Chapter Two
The next day Claire was pleased to be back at her desk where she could focus on her projects and paperwork and the upcoming Melbourne Cup. It was a struggle to get out of bed and into the shower in the mornings, but she always felt better when she’d escaped the house and its silent, haunting memories of Keith.
Obsessively organised and habitual, Claire started every day with a list. Her job at Rockford was to deliver advertising projects. Some of her larger clients had campaigns covering all media – television, radio and print – so she had a lot to keep track of: ensuring tight deadlines were met, pre-empting any delays, and managing everyone’s expectations. It was a juggling act that saw much of her time on the phone with creative and graphics staff, and clients’ personal assistants. It was a sign of a very, very bad day when the CEO of a client actually called her. The only way she could keep track of everything was with several lists.
Luckily, a lot of projects had been completed in the last few weeks. There was always a short lull while the campaigns were running, then afterwards when their success was being analysed. And then the chaos would start all over. Before that she would make the most of the peace and quiet.
This morning, while she waited for her computer to boot up, she wrote ‘Client Phone Calls’ and twice underlined the heading at the top of her company-issued A4 pad. Below she added the names of her top five clients. It was no coincidence that they all occupied corporate boxes at the Melbourne Cup. She’d already received a couple of invites, but she wanted to make sure she’d exhausted all options before making her decision.
Years ago, Keith had teased her for only staying in her job for the Cup. She’d taken offence at the suggestion she would be so shallow and calculating, and had taken a long time to realise he’d meant it not as a criticism but mere observation.
Anyway, there had to be perks – other than lots of pay that attracted lots of tax.
It wasn’t that Claire didn’t enjoy her job – aspects of it, anyway – but she certainly liked the personal recognition such invites implied.
The first time Keith had accompanied her he’d been blown away by the opulence, finally admitting through a mouthful of lobster that he could see why she spent a whole year waiting for this day.
Rather than being insecure, he’d enjoyed being her handbag for the day – especially being free to ogle all the beautiful tanned, touched-up and terrific women strutting about like the fillies out on the track. Later that night, when they were tucked up in their hotel’s five-star sheets, Claire had teased him that it was lucky he wasn’t expected to make intelligent conversation and represent a business.
Claire smiled sadly at the memory – this would be her first Cup without him in eight years. This time, when the horses thundered past the mirrored finish line and the nation finally let its breath go, the tears that escaped her eyes would be different. Nothing was the same any more. That was what she was having so much trouble with – the little things. She even missed his habit of leaving his shoes in the lounge room, having kicked them off while settling into the couch.
But Keith would want her to go, wouldn’t he?
She felt guilty even thinking about leaving Jack – even if he was recovering at home by then. But what if he was still in hospital? How could she get all dressed up, sip free champagne, be merry? What would he want her to do? That was an easy one. Jack McIntyre was one of the most humble, gracious men on the planet. Not only would he urge her to go, he’d drive her to the airport himself if he could, and offer tips the whole way.
Claire was still lost in her thoughts when Derek Anderson – her boss – appeared beside her.
‘Morning Claire. I like the new haircut – it suits you.’
‘Hi Derek. Thanks,’ she said, blushing slightly and putting a hand to her head. She’d completely forgotten that no one had seen her new look. Now she felt self-conscious. He looked like he’d had a recent haircut as well, but she wasn’t about to say anything. His full head of thick, mid-brown hair, dusted with grey, was shorter on the sides and standing up a little more on top than usual.
‘Good weekend?’
‘Yes, thank you, and you?’
‘Good, thanks. My young colt had his first run at Morphettville. Thought we might have to cull him there for a while, difficult sod. My trainer thinks he’s not worth the trouble, but something tells me he might do all right once we iron out the kinks. He’d better – he’s cost me an arm and a leg.’
‘Hmm.’ Claire was a little unsettled by the warmth in his blue-grey eyes.
‘Owning racehorses outright is an expensive hobby, but a man’s gotta have one, right? Maybe I should sell some shares, set up a syndicate to spread the load. What do you think?’
‘Sounds good, Derek.’ The last thing Claire wanted to hear about was racing, especially Derek’s success – he was, after all, a rival to Jack. ‘Was there something you wanted?’
‘How’s your dad doing?’
‘Same, but thanks for asking.’
Derek seemed uneasy perched on the corner of her desk. He hadn’t casually picked up any of her items and wasn’t swinging his leg like he usually did.
‘Was there something else, Derek? I have a heap of calls to make and a report due at twelve.’
‘Well, um, I…’ Derek fumbled with the thick knot of his red and gold striped tie.
‘Yes?’
‘I was thinking it might be a good time to take some of that leave you’re sitting on, since all those campaigns have been wrapped up. You know, spend a bit more time with Jack. Get your head around everything.’
‘Thanks, but I’m fine, Derek.’
‘Just thought a month or so would be good for you.’
Claire’s hackles rose. She eyed Derek coldly, wondering if it was her imagination, or if he really was having trouble looking her in the eye.
‘Are you implying my work is not up to scratch? If so, don’t be so gutless as to come in here suggesting time off…’
Derek held up his hands in surrender. ‘Your work’s fine, Claire, as always. I just don’t want you regretting your choices later. Family is important; don’t use work as an excuse not to face certain things.’
Claire was almost touched by his words, but couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else going on. He was definitely avoiding looking at her.
‘I appreciate your concern, Derek, but I’ve got everything under control.’
‘All right, I can’t force you to do anything. Just remember, Claire, no one is indispensable. If any one of us got hit by a bus, this place would maybe skip a beat, but the powers that be wouldn’t waste any time filling the role and getting things back on track.’
‘Jeez, thanks, Derek. Nice to know how valued we are. Now if there is nothing else…’
‘Well, there was just one other thing – sort of more of a personal nature.’
Claire’s breath caught.
‘That colt, the one Jack registered as Paycheque…’
‘Yes?’ Her ears pricked up. She straightened in her chair.
‘Well, I’m not sure how to tell you this…’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve got him,’ Claire groaned.
‘No. Personally I don’t think much of him – too small. But that doesn’t excuse what I saw.’
‘What? What did you see?’
‘I