perfect world prior to his trust going down the gurgler and his existence being uprooted into chaos. Now he had little social life, even less free time, and collapsed wearily into a deep dreamless sleep every night. And woke early each morning to the same hectic scenario.
MATT WAS PACING the floor, talking on the phone when Lauren arrived Thursday morning, hoping for a repeat of yesterday when she’d been left pretty much alone all day. He’d been absent when she’d finished so she’d left her report on his desk.
On the way to her room she returned the preoccupied nod he gave her, grinning to herself at the double take he gave her suitcase and overnight bag. She’d booked out of the hotel, confirmed she’d be returning on Monday and been promised the same room.
She did her routine and began work, fully expecting an apologetic call some time from her eldest brother, who’d been delegated to pick her up on arrival in Melbourne. She’d long ago accepted she was way down on her family’s priority list.
Her priority was to complete her designated task. Her expertise told her a human hand was involved. If—when, Lauren, think positive—she solved what and how, fronting Matt Dalton was going to be daunting. The few occasions she’d had to implicate someone in a position of trust had always left her feeling queasy, as if she were somehow to blame.
In two days she’d become used to the sound of him in the background like a soft radio music channel where the modulations and nuances were subtle, never intrusive. Every so often the complete silence told her he’d left the office. Occasionally someone came in. Few stayed more than a couple of minutes.
There was no sign of him when she went to the fridge, though an unrolled diagram lay spread out on his desk. She resisted the impulse to take a peek, and consumed her snack while enjoying the view from her window.
Matt’s return was preceded by his voice as he walked along the corridor not long after she resumed work. She glimpsed him as he strode past her doorway to the window, ramrod-straight, hand clenched. Not a happy man.
His temper wouldn’t improve when her report showed all she’d written down so far today was a slowly growing number of random dates.
‘Dad!’
His startled tone broke Lauren’s concentration.
‘Sorry, mate, I’ll call you back. Dad, what are you doing here?’
He came into her view and stopped. By craning her neck, she could see him clasping a greying man to his chest.
‘You came alone?’ There was genuine concern in his tone.
‘Haven’t been in for weeks so I thought I’d come and find out what’s happening.’ Apart from the slower pace of the words, the voice’s similarity to Matt’s was defining.
‘Everything’s going smoothly. Come and sit down. We’ll talk over coffee.’
Blocking his father’s view of her, he guided him towards the seating, then continued talking as he passed her door on the way to make the drinks. Without breaking step he made a quick gesture across his throat when their eyes met.
‘There’s a new espresso flavour you’ve never tried, rich and aromatic.’
He wanted her to shut down and not let his father know what she was doing. What if Marcus came in here? Asked who she was? As far as she knew, it was still his company. And it was his son’s fault she couldn’t escape through the locked door.
The papers and folder were slipped into the drawer, a fresh page on the pad partially covered by random notes for show. Acutely conscious of the mingled sounds of the coffee machine and Matt’s muted voice making a call, she reached for the mouse.
Matt slid his mobile into his pocket, and picked up the two small cups. What the hell had prompted his father’s arrival? If his mother was aware he’d come into the city, she’d be worried sick. Had Ms Taylor understood his silent message? Could things get any worse?
‘Here, Dad, try this. Tell me if you like it.’ He sank into the other armchair, torn between the desire to hug his ailing father, and the recurring craving to demand why he’d cheated on his wife. So many times.
He’d never understood why so many people he knew treated cheating casually, as part of modern life. To him it was abhorrent. Why claim to love someone and then seek another partner? Why stay with someone who had no respect for your affection?
He had never declared the emotion, deeming that would be hypocritical, but had always insisted on fidelity. He’d found out the hard way that for some people promises meant nothing.
It churned Matt’s stomach that his father considered affairs a normal part of life, his due entitlement as a charismatic male. The man he’d revered in his youth and aspired to become had seen no reason why they should affect his marriage.
He was torn between the deep love of a son for his father and distaste for his casual attitude to being faithful. And behind him, hidden by the wall in Matt’s eye line, was the room where he brought the women. His coffee turned sour in his mouth.
Marcus sipped his drink cautiously, savouring the taste.
‘Mmm...good, real coffee. I’ll take a pod home and ask Rosalind to buy some.’
‘Take a box.’ Matt cleared his throat, hesitant to ask the vital question. Please don’t let the answer be he drove. ‘How did you get here, Dad?’
‘Caught a cab at the shopping centre near home.’ He glared at the desk, set not too far away. ‘You’ve twisted my desk.’ It was an accusation.
‘Don’t worry, it suits me that way. We can always put it back.’ He’d never place it in the former position that had given the user a direct eye line to the person working at the desk next door.
‘Hmph. Now I need the bathroom.’
Marcus put his cup on the table, and went to the ensuite. Matt let out a long huff of breath, and took another drink of the hot, stimulating liquid. A glance at his watch told him his cousin should be here in a few minutes.
Swearing softly when his desk phone rang, he strode over to answer. He missed his father’s return as he searched his in-tray for the letter the caller had sent.
Lauren stopped typing as Marcus came into her office. The eyes were a similar colour, the facial features bore a strong resemblance, but he lacked the firm line of his son’s jaw, his innate sense of character.
‘You’re new. What happened to Miss...?’ He tapped his palm on his forehead. ‘Um, long dark hair, big blue eyes.’
‘I believe she left. Can I help you?’
His gaze intensified, then he came round to stand beside her, and stared at the screen.
‘She was a good typist. Fast and accurate.’
‘Dad.’
Matt stood in the doorway, the same forbidding expression he’d worn at her interview directed at her. She lifted
