Authors: Jassy Mackenzie
Drowning (20 page)
“I am,” I said, finding my voice at last. “And I feel the same way about you, Nicholas—my brain is just a little scrambled at the moment because I’ve spent the best part of the last week feeling everything you’ve been telling me now, and trying to deny it all. I’ve been dreading that damned bridge being rebuilt, more than you’ll ever know.”
I turned to face him, glowering up at him in mock anger. “And I’ve been dreading getting the brush-off from Mr. de Lanoy, just like every other married woman he’s entertained at his estate.”
“From the moment you opened your eyes and held my hand, that wasn’t going to happen,” Nicholas explained. “Even on that first night when we watched the stars together, I was trying to convince myself as much as you that it would be possible to let you go so easily. A day or two later, I knew that was never going to happen; that I’d found the person I wanted to spend my life with. I might have saved
you from drowning, Erin, but in an equally important way, you’ve rescued me, too.”
My jaw dropped at the words. Oh, God, this was real—this was something that surely had a chance of working. And didn’t everyone deserve a chance at happiness?
For a moment I saw my two futures, divergent paths stretching out in front of me.
In one, I returned to New York, moved out of Vince’s loft, went off on my own again. Most probably I’d end up going back to my nomadic lifestyle. A few months here, a few months there. Always roaming, traveling, moving on—although what I was running from, or searching for, I could never truly explain.
And in the other, I went with Nicholas… to a life that would be filled with love. Who knew exactly where that decision would take me, where in the future or in the world we would end up traveling, what we would do… but we would be together. I would be with a man who complemented and completed me, who made me feel, through his presence, as if half of me had until now been missing.
“So,” he said. “Shall we go?”
“My bag!” The carry on satchel containing the only personal possessions I had in the country was in the hotel room where I guessed, even now, Vince would be pacing the carpet and smoldering.
“Do you want me to go and get it?”
The message was clear. I was not to risk being alone with my husband again. I knew that if I asked for the bag Nicholas would willingly go up to the bedroom and get it for me—and I had no doubt who would come out the victor, should there end up being a physical confrontation between the two men.
But what was I leaving behind, really? A few clothes and cosmetics—items I had managed perfectly well without.
“There are some good shops in Nelspruit,” Nicholas said, as if reading my mind. “We can make a stop before we pick up the helicopter, and buy whatever you need. There’s an excellent camera store there as well.”
“Well, then,” I told him. Exuberance filled me. I stood up, grasped his hands, and pulled him to his feet and into my arms. “We’d better get going. Among other activities, I have a lot of photography to catch up on.”
A year had gone
by since I had returned to Leopard Rock.
Now I climbed out of the yellow cab, hearing the background buzz of voices, traffic, horns. Shivering, I wrapped my trench coat tightly around me and angled my umbrella so that it offered my hair some protection from the chilly blowing rain that had turned the afternoon cold and gloomy.
New York City in November… a world away from the South African sunshine I had left behind—not recently, but months ago.
As I hurried along the paved sidewalk, my thoughts returned to my first meeting with Nicholas—to the moment when I’d opened my eyes in darkness and heard his voice, felt the touch of his hand.
Brent, the doorman, pulled open the glass door that led into the marble-tiled lobby of the apartment building where I had lived with Vince. Stepping inside, I found my mind filled with thoughts that were as dark as the weather.
I couldn’t help remembering the man I thought I had loved, and who had told me he had loved me. I thought sadly of loss, of shattered dreams, of a future that had looked golden and had, so swiftly, turned sour.
“Mrs. Mitchell?” Brent said with some surprise as I reached into my pocket and took out a small padded envelope.
Shaking the water off my umbrella, I smiled.
“I’ve been divorced since January,” I told the doorman. “I’m not Mrs. Mitchell anymore. I came by to return a few valuables.”
“Would you like to take them up to the apartment? Mr. Mitchell is away this week, but he did advise me you’d be round. I’ll come with you if you don’t mind.”
“Thanks. I’ll only be a minute. There are personal items I’m supposed to collect as well.”
Brent and I walked over to the elevator, and he pressed the button for the sixteenth floor, where Vince and I had lived.
Our divorce, although messy, had been conducted entirely through our lawyers. Not once had Vince or I spoken, or met face to face. I’d already been informed he would be out of town when I arrived, but I hadn’t thought he’d refuse to let me into his apartment without the doorman supervising me.
When Brent tapped on the door, I understood why.
After a short pause, it was opened, and I stared in surprise at the woman in the doorway.
Tall, slender, vulnerable-looking, she was wearing heavy make-up. Her shiny brown hair was perfectly styled and she was fashionably dressed in white jeans, high-heeled Burberry boots, and a Chanel blouse.
Brent cleared his throat. “Good morning, ma’am. We’ve come to drop off this envelope. Mr. Mitchell knows about it.”
“Yes, he did tell me,” she said, glancing at me warily. “Come in.”
She stepped aside. It was only as I walked into the apartment that I noticed the single flaw in her perfection.
Her right hand was heavily bandaged; the wrist encased in a stabilizing support splint. When I saw that, and the dark bruises above her elbow, I went cold all over. Gooseflesh prickled my spine.
Brent handed the envelope to her and she took it in her left hand, then placed it on the table in the hallway. Beyond, I saw the apartment was exactly as I remembered it. Modern, soulless, immaculate. It was as if I’d last seen it a day ago. Nothing had changed.
“There should be something for Mrs. Mitchell to collect,” Brent said.
“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to me and speaking the words as if they were rehearsed. “Vince said to tell you he threw away the items you were asking about. Your photographic portfolio, and the old portrait of you and your brother.”
Rage welled up inside me. My portfolio represented my life’s work… and that picture was the last one that had been taken of Aidan and me before he died. A coward to the last, Vince hadn’t even had the courage to tell me himself. I wanted to scream out my anger at this woman—I drew a sharp breath to do so, and then let it silently out again.
All I could do was let go, move on, put this last vicious act of revenge behind me. His new girlfriend needed my sympathy, not my rage.
With a huge effort, I controlled my feelings.
“It’s not important,” I told her. “What’s your name?”
“Hayley,” she said.
“I’m Erin. I was married to Vince, as I’m sure you know. In the envelope are the rings he gave me. An engagement ring and a wedding ring.” I looked at her wrist again before adding, “They’re valuable items of jewelry, but they weren’t worth the hurt.”
Hayley’s face twisted and she looked away, fixing her gaze on the polished tiles.
“There are numbers you can call for counseling,” I told her gently. “Places you can stay if you decide to leave him. Nobody should have to put up with abuse. You can contact me if you need any help.”
I handed her one of my new business cards with my international contact details and email address.
She was still staring down at it when Brent closed the door behind her.
Back in the lobby, I hurried to the exit, opened my umbrella, and stepped out into the rain again.
He was waiting for me, right there outside the building, his coat collar turned up, his dark golden hair now plastered wetly around his face.
My heart leaped, as it always did when I saw him—even when we had been parted for only a few minutes.
“Nicholas de Lanoy,” I told him sternly, hurrying over to him with the umbrella. “I thought I told you to stay in the cab.”
He grinned unrepentantly, slid an arm around me, kissed me hard.
“When do I ever do what I’m told?”
“Um—well, from time to time you do, actually. It always surprises me.”
“Not this time. I thought I’d better wait nearby, just in case.”
“It’s okay. Vince wasn’t there.”
“And your belongings? Did you get them back?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t. But it doesn’t matter. I can put together a new portfolio. And Aidan’s memory will always be in my heart.
Nicholas nodded solemnly, then enfolded me in a tight embrace.
Nicholas and I had been together for one happy, incredible year so far. Much of it had been spent at Leopard Rock, and we’d been surprisingly busy. As well as the day-to-day running of the estate and my photography, there had been business opportunities to be managed and explored, and charitable ventures to be undertaken, including opening a new school in the nearby village. And the high point of the year had been our wedding in May—a beautiful ceremony held at the estate and attended by all our friends and family.
We’d taken an extended holiday in late August and had traveled through the States together. We’d stopped off in Florida to visit my mother, in San Francisco where my father now lived, and most recently, we’d spent ten days in New Jersey, having a wonderful time with Sam, and Mike, and Jen.
New York City was our next to last stop. After this, we’d decided on the spur of the moment to fly up to Canada, where heavy early winter snowfalls at Lake Louise were currently creating perfect conditions for great skiing.
We walked briskly back towards the waiting cab.
“So Vince really was out of town for the week?” Nicholas asked.
“Surprising, isn’t it?” I said, picking up the humor in his voice.
“You’d have thought he would have stayed here, what with that photo exhibition opening tonight. A really hotshot new photographer, I hear, and incredibly sexy, too. What’s her name again…?”
Laughing, I dug my fingers into the ticklish spot on his side that I’d been delighted to discover. “Her name is Erin de Lanoy. And the work being shown at the exhibition was taken in South Africa. The collection is entitled, ‘After the Floods.’”
“Ah, yes.” Nicholas nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. In fact, we should probably head back to the hotel now to get ready. Four Seasons, please,” he told the driver, as we climbed into the cab.
“We don’t have to get ready just yet,” I told him, checking my watch. “We’ve got two and a half hours before we have to leave.”
“That’s good,” His pale eyes gleamed, and as his hand caressed my thigh I forgot how cold I’d been just a minute ago. “Because, luckily, I’ve just thought of a way to pass the time that I know you’re going to enjoy.”
BOUT
t
HE
A
UTHOR
Photo credit:
Conrad de Jong
Jassy de Jong was
inspired to write her first novel,
Random Violence
, after getting hijacked at gunpoint in her own driveway. She has written several other thrillers, including
Stolen Lives, The Fallen
, and
Pale Horses
. Having traveled widely around the world, she lives today in the northern suburbs of Johannesburg with her partner Dion, two horses, and two cats.