A puzzled frown had crept across his brow. "Are you okay? You look a little shaken."
Thoughts were hastily gathered and she returned a curt nod. "Yes, I'm fine." A tremor in the voice was all-too evident and she attempted to bring it under control. "I was a bit pre-occupied. I didn't hear you come in. You startled me, that's all."
Jason produced his inimitable comforting smile. "This is me you're talking to, Estelle, not your husband."
No, damn it, not my husband, she thought. I only wish to God you were!
"What's wrong? he prompted.
Did she tell him? Could she? Estelle swallowed. "I - I just... needed to... see you...." She was stumbling, making a complete mess of it. "I phoned this morning....." It had almost come out, what needed saying, but there was no good way to do it.
"Yes," he said. It seemed he had understood the omission perfectly. His head turned as the door behind opened and a young couple entered. He waved that hand and extended the new arrivals that smile. "Hi," his golden voice called across the room as he pushed reluctantly off the desk against which he had been leaning.
More footsteps. Talking. More students. The room was filling with people. Estelle experienced them as a black cloud choking intentions, smothering her dying hopes. She hated the intrusion. Then a flash of brilliant blue was piercing her dark thoughts and Jason was looking at her.
"My Sister told me someone had called. I thought it might have been you." The smile was natural, casual, and he seemed blissfully unaware of the total relief the words had generated. "We'll talk in the break." He started out for the rostrum at the front of the room, then paused and turned. "By the way, I've got that information for you." A blue eye winked, comforted. "See you later."
After that, Estelle recalled settling behind one of the desks, but little else. The sound of his voice drifted in and around the strange void of her heady, dream-like state, but the spoken words were interpreted as those she wished to hear and for her alone: "Yes, Estelle, I have a Sister - not a lover, not a mistress who keeps house for me and takes my phone messages, nor even a step-cousin three times removed who lives with me - just a Sister."
When the class took a break, it was as if mere moments had simply slipped by, yet it must have been at least half an hour since he had put her ghost to rest. He came to meet her, nodding to a corner of the room which had been deserted by the students in favour of the drink-vending machine in the hallway. She recalled him saying: "Let's go over there." It was a gentle, coaxing suggestion. But as they walked and he asked: "Did I come across okay tonight?" the question seemed incongruous with the healing and compassion she had been anticipating.
Estelle was suddenly back-tracking. "I'm sorry?"
"The topic - Aboriginal influences on localised ecology - is my lecture making sense?" He searched her eyes for understanding, but could find only those delightful hazel gems flecked with silver, and a deal of preoccupied bewilderment. "I guess not," he decided eventually. "You're bored to tears, aren't you?" The disappointment was genuine and apologetic.
"Oh, it's not your fault." The response was too spontaneous and condescending, the tone apathetic. Not surprising, really – hers was the only ecology that mattered, and his the major influence on it. He couldn’t know this, of course, because she hadn’t told him. Could she now? How would he take an admission that she was in love with the man, not a lecturer in Natural History who taught the class she attended two nights a week? Would he forgive her for being distracted by passion and accept, nay welcome, the promise that it wouldn’t happen again as long as he never ever left her? Then a burst of laughter from the corridor shattered resolve and she offered meekly: "I've had a lot on my mind lately. I'm sure your lecture is wonderfully informative - they all are. I'm just finding it hard to concentrate."
They were still standing and she had to look up at him. At five foot seven, Estelle wasn't exactly short, but Jason was easily over six foot, not too tall, just nice. Everything about Jason was nice. Each time she saw him, another aspect of his personality or appearance emerged as irresistibly likeable. First it had been the athletic physique and broad shoulders, then his flaxen hair and, of course, those magnetic blue eyes. Their very first handshake had sent a magical tingle coursing up her arm, and the true meaning of nice had arrived.
From that moment on she had amassed quite a collection of nice things which were Jason, almost to the point of creating a shrine for him in her memory; but it was growing tiresome to merely worship his image and the ground he walked upon. She could do without Jason the Saint, as long as she had Jason, the man.
"It's Michael, isn't it?" he offered tentatively, very aware of the pain the subject of her husband would undoubtedly cause.
No, Jason, she wanted to say, it's YOU, you're my problem because I can't have you. I've already got a husband, as you well know, and he's a Bastard! "Yes," was the eventual reply because it was easier to focus on a disastrous marriage and the ramifications of recent developments. Unlike romantic fiction, this was her reality - plain, unvarnished and inescapable. "He's up to something. I know it. Something big this time and I don't think I can handle it. I don't think I even want to know what it is."
"For fear of becoming involved?" Jason watched her. She remained tight-lipped and replied with a timid, anxious nod. He was aware that he was staring and how uncomfortable this made her, but he couldn't help himself. Estelle really was the most attractive, beautiful, and probably the most vulnerable woman he had ever met. It was a crime that she was married at all, let alone to a pig like Michael Ventura.
He had never met the man personally, had really only seen the effect of a relationship turned sour, a situation advising a very wide berth by an outsider. That was the way it started, but Estelle had advanced beyond being a refreshing new face in the classroom with a few issues at home. She had grown into the kind of friend any considerate person would want to know more about, would want to help.
When he had offered - in his capacity as a gentleman, naturally - there had been reluctance at first, but she was gradually coming out of her shell. The more insight he gleaned, the harder it was to offer mere platitudes while an insidious husband continued to destroy someone he was coming to care a great deal for. Yet, he had kept his distance. Recently, however, all of that had changed. When she had confided the nature of her latest dilemma, Jason had thrown caution to the wind and seized the opportunity to ease her suffering in a practical way.
That had been the intention, anyway - to put her mind at rest - but it hadn't quite turned out as anticipated. Far from it: Estelle's suspicions were looking less like the emotional paranoia of woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and more reminiscent of a B-grade spy mystery. His sigh was an admission of genuine concern. "I'd like to be able to tell you not to worry, but I believe you were right about Michael being up to something."
Her eyes widened and the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. "You've found out about the false passport, then?"
"Jeffrey's
