You’ve been great, Marcus.”
“It doesn’t cost me anything, and much as I’d like to wring his neck, I couldn’t allow Dean’s homecoming to turn into a disaster.”
He might have been sorry for her, but his main concern was his family. Because she was close to his brother and sister, Jenna too had always come under his protection, but she guessed that if she threatened their happiness he’d sacrifice her without a second thought.
Which was right and natural. Only it didn’t make her feel any better.
Marcus said, “It’s a pity your mother’s so far away.”
For the past three years Jenna’s mother had been living in Invercargill, at the other end of the country, with her second husband. “I’m too old to run to my mother,” Jenna said.
She’d learned early in life that running to her mother didn’t solve anything. Karen Harper loved her daughter, but at times her own problems had been too overwhelming for her to cope with Jenna’s, as well.
Marcus cast her a glance. “If you do need someone to run to,” he offered, “I’ll be around.”
She managed a pale smile. “Thanks, but I don’t think so.”
“Independent little cuss, aren’t you?”
“I’ve always tried to be.”
“Had to be, I suppose. It must have been tough, losing your father so early.”
“I never really knew him—I only have a few hazy memories. It was hard on my mother, though. I’m glad she’s found someone else.”
“We promised to keep an eye on you, you know, when she went to live down south.”
Jenna had been just short of twenty then, still at university and living in a students’ hall. “I don’t think she meant me to be a lifelong burden on your family.”
He turned the car into the quiet suburban street where she and Katie lived. “You’re not a burden, Jenna. You’re a friend. And that’s going to make things difficult for you over the next few months, perhaps. You won’t confide in Katie, will you?”
She wasn’t sure if it was a question or a disguised warning. “No.” It was going to be difficult enough for Katie, adjusting to a stranger having a claim on her twin. Knowing that her closest friend carried a torch for him would add extra stress.
“Here you are.” The car stopped outside the building. “I’ll come in with you.”
“You don’t need to—”
He ignored that, and it was just as well. When she opened the door of the flat they were greeted by disaster. Water was dripping from the ceiling and running down the walls, spreading a huge dark stain across the carpet.
“Hell!” Marcus surveyed the mess. “It’s either a burst pipe or someone’s left a tap running in the flat above you.”
It was hours before it was all sorted. The upstairs owners—away for the weekend—were tracked down, a key located, the forgotten tap turned off. And then came the cleanup.
Marcus stayed despite Jenna’s protest. He made phone calls, shifted furniture, helped her mop up water, and tracked down a carpet-cleaning firm who sent a couple of men who moved more furniture and set huge electric fans about the place to dry out the carpets they’d lifted and folded back.
Over the roar of the motors Marcus said, “Well, that settles it. You’ll have to come to my place after all.”
“I don’t know if—”
“You can’t stay here,” he said. “Is all you need in this bag?” He lifted the tote that she’d previously put essentials into, assuming that she would stay the night at the Crossans’.
“I’ll just change my clothes,” she said, capitulating. Her cotton trousers and shirt were wet and grubby. “I won’t be long.”
One thing about the past few hours, she’d scarcely had a chance to think about Dean and his bride-to-be.
Marcus’s apartment was a direct contrast to the cheery muddle Jenna and Katie lived in. The main room was large and airy, the sofas long and luxurious and precisely aligned about a solid rimu coffee table that held one elegantly formed pottery dish. Theirs was invariably cluttered with magazines, paperback books left open and facedown, junk mail, the TV remote control, probably an opened snack food bag and quite likely a hair dryer and bottles of nail polish.
Marcus’s books and magazines were arrayed on shelves, probably in alphabetical order, Jenna thought, and there wasn’t a sign of clutter.
The spare room he ushered Jenna into was equally sparse and neat. “The bed’s made up.” He placed her bag on the end of it. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll give Katie a ring to let her know you’re here and break the bad news about your flat.”
She unzipped the bag, shook out the skirt and top she’d packed, and hung them in the empty wardrobe to get the creases out.
Shutting the door, she caught her reflection in the mirror on the outside. Her face looked lifeless, her mouth pale and tremulous. Rummaging in the bag, she brought out a lipstick and swept a little color over her lips, then rubbed at her cheekbones with her knuckles. At least she could make an effort not to look like a Victorian maiden about to go into a decline.
In the living room, Marcus was replacing the receiver on the phone. “I’ll have a shower and get out of these clothes.” He still looked remarkably well groomed, despite the wet patches and dirty splashes on his shirt and trousers. “Are you hungry?”
She hadn’t thought about eating. Marcus was probably starved. “I could cook something while you’re in the shower, if you have anything…”
“I’ll take you up on that. Raid the freezer. Use whatever you want.”
Forty-five minutes later they sat down in the dining area to honey-glazed chicken with rice and peas. “This looks great,” Marcus told her. “And it deserves a good wine to go with it.”
He poured a New Zealand Chardonnay for them both and smiled at her as he sipped at it, but he didn’t offer a toast.
Apparently having a broken heart hadn’t destroyed Jenna’s appetite after all. She ate everything on her plate and finished the wine in her glass.
Marcus refilled it. They didn’t talk much, and when he pushed away his plate she said, “I didn’t make a dessert, but you have cheese in the fridge.”
“I’ll get it and put coffee on.” He cleared their plates and returned with a couple of cheeses and some crackers on a ceramic square. “Coffee coming up. Do you want more wine?”
“Why not? I’m not going anywhere.”
Marcus filled her glass again, and she lifted it to her lips. She could feel the alcohol-induced flush on her cheeks.
Slicing himself a piece of cheese, Marcus shot her a quizzical look. “It’s not the end of the world, you know.”
