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.
Although she was almost ten years older than when she had first met Rory, Joanna prided herself on having a dignity and sophistication that more than made up for any fresh-faced prettiness she might have lost. She had also regained her best weight. Rory could not fling the accusation of being anorexic at her now. The firm roundness of her curves attested to her good health and well-being.
Not that she had ever been truly anorexic. The emotional stress of the divorce had simply robbed her of any appetite. It was hard to enjoy food or anything else when all one could feel was a soul-tearing sense of failure. But she had survived and risen above all that. If she could finally put Rory behind her today, she could feel whole again, her own person, free to accept Brad as the man to share her future with.
Joanna swung around expectantly as she heard the receptionist entering her office. The young woman stood at her opened door, eyeing Joanna with blatant curiosity as she said, “Mr. Grayson will see you now. I’ll take you to him.”
“Thank you,” Joanna replied, more loudly than she meant to.
The prospect of facing Rory, now that it was upon her, had an appalling effect. Her pulse leapt into a wild beat that throbbed through her temples, making her head feel like a buzz-saw. Her stomach could have been a pancake being flipped over by a deft chef who enjoyed showing off his dexterity. Her legs, as she followed the receptionist, alternated between wooden pegs and quivering jelly. It took a supreme act of will to force her mind into reciting, Rory means nothing to me. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
They walked the whole length of the cubicled area, eyes looking up, assessing Joanna as she passed by. Rory’s office was in the corner at the far end, and it was a relief to Joanna to reach it. The receptionist ushered her inside. Joanna was vaguely aware of the door being closed behind her, ensuring the privacy of the meeting, but the man in front of her claimed her attention with such devastating impact that she knew instantly she had been a fool to come.
“Joanna...” he said softly, as though he took pleasure in the sound of her name, not a trace of surprise in his voice or his eyes.
“Rory...”
