The Millionaire (17 page)

Chris smoothed a hand over her shoulder and she hated that she still goose bumped under his touch. Hated that she would have to be without him. Hated that he wouldn’t be there in her house when she got home from work, his arms and his heart wide open to her.

Hated that she loved him.

Of course she did. The desperate longing she’d felt for Chris had transformed into love for him, so strong and so deep that she was overwhelmed by it. The past two weeks with Chris, even knowing that he would leave, had been more than she’d had with any other man. She was changed for loving him. And would never change back to the person she was before.

“You are an amazing photographer. But you know what? You are so much more than being a Malone. You are so much more than your photographs. You are worth so much more than the front page of
Le Monde
or the
New York Times
.”

Ellie sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She didn’t want him to see her face. When she could breathe, she walked to the wardrobe and tugged one of those ridiculously soft bathrobes from its confounded hanger and slipped into it. She knotted the tie at her waist and watched him from across the room.

“You are loving and beautiful and kind and spectacular. And none of that is about money or photographs.”

Chris sat himself up in bed, his tanned chest so stark against the white sheets, even in the dim lamplight. His eyes were dark.

She tangled her fingers together, felt her voice hitch. “I can’t come to the airport to say goodbye.”

“I don’t want you to.” Chris stayed where he was.

Ellie didn’t trust herself to take a step. If she moved, she feared she would run to him, beg him to stay. Tell him the truth about how she felt.

But that would do her no good, nor him.

“It’s been…”

“I know,” he said quietly.

Wordlessly, Chris got dressed in his crumpled tux, slipped on his shoes, and left.

*

Chris had said
a few too many goodbyes in his life. To women too numerous to remember, after something meaningless and desperate in somewhere dangerous. Sometimes at an airport. A few too many times at a funeral. He should be used it to by now.

So why had a hole opened up inside his chest at saying goodbye to Ellie?

As he walked Sydney’s streets in the drunken early morning, he thought over his months back to Sydney in his imminent departure. The thrill he’d survived on, that shot of adrenaline at the next job, was missing. Now, it felt more like an obligation, a duty. Something had changed in him. His world had shifted and resettled and he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to return to his kind of normal. That world was fight or flight. Shoot or be shot at. That world didn’t have Ellie Flannery in it. In that world, his heart would have to clamp shut so he didn’t feel. And that meant shutting Ellie out of his life.

A cab approached and Chris hailed it down. As he slid into the backseat and gave the driver directions, he dropped his head back and stared out the window at the lights of Sydney. They were a blur through his tired eyes. His eyes that had seen so much pain and horror over the years, and were about to fly right back into it.

Because that’s what Chris Malone, does, right? He runs from family, from responsibility, from women like Ellie Flannery and the chance of a life with someone beautiful and lovely.
He’d had everything he wanted: the funny, the beautiful, the dogged and the snippy. She’d managed to throw him a curveball with flirtatious and passionate, too. And what had he done with the gift she’d given him?

When he got home, he stumbled to his office, fired up his laptop and plugged in one of his hard drives. He opened a folder and scrolled through the images that had made him famous. Looking down a lens, he’d been immune to what he’d seen, or so he’d thought. But now, in a horrific slideshow of all that he’d been so proud of, he felt nothing.

Flickering images, black and white, vivid bloody colour, crowded his vision and he quit the folder.

The photograph that replaced it had him sitting back in his chair in wonder. He linked his hands together on top of his head and blew out a deep breath.

He’d forgotten he’d saved it as his screen saver when he was processing all the photos from the shoot.

It was Ellie at her grandparents’ property. He’d been looking down the lens on that blazing afternoon, framing old Trev with sheep in one corner and the old windmill in the other, when she’d called out to the old man from behind him.

“You’re looking so handsome, Grandpa! C’mon, smile!”

She’d managed to get the old man to crack a smile and that had been the shot. The exact moment when she’d laughed, Trev had curved his lips upwards and Chris had got it.

And then he’d turned around and snapped a shot of Ellie without her knowing it. Looking at it now, all these weeks later, he could still hear the sound of her infectious laughter as she teased Trev. The colours of the bush were bold reds and blues behind her, her white shirt was caught by the wind like a sail. Her hands were planted on her hips and she’d thrown her head back as she’d laughed. Her hat had tipped up and gleaming eyes shone with humour.

The shot he’d taken that day, of Trev out there in the back paddocks, with the perfect light and the perfect camera assistant, had reminded him what joy photography could be. He’d looked down the lens and had seen hope and a future for the first time in a long while, instead of destruction and despair.

He was about to fly away from her and all that she was.

He was about to fly away and run from being who he was, a Malone. He’d tried it on for size tonight, doing something with his money and it had been easier than he thought. There was only one person he’d been trying to impress. And he realised he didn’t have to drop a wad of cash to impress Ellie.

He snapped the laptop shut.

Since when had he been such a fuckwit? It wasn’t the danger of his old life he craved anymore.

It was Ellie Flannery he craved. She was the kind of excitement and passion he wanted in his life.

At that moment, he knew for damn sure he wasn’t getting on that plane.

‡

E
llie Flannery was
such a liar.

As she nursed her cold cup of coffee at Sydney Airport, checking once again the departure times for the Qantas flight to Bangkok, she pulled out her phone to see if she’d missed a call from him, to check if he’d answered any of her ten messages. There was nothing.

She’d been at the airport for an hour, running on no sleep and about eight cups of coffee, hoping the shame of her lie wouldn’t get in the way of saying a proper goodbye to Chris. Oh, she’d tried to be so brave last night in that hotel room, telling him she wouldn’t be there to say goodbye to him when he flew out. Wasn’t that how super cool people acted?
See you round and thanks for all the orgasms?
She assumed saying goodbye the way she had, with no promises, and no talk of the future, would be easier. More worldly.

She was such a liar.

She hated the way they’d left things. Cold and distant. She wanted one more kiss. She wanted one more embrace. She wanted to tell him she loved him because the idea he was about to fly off and land in any number of the world’s most dangerous hotspots during the next year and not know? That would kill her.

Whatever happened to Chris, she wanted him to leave knowing that she loved him. Not his photos or his reputation. She loved him for who he was. For his gentle tenderness. For his humour. For the way he looked into her eyes like she was something precious and special. For the way she felt when she was with him.

Ellie had regrets about things in her life. She wished she’d been braver earlier about her scars and hadn’t spent so many years concerned with covering them up. She didn’t want to add loving Chris Malone to her list of regrets.

Bangkok might not sound dangerous, but as a journalism student more than a decade before, she’d read about the death of an Australian cameraman, Neil Davis, in the Thai capital. One soldier with a gun, in the middle of some long-forgotten and quickly aborted coup attempt, and someone had been killed.

The memory of that had come flooding back to her last night as she wrapped herself in the crisp hotel sheets and stretched out an arm to feel the warmth of where Chris had been.

Sometimes she was so stubborn she wanted to kick herself. So she’d thrown on some clothes and jumped inside a cab to the airport as soon as she’d resolved to say goodbye to the man she loved.

She checked her watch again. Looked up to the departures board. The flight was now closed.

He was gone.

*

Saturday mornings in
Ellie’s neighbourhood meant overflowing coffee shops and crowds. She’d had the cab driver drop her off by the retail strip on the main road, where she picked up some ripe mangoes and strawberries, plump cherries and freshly ground coffee to take home. Along with a bottle of French champagne, of course. If she was going to wallow in her misery in the middle of a brilliant Sydney summer, she figured she would at least do it in style. On the way home, she checked her post office box and stopped in at a new home wares store; dawdled and even patted a stray dog.

None of it worked. She was avoiding going home to her empty house. When she opened the door, Chris wouldn’t be there to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her. She’d grown quite used to that. There wouldn’t be a platter of cheeses, crackers, and fresh fruit waiting for her to nibble on while they either made love or decided what to do for the evening.

There would be no love in her house. Only regret and loneliness.

She rounded the corner to her street and regretted buying so much food. The bag was heavy and bounced against her legs as she walked. Had she really expected anything different from Chris Malone, the lone wolf international photojournalist and renowned risk taker? He’d survived a helicopter crash, for God’s sake. How could a boring life in Sydney compete with that?

And as for her own life, the success of the charity ball had made her rethink what she was doing with her own career. Maybe she’d be more useful raising money for worthy causes than writing about other people raising money for worthy causes. Perhaps that was why she’d been destined to meet Chris. Perhaps he was the kick up the butt she’d needed to find her courage and her bravery about her own life.

Ellie’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Her heart skipped at the thought that it might be Chris, and then she realised he was mid-air. It was Bron, her oldest friend.

“Hey, Bron.”

“Hey, Ellie. Ooh, what’s up with you? You sound like your dog died. And I know you don’t have one.”

“I’m tired. It was a big night last night.”

“I know, I’m reading all about it. Hang on. Sophie, honey. Can you put down Mommy’s purse? No, that’s good. Coins everywhere. Look, I’ve gotta be quick. Domestic crisis here that needs solving. But I wanted to check if you’ve seen the news reports this morning.”

“What news?”

“It’s everywhere. How fabulous the charity ball was last night and the bidding war between those sex-on-a-stick Malone brothers. Anyway, he paid one hundred grand for his own photograph!”