The Paler Shade of Autumn (12 page)

“So will you have dinner with me?”

“Um, sure. I guess I can’t say no to my boss.”

He winces, but turns his head to hide it. “I’m not asking you as a boss, Autumn. And even if I was, you have every right to say no. Work-time is over. I’m asking you as a friend who feels bad that he has kept you so late and is worried about your gastronomic welfare and wants to catch up on the last five years of your life.” His lips curl up into a smile.

She smiles back. “You drive a hard bargain, Jethro Stark.”

His grin mirrors his self-satisfaction. “Are you feeling social or reclusive?”

“Reclusive. Definitely reclusive.”

He pushes out of his chair and walks to a telephone sitting on the end of the table. “Can you please prepare a dinner sitting for two, please?

“Outside.

“Champagne.

“Light.

“Hmm. Not one hundred per cent sure. Better give me one of everything.

“As soon as you can accommodate.

“We will be in the sitting room, so if you can organise tea and coffee and be as unobtrusive as possible, I would appreciate it. Thank you.”

He hangs up and turns to Autumn, smiling, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“I won’t keep you late,” she says, noting his weariness.

His eyebrows knit together. “Where did that come from?”

“You look kind of tired.”

He shrugs. “I am a little tired. My brother demanded I stay at his house last night. He can’t understand why I would choose to stay at a hotel when I have family so close. I don’t have the heart to tell him I do it so I can get a decent block of sleep.”

“Why can’t you sleep well there?”

He grins. “My nephew and niece who are six and three insist that they sleep with me and if you’ve ever had to sleep with little kids you’ll know they are all elbows, knees and feet and are not afraid to use them in your back or stomach or anywhere else they choose.”

Autumn chuckles. “Why can’t you tell them to sleep in their own rooms?”

He tilts his head to the side and grins. “If you saw their little faces when they ask me, you would know why I can’t say no. Renee, the six year old, is an absolute doll. She’s so beautiful, with long brown hair and these puppy-dog brown eyes. I can’t resist her.”

This makes Autumn laugh even harder. “You’re a pushover and the littlies know it.”

“They always do,” he says, joining the laughter and walking towards the door, opening it wide, the murmur of hushed voices from the foyer leaking through. Autumn rises from the chair and follows him out the door. He leads her through the extravagant foyer, towards the lifts.

Now the pressure of the day has subsided and all that remains is her and Jet, she notices how good his light touch on her back feels through the thin material of her blouse. She notices now—when they are only two friends having dinner together; when she knows she shouldn’t.

Jet is silent as he walks Autumn into a lift, swipes his card and they are propelled smoothly upwards many floors, his hand still resting gently on her back. She wonders if he is thinking the same; if Jet is again feeling the connection, chemistry, they once felt so intensely. From the corner of her eye she glances up at Jet and catches him performing exactly the same gesture. Her cheeks steam with a bashful red glow and she grins. He mimics her smile, his brown eyes cheerful, but they don’t say a word to each other. What can be said?

The doors open at an expansive floor and Autumn’s eyes widen. Jet leads her through the foyer and to the left where she beholds a lounge room styled with two gold-lined Victorian sofas, rugs and décor, plush cream carpet, and an incredible antique chandelier hanging low in the centre of the room. Lying on the coffee table, whose legs and frame twist and curl elaborately, is an elegant setting of coffee jugs, teapots and china. The room is silent, leaving Autumn with the impression that, once again, Jet has booked out the entire restaurant. Rather excessive, but then she did say she was feeling reclusive.

Jet gestures to Autumn to take a seat on the sofa; she complies, the pressure of the day lifting from her shoulders. Meanwhile, he continues walking to the double doors and opens them, revealing another room filled with an enormous king-size bed. At this moment she realises this is not a restaurant, rather Jet’s room. He begins with his jacket, shrugging out of it and throwing it on the bed, followed by his tie, which he loosens and lifts over his head and throws it onto the crumpled jacket on the bed. Next to go are his shoes. Barefoot, he undoes the top two buttons of his crisp, white dress-shirt and walks back to the lounge plonking next to Autumn.

“This is your room?” she asks, envying his loosened clothing and his bare feet. She would love to throw off her high heels, slide off her stockings, pull her blouse out of her high waisted skirt and sink back into the chair, legs curled underneath her.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly. “Is that ok?”

She looks around at the handsome room’s enormity. To the right sits another room with a shiny black grand piano and, beyond that, a balcony offering views of the illuminated Brisbane city. Behind the lounge room, right of the foyer are two more double doors, but they are closed. She guesses another bedroom or a dining room, or even a bathroom exists there.

“Perfectly fine.”

Jet reaches for the jug. “Coffee?”

She nods. “Please.”

He begins to pour her a cup. “I thought if we ate here it would be more relaxing. It means I can throw off that stifling tie and jacket.

He adds a little milk and passes it to her. She takes a sip; this is exactly what she needs after a long day of drinking.

“Please feel free to loosen up. Take your shoes off. Relax. There are no formalities tonight.”

She smiles and slowly slides her heels off with a sigh; pushes them neatly together under the sofa.

Taking another sip of coffee, they are interrupted by a young woman with deep red hair, dressed in the hotel’s uniform.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr Stark, but your table is now ready.”

He looks up to the lady and smiles. “Thanks.”

“I’ll bring those cups out for you if you like?”

Jet stands with his cup of coffee in hand. “I think we’ll be fine carrying it ourselves.”

The young woman smiles. “Certainly, Mr Stark.”

Jet waits for Autumn to stand and then ushers her towards the balcony. When she steps through the long, glass doors, the first thing to catch her eye is the panorama: the city aglow with an intricate network of orange and yellow lights. Second: the beautiful, carefully laid table sitting in the centre of the balcony. And third: the lighting—a single lantern in the centre of the table offering a soft, flickering glow, and rows of fairy lights strung in the box-trimmed shrubs lining the back wall of the balcony.

Already present is a waiter who pulls out a chair for Autumn and lays her napkin on her lap after she sits. He pours them both a glass of water and leaves them facing each other, silent, only a soft classical tune filling the air. Jet lifts his coffee cup in salute. She brings hers only inches from his.

“To you and your woman’s
intuition
,” he says.

She clinks her cup against his and takes a long mouthful.

“I’m serious, Autumn. Thank you for your help today. You have saved me from the wild deceptions of one Mr Paul McCaffey and oh, I don’t know, about a million dollars.”

She nearly spills her coffee again. “I didn’t realise,” she says, steadying her hands and ignoring his amused smile. “I mean, I knew the contract price, but I didn’t do the calculations. A million dollars?” she repeats.

He nods. “There abouts.” Putting his mug aside, he lifts a frosty bottle of champagne from the wine bucket sitting alongside the table. “How about we put this coffee away and I pour us a glass of champagne?”

He grins and pops the cork; fills her glass, then his.

“I must say, it feels a little bizarre sitting in such beautiful surroundings without any shoes on. I thought you said there weren’t going to be any formalities?”

He smiles. “I should have said no formalities where I’m concerned. From the hotel staff, when you rent a room such as this, it’s unavoidable.”

As though on cue, the waiter enters and sets down their dinner plates with a flourish: pan-fried scallops on roasted squares of pork belly with savoury caramel sauce and micro herbs. Jet looks down at the plate of perfectly presented food. “And the food is formal too,” he says, smiling.

Autumn laughs and pops a scallop into her mouth. “Mmm. A far cry from Master Shen’s potato and lentil curry!”

Jet nods, but his attention has veered towards the city lights. Eventually he forces a smile and looks at her again. “A long way away from Bodh Gaya,” he says.

They eat their first course and drink their champagne, chatting, but avoiding the obvious topic of why he is back in Australia. She can’t force the internal questioning away—was it her that forced his decision to leave Darshan and the orphanage?

Course two is confit of crispy skin duck with Asian greens, and Autumn’s head is already swimming from the champagne, topping up her previous state of insobriety from lunch. She peers at Jet; his shoulders have loosened, his erect posture has begun to relax and his face has a permanent smile, which makes his eyes glow with cheer. He reminds her now of the Jet she met in India, so handsome, so carefree and bearing little resemblance to the stoic businessman he has been throughout the day.

Autumn chuckles as Jet pours them both another glass of champagne.

“What?” he asks.

“I was just remembering something,” she says, laughing.

“Tell me.”

Autumn stretches towards her glass and lifts it to her mouth, taking a small swallow of the fruity, amber liquid. “The night in the music room, with me on the dreary, old piano and you on the guitar, with all the kids sitting around us singing in their out-of-tune voices. It’s been hard to top that night.”

Jet smiles, but there is sadness in his eyes. “It was a great night. I loved every moment I spent with those kids, and every moment I spent with you.”

Autumn reaches under the collar of her blouse and pulls out an old, beaded necklace made of fishing wire. “You know, I wear this often.”

Jet’s eyes widen and he leans across the table taking the necklace between his fingers. “Oh my God. Darshan gave you this and you still wear it?”

Her cheeks burn; she lowers her face. “Um, yeah. Silly, hey?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“It’s just he touched my heart that little boy.”

Jet lowers his eyes. “Mine too,” he whispers.

“How long have you been home? It mustn’t have been long after I left, I’ve heard your name in the news for many years now.”

“I left about three months after we met.”

“That soon?”

“There were a number of reasons that affected my decision to come home. Don’t worry, you weren’t the sole reason. Mainly, I realised no matter how many people you have working on the ground, money is a necessity in this world.”

“So, you got back into business to help out financially?”

He nods.

“I’ve heard of everything that you do. The orphanages, the education programs, the international aid, it’s really resonated with me, even before I knew that you were you. That’s why I applied to work for Stark Consulting, because I admired you.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I tried for years to get into one of your companies.”

He laughs. “I’m sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have made you wait.”

“Why don’t I see your face in the news, Jet? I hear about your charities, but there are never any pictures of you.”

“It’s better if the media stay out my life and the only way that can happen is if I don’t let them know who I am. They have a wonderful way of twisting absolutely everything. I found early on that I spent the entire time trying to justify what I did and didn’t do, rather than focusing my efforts on helping.”

She nods. The waiter interrupts them, wheeling a stainless-steel trolley lined with plates of many different desserts, from cakes to tarts, to brûlées and pastries. Autumn’s eyes widen as she shifts her line of vision from the gorgeously decorated desserts back to Jet.

“I don’t know what you like, so I asked for one of everything,” he says.

She smiles. “And I’m so grateful you did, but I can’t handle it when I have so many to choose from.”

“How about we get three and we share them. That way you don’t have to decide on only one.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Your choice.”

Autumn decides on a citrus tart, vanilla-bean baked cheesecake and a rich, chocolate mud cake. The waiter places them in the middle of table along with two small glasses of port.

Jet takes an ample spoonful of citrus tart and shovels it into his mouth. “You’re a woman after my own heart. This has to be my favourite of all desserts.”

She follows his spoon with her own, taking a generous fragment of the tart. “I’m more than happy to please.”

He moves onto the chocolate cake next, not talking until he has had two delicious mouthfuls. “What has been occupying your time in the last five years, Autumn?”

She smiles. “I finished uni for one. Then I travelled to Cambodia, volunteering in some of the orphanages there for about twelve months.”

“Cambodia? So, India never crossed your mind again?”

“Of course it did. Many times I nearly tried to contact you, nearly booked flights to come back over, nearly made the excuse I really wanted to give my time at the orphanage and that it wasn’t you I wanted to see.” She breathes out heavily. “I’m sorry. That’s inappropriate. You have a woman in your life and you’re my boss for Christ’s sake.”

One of his eyebrows lifts slightly. “It’s good to know I wasn’t the only one. You have haunted my thoughts for a long time.”

“I guess life had a lesson to teach us.”

“Yeah.” He takes a spoonful of the cheesecake. “So you visited Cambodia?”

“It was the most rewarding and yet the most heartbreaking thing I have ever, ever done in my whole life.”

He nods. “I understand completely. That heartbreak, seeing children so impoverished is what drives me every day to do more.”