Jake contemplated letting Andrew take over for a week or two whilst he took a well-needed break. He’d jump at the chance, ambitious young buck that he was. Alternately, he might sell the show lock, stock and barrel and do something else with his life. Harvest Productions had been sniffing around for ages. If he could talk Sebastian into making him a half decent offer, he just might take him up on it.
Though maybe not…
Jake ran his fingers through his hair in total frustration. Damn it. He hadn’t felt this indecisive in years. Of course he knew the reason. He just didn’t like facing it. Sighing, he made his way over to the railing and stood there, staring out at the water.
Sydney Harbour on a clear calm day in spring was a sight to behold. But Jake wasn’t in the mood for admiring his surroundings. Or even noticing them.
Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the grief which he’d had to put on hold today whilst he did the show, and which he’d been struggling to contain for several days.
Jake still could not believe that his uncle was actually dead. Not even the funeral last Friday had made it real. He could not picture Craig in that coffin. Could not conceive of the fact that he would never see the man again. Would not talk to him again. Or drink with him. Or anything at all with him.
Craig had been much more than an uncle to Jake. He’d been his mentor and his friend. His idol, too. Even as a boy, Jake had admired the way his uncle lived his life.
Craig hadn’t gone down the traditional route, getting a nine-to-five job then marrying and having children. He’d become a foreign correspondent, travelling the world to all the wildly exotic and sometimes dangerous places which fired Jake’s imagination. He’d also stayed single, explaining once to a teenage Jake that for him to marry would be cruel to the woman, and to any children they had because he would neglect them shamelessly.
There’d been women, of course. Lots of women. Beautiful, exciting women who’d graced the dashingly handsome Craig Sanderson’s bed but who knew never to expect any more than his highly stimulating company.
Jake had decided long before he left university with his communications degree that that was the life for him. No way was he going to follow in his father’s footsteps. Craig’s only brother had married before he was twenty, when his even younger girlfriend fell pregnant, then worked himself to death—literally—to support his ever-increasing brood.
Jake couldn’t think of anything worse. He could not recall his father—when he was alive—having any time to himself. Everything he’d done had been for his family.
When his dad died of a coronary at the age of forty-seven, Jake had been heartbroken but more determined than ever to embrace bachelorhood as well as a job which he loved and not one he was compelled to do just to pay the bills and put food on the table.
Jake had been true to his resolve. He’d spent his twenties making documentaries in far-flung corners of the world, earning a small fortune at the same time. He’d still be overseas, living that life, if a run-in with a group of rebels in war-torn Africa hadn’t forced his life into a different direction.
Working in television was tame by comparison, but it had its moments. Jake couldn’t really complain.
Admittedly, since he’d stopped flitting from country to country and city to city, Jake had given up one-night stands and fleeting flings in favour of longer relationships. If you could call a few months long, that was. His current girlfriend was a career-orientated and highly independent woman who was great company, great in bed and knew better than to pressure him for marriage or, God forbid, a baby. Olivia had assured him on their first date that she wouldn’t get bitten by the biological clock bug like his last girlfriend. The only responsibility Jake wanted in life was paying his own personal bills.
Which was exactly the way things had been…till the solicitor for Craig’s estate had dropped his bombshell at the wake.
Jake already knew he’d been left the bulk of his uncle’s estate, Craig having given him a copy of his will for safekeeping. What he hadn’t known was that Craig had summoned his solicitor to his bedside a few days before his death and given him a letter for Jake, to be delivered after his funeral.
Jake pulled the letter out of his pocket, unfolded it and read it for the umpteenth time.
Dear Jake
Hope you aren’t angry with me for not telling you about my illness, but there was nothing anyone could do and I do so hate pity. I had a good life, my only regret being that I didn’t go out with more style. A bullet or a bomb would have been much more me.
But on to the reason for this letter. Jake, there’s something I want you to do for me. Last July, when I stayed at your place after I bunged up my knee, I got to know your very nice housekeeper quite well. Abby was extra kind to me and went over and above the call of duty to make my stay both comfortable and enjoyable. And, no, nothing untoward happened between us. She’s not that sort of girl.
Anyway, on to my request. I didn’t want to add a codicil to my will. Too much trouble at this stage. Still, what I would like, Jake, is for you to buy Abby a new car to replace that appalling bomb she drives. Something small and stylish but with a long warranty.
I also want you to give her twenty-five thousand dollars out of your considerable inheritance to go towards her travel fund. Please insist that she not use it for any other purpose. Don’t let her give it away to any of those free-loading relatives of hers.
I have every confidence that you will do this for me. You’re a good man. And not a greedy one. Give Abby my love and tell her not to wait too long to see the world. Life is meant to be lived.
The same goes for you, my boy. I’ll be watching over you from above.
Your Uncle Craig
Jake closed his eyes as he folded the letter, a huge lump having formed in his throat.
‘Damn it, Craig,’ he ground out, his heart squeezing tight with grief. ‘You should have told me you were ill. I could have been there for you the way you always were for me. You shouldn’t have had to die alone.’
And you should have just put a damned codicil in your will, came the added thought, grief finally giving way to exasperation.
It was impossible not to do what Craig asked, Jake accepted as he shoved the letter back in his pocket. But it annoyed him all the same.
It wasn’t a question of money. He had plenty of money. It was the fact that fulfilling his uncle’s deathbed wishes would force him into Abby’s personal space—and company—something he’d been careful to avoid ever since he’d hired her.
Because let’s face it, Jake, you fancy her even more now than ever.
But he could see no way out. He would just have to gird his loins and endure!
AT TWENTY PAST THREE Abby’s boss finally showed up, looking slightly harassed but still very handsome in a smart grey suit and a crisp white shirt which highlighted his dark hair, olive complexion and deep blue eyes.
Even Abby had to admit that in the flesh her boss was a hunk. But she’d never been blindly attracted to a man on looks alone. Handsome is as handsome does, in her opinion. What attracted her most in the opposite sex was kindness and gentleness, qualities which Wayne had had in spades.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Jake said as he strode into the kitchen, where Abby was making herself coffee. ‘Damned ferry was running late. Could I trouble you for some coffee? Black, with no sugar,’ he ordered as he slid on to one of the kitchen stools, reefing off his tie at