Contract with Consequences

heck? Like I said, I’d always wanted you. And there you were, serving yourself up on a silver platter.’

Scarlet winced. She guessed she deserved that. But it hurt, oh so much. ‘Charming,’ she said, her chin lifting in defiance of her pain. ‘It shouldn’t bother you, then, if we call it quits at this stage. After all, you’ve already had me.’

‘I sure have, sweetheart. I’ve already had everything I wanted from you!’

Tears threatened but she refused to cry in front of him. ‘I always knew you were a bastard. I won’t be cooking any of that fish. I couldn’t eat a bite. I’ll also be sleeping in the guest bedroom tonight.’

‘Really? You don’t want a goodbye session?’

She gave him a long, hard look, fully understanding how easily hate could become the other side of love. ‘Don’t bother driving me to the airport,’ she bit out. ‘I’ll order a taxi.’

He almost called her back when she whirled to walk away. Almost told her… what?

That he was desperately sorry for what he had just said? That he hadn’t meant any of it? That he did care? That he did want to be the father of her baby?

Let her go, his conscience insisted. She’s right. You’re a selfish bastard. You’d make a rotten father. Even worse than your own. Go back overseas somewhere. Africa, maybe. Get as far away from home-and Scarlet-as possible.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do, John decided grimly. As soon as possible.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE plane took off shortly after seven-thirty the following morning.

Scarlet leant back in her seat and closed her eyes. It had been a long night. She hadn’t slept much, of course. Impossible in the face of such deep depression.

She’d rung her mother the previous evening at seven, as promised, immediately stating that she knew about her broken wrist and that she was coming home the following day. Her mother had argued with her but Scarlet had brooked no protest, glad finally to hear relief in her mother’s voice. Relief and gratitude.

It had been hard, however, not breaking down during the call. She’d broken down afterwards, crying herself to sleep, a sleep which hadn’t lasted long. She’d risen around midnight and crept out to the kitchen where she’d made herself some tea and toast. John hadn’t stirred, thank heavens. Hadn’t stirred the following morning, either. She’d crept out of the apartment down to the waiting taxi without having to face him again. Which was a relief. She couldn’t have borne that.

Tears filled her eyes once more as she thought about their argument. He’d been so cruel. Yet there’d been truth in his words. She had contacted him. And she had enjoyed every moment of the sex, even before she’d fallen in love with him.

One thing falling in love with John proved, however: she had not been truly in love with Jason. If she had, she would have been devastated by his deception. But she hadn’t been devastated, not the way she was devastated at this moment. Dear God, what was she going to do? She wasn’t going to go back to that clinic, that was for sure. Not yet, anyway. She wasn’t in a fit state to try that again, or even to contemplate becoming a single mother. A single mother had to be emotionally stable and strong. Had to be sure. Scarlet was no longer sure of anything. In truth, she was a mess.

The tears flooded in then, hot and strong. The poor lady sitting next to her became alarmed by her sobbing and called the steward, who brought her a box of tissues, followed by a brandy. She still cried on and off all the way back to Sydney but more quietly and discreetly.

By the time they landed, she’d run out of tears. The train trip back to Gosford was spent in a semi-comatose state. She rallied herself during the taxi ride home, determined not to do or say anything to make her mother suspicious. But it took a supreme effort of will to hide her distress behind a smile. Even worse was when her mother insisted on seeing all her photos, gushing over Darwin’s natural beauty and declaring that one day they would both return to have a decent holiday there together.

The word ‘decent’ almost pushed Scarlet over the edge. Using exhaustion from the flight as an excuse, she hurried off to have a long, hot bath after which she forced herself to cook her mother dinner before retiring for the night. Fortunately, she slept like the dead, so she probably was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. The next morning she went into the salon early, making sure that by the time the other girls arrived everything was shipshape: the accounts. The orders. The equipment.

Everyone was thrilled to see her, Joanna especially.

‘Your mum was annoyed with me for calling you,’ Joanna told her privately. ‘But I felt I had to.’

‘You did the right thing, Joanna,’ Scarlet said firmly and meant it.

It was difficult, however, to keep her mind on hairdressing that day. For some insane reason she kept hoping that John might contact her, either by phone or text. A silly hope, she realised by the end of the day. Why would he bother? It was over. They were over.

By Wednesday she was back on hairdressing autopilot, which was just as well, since she remained distracted. Her mum came into the salon with her, saying she could at least answer the phone and make coffee. Her wrist was in a cast but her fingers were operational and she was learning to use her left hand.

Scarlet was grateful for her company, especially during the tedious drive home at the end of the day. She’d distractedly taken the Central Coast highway instead of Terrigal Drive, and the traffic through the roadworks was worse, if that were possible. What a relief it would be when there were two lanes both ways instead of one. It should cut the bumper-to-bumper half-hour drive back to the ten minutes it should take from Erina to Terrigal. When she complained, her mother replied that at least it wasn’t raining.

‘You’ve brought the sunshine home with you,’ she said, and smiled over at her daughter.

‘If you say so, Mum,’ Scarlet replied through gritted teeth.

Not that the sun was shining at that moment. It had already set a good fifteen minutes earlier.

Shortly after six, Scarlet turned into the road which led down to their street. She sighed as they rounded their corner, happy to be home. The sight of a strange silver car parked at the kerb outside their house brought a frown to her forehead. The car was very shiny and looked brand spanking new, not to mention expensive.

‘Whose car’s that, do you know?’ she asked her mother as she swung into their driveway, barely five metres in front of the car, which she finally saw was a Lexus. So she’d been right about it being expensive. There was no one behind the wheel to recognise, but the car did carry New South Wales number plates plus the name of a Sydney dealership.

‘I have no idea,’ her mother replied. ‘I doubt it’s anyone for us.’

‘True,’ Scarlet said, pressing the remote which operated the garage door. She was sitting in her car, waiting whilst the garage door rolled its way slowly upwards, when something in her rear-vision mirror grabbed her attention. Swivelling her head around, she was utterly floored when she saw John walking across the road towards them, wearing an elegant grey suit with a shirt and tie. Her mouth literally dropped open as he came right up to her car and tapped on the passenger window.

‘Goodness me!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘It’s John Mitchell. Scarlet, wind my window down so that I can see what he wants.’

A wild mixture of emotions claimed Scarlet as she pressed the button which operated the window: shock. Confusion. Trepidation. But the strongest was a totally irrational joy.

‘Yes, John, what is it?’ her mother asked.

‘Hi there, Mrs King,’ he returned with a warm smile. ‘Mum told me about your accident. I hope it’s not causing you too much trouble.’

‘I’m managing quite well, thank you, John. So what brings you home? I thought you’d gone back to Brazil.’

‘That was my initial plan but something unforeseen happened and I’ve decided to come home to Terrigal to live. The thing is, Mrs King, I know Scarlet worked as an estate agent in this area for a good while and I was wondering if she might give me some advice on where and what to buy. I don’t like to let grass grow under my feet