SERIAL An Australian Adventure by Jan Snook

A work assignment to the other side of the world would provide Laura with the escape she needed . . .

THIS had happened to her so often in the last three years that she had it under control. “Chin up, shoulders back. You can do this,” Laura told herself firmly. “You are over him.”

At first she thought she saw him everywhere, or heard his soft Australian voice. It would make her feel so positive . . . and then, just as she was about to call his name, he would turn around.

And she would find herself looking at a complete stranger. Sometimes there was no resemblance at all; sometimes the likeness was breathtaking. But it was never Oliver.

Tonight had been a fleeting glimpse of someone’s back, half-seen across a crowded room, that was all.

“That was all,” she repeated to herself.

It couldn’t be him. Oliver was somewhere in Africa, which she only knew because of a brief mention of him in the papers a few weeks ago.

She’d torn out the article, together with its blurred picture – just as she would with any friend who made it into the papers, she had insisted to herself.

All around her were people from the publishing world – her world – drinking and eating canapés. Many of them greeted her, and she responded automatically.

She would go and find a drink and give herself another stern talking-to. And do her job, which at this moment involved chatting brightly to the author whose book launch this was.

“They don’t tell you that managing the publicity department of a prestigious publishing house like Collingswood’s involves such anti-social hours,” she said to herself.

Launch parties might sound glamorous, but they didn’t do your own life any good whatsoever.

Laura found there was never time to meet anyone that she might be remotely interested in. Anyone who might possibly blot out the memories of Oliver Evesham.

Not that he needed blotting out, of course – by now, Oliver was just a distant memory. Just someone she’d once wanted to marry . . .

Laura reached Perry Floyd, her author, who was chatting to the company’s sales director, Graham.

After the briefest of civilities from both of them, she found herself listening to a hole-by-hole account of a game of golf.

They barely paused as she gracefully excused herself, although she could feel Perry gazing after her.

“You looked as though you needed rescuing,” Oliver Evesham said, holding out a glass of champagne.

His dark blue eyes were sparkling; his lips twitched with suppressed laughter. It was him. It really was him. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“I thought you were in Africa,” she blurted out, grabbing the glass so clumsily that some of it spilled on his hand.

“I was,” he said calmly, dabbing at the spillage with a napkin. “Until a few days ago. I’m flattered that you’ve been following my movements so closely.”

Laura felt colour flooding her face, and saw the amused look she knew so well.

“And I see you’re still working here.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked belligerently. What on earth had got into her?

“Laura?” a voice said. She turned round to face Graham, pleased at the

opportunity to pull herself together.

“I wonder whether you could lay your hands on Perry’s advance sales figures?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder to where Perry was cramming two canapés into his mouth.

“He’s being a bit of a pain about the advertising budget,” Graham said in a lower voice. “Run upstairs and dig out the figures, would you?”

Laura nodded dumbly, and watched her colleague return to the author before facing Oliver again.

She gave a small smile and raised her eyebrows. “Duty calls,” she said. He smiled his dazzling smile again, and lifted his glass to his lips.

She turned on her heel and walked away, wondering whether he was watching her.

Her face set in a concrete smile, she walked briskly towards the lift.

“‘Duty calls!’” That was all she’d managed to say.

If only the interruption had come just a minute later, she might have had a chance to get her breath back, and to have asked Oliver – just for starters – what he was doing in Britain at the party.

After all, she’d drawn up the guest list herself, and it certainly hadn’t featured Oliver Evesham . . .

Laura pressed the lift button impatiently.

Oliver might be totally engrossed in someone else by the time she got back.

She punched the lift button again.

And why would that matter? Hadn’t she just been telling herself that she was over him?

In any case, she couldn’t go through all that heartache again.

He might have the most beautiful smile in the world, but he was still a war correspondent, and when they’d been together she had spent the entire time worrying herself sick about him.

She couldn’t bear the constant dread of hearing that he’d been blown up somewhere, and he couldn’t bear to give up a job he loved.

A classic reason for a break-up, really.

Back at her desk, minutes ticked by as she coaxed her computer into life.

“Sales figures, sales figures . . .”

Laura scrolled through until she found the author she was after, then waited while the printer sprang into life.

She glanced at the time. She’d been away from the party for nearly twelve minutes. Grabbing the printed sheets, Laura made her way back downstairs.

Graham was still talking to the author, both still as close to the canapés as they could decently stand.

“Thanks,” he said, waving the papers away, “but actually, I found I had them on me all the time.” He patted his pocket, smiling happily at her.

Laura smiled back, a tight, professional smile, then turned to leave. But Graham was still talking.

“We’re all very excited about ‘Critters Of The Outback’, aren’t we, Laura?”

“Critters Of The Outback”, a hastily put together sequel to his previous work, “Crocodile Crunch”, was yet another of Perry Floyd’s second-rate survival books.

It was possibly the worst book in the world. But the film rights had been sold, and that was all that mattered.

Laura was suddenly conscious that Perry – who, it had become clear, saw himself as another Crocodile Dundee – was looking at her with unwelcome interest in his eyes.

“Oh, yes, very excited,” she said eventually. “You must be looking forward to the premiere of ‘Crocodile Crunch’?”

She was still trying to retreat. Out of the corner of her eye, she was scanning the room.

Oliver was so tall he shouldn’t have been difficult to spot. He must have already left.

Graham glanced at his watch.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I must just say a few words.”

Perry Floyd stood up a little straighter and smirked at Laura.

“Maybe when he’s said his bit, we could go out and have a bite to eat?” he suggested. “I was just telling Graham that I’d like to discuss our publicity strategy with you – he’s the one who suggested dinner, actually.”

Thanks a lot, Graham, Laura thought, trying not to grimace.

Dinner with this idiot was the last thing she wanted.

But Graham caught her eye and gave the tiniest nod. So that was settled, then.

****

Oliver studied the large, flashy menu and sighed. He could have done without this tonight, but it would have been churlish to refuse.

And he did have things to discuss with the managing director of Collingswood’s.

He’d tried to do it at the party, but there were too many people. Including Laura, of course. He would have asked her to dinner if she hadn’t been called away. But then Edward had invited him out, so that had been that.

“The turbot’s very good here,” Edward was saying. “I might have that. And I think I’ll start with the oysters. What about you?”

So Edward was really pulling out all the stops. Oliver could hardly say that what he’d really like was a simple omelette.

Edward saw Oliver’s frown and turned to see what he was looking at.

“Oh, good!” he said happily. “Laura’s dining with Perry. She’s our publicity girl; did you meet her? Graham will be pleased – between you and me, he was dreading having to entertain Perry himself.

“All that talk of battling gigantic lizards and barbecuing snakes isn’t really his thing!”

Nor was it Laura’s, Oliver thought. She was a city girl through and through. He’d taken her to Australia once to see where he’d been brought up, and he’d soon learned that she preferred the middle of Sydney to the middle of the Outback.

Oliver watched as Laura and Perry were shown to a table on the other side of the room. Laura had her back to them – which was maybe a blessing.

If she’d been facing him, he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on what Edward was saying at all.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll just go over and say hello,” Edward said once the waiter had taken their order. “Perry likes to feel he’s the centre of attention. I won’t be long.”

Predictably, when Edward reached Laura and Perry, they both turned and looked at Oliver. Fortunately a waiter soon arrived at their table, and Edward made his way back.

“Duty done,” he said jovially. “Perry seems quite happy.”

“Happy? He looks ecstatic,” Oliver said, trying not to sound angry. The lout was positively leering at Laura.

Oliver dragged his attention back to the matter at hand, sneaking only an occasional glance at Perry Floyd.

The meal seemed to go on for hours, though Oliver had gobbled up his turbot as rapidly as possible.

Eventually, over coffee, Edward excused himself to go to the men’s room. As soon as he was out of sight, Oliver scribbled a note and summoned a waiter.

Perhaps he’d call in on Laura later. If that oaf was escorting her home she just might need help.

Dinner with this idiot was the last thing she wanted

****

Finally, her unwelcome dinner companion was standing up. Rather unsteadily, Laura realised. Which

wasn’t surprising, given the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

“Little boys’ room,” he said succinctly.

“Fine.” Little boys’ room? For heaven’s sake.

Laura had been stifling yawns for the last hour. Surely when he got back they could leave?

“Madam?” A waiter had appeared at her elbow. He was proffering a silver salver bearing a sheet of paper.

“From the gentleman who is just leaving,” he said with a small bow.

She looked towards the door just in time to see Oliver disappearing into the night.

She took the crisp, folded sheet and opened it. The sight of the familiar handwriting caused her heart to give another painful lurch. A phone number, followed by just five words. In case you need it.

She read the words again. She didn’t need it. For one thing, his phone number was engraved on her heart, and for another, she was not going to risk getting hurt again.

The unending rollercoaster of emotions had almost been more than she could cope with.

Short bursts of happiness were always followed by long absences; absences punctuated by sudden phone calls with bad reception, at odd hours.

They came from far-off places, often accompanied by gunfire and frenzied shouts in the background.

Then, the following day, she would pick up a copy of the prestigious national newspaper he worked for and read a horrendous account of whatever futile war he was caught up in.

Occasionally, there were reports on the television that a journalist had been killed, or sometimes kidnapped, and there was always the constant, gnawing fear that one day it would be him.

It was no good. She couldn’t go through it again.

She crumpled Oliver’s note into a little ball and left it in her saucer.

Twenty minutes later, the black cab nosed into the narrow street and drew up outside Laura’s flat.

She opened the taxi door with a sense of relief, and stepped out into the cool night air.

She bobbed down to say goodbye through the open window, only to find that Perry had climbed out and was paying the driver.

“Perry, what are you doing? You’ll never get another cab at this time of night.”

But it was too late. Perry was smiling at her, one hand outstretched, and the taxi was moving off.

“You wouldn’t deny me a brandy, would you, babe? Just to round off the evening?”

Babe? This was a business meeting, not a date. But he was already following her up the stairs to her front door.

“I’m tired, Perry. I’ve got work tomorrow,” she said as she fumbled for her key.

“Just a little brandy?” he repeated a great deal more loudly.

“Could you keep your voice down? I do have neighbours, and it’s after midnight.”

“Well, let’s go inside for a drink. Then we won’t disturb them, will we?”

“No, just go home,” Laura said firmly, unable to keep the disdain she felt off her face.

His expression turned from cajoling to belligerent, and Laura felt a rising panic.

He took a swaying step forward, leaning in as if he was going to kiss her.

She backed off quickly, panic beginning to rise. “Go home and sober up!” Suddenly Laura heard a sound behind her. Thank goodness! The racket they’d been making must have roused somebody.

Perry clearly heard it, too. He turned to look at an unseen figure, and his expression changed.

“You heard her, mate,” a quiet Australian voice said. “Go home. Now.”

Perry grumbled something inaudible, then staggered down the stairs and out into the night.

Laura stepped straight into Oliver’s arms.

“You’re OK, Laura,” Oliver was saying gently. “It’s all OK.”

He drew her inside her flat, leading her into the kitchen, where he put the kettle on.

“I was going to suggest you had a brandy yourself, but you still prefer tea, right?”

He grinned at her and opened a cupboard to get out two mugs.

Laura watched while he made the tea, registering subconsciously that he’d gone straight to the right cupboards for the mugs and the teabags.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Why did you come?”

She wanted to ask, “How did you know I needed you?” but managed – just – to stop herself.

“Drink your tea,” he said, gesturing at the mug. “You’ve had a shock.”

She really had to pull herself together. Perry had only tried to kiss her, for heaven’s sake.

Not that she wouldn’t be reporting him, she thought grimly.

She took a sip of tea and made an effort to relax.

“What were you doing in the restaurant?” she asked, trying to sound matter-offact.

“Having dinner,” Oliver said, smiling. “The same as you.”

“With my boss? Does he want you to write a book or something?”

“We did talk about my time in Africa,” Oliver said non-committally.

“Are you going back out there?” Laura tried to keep the tremulous note out of her voice, but failed.

“No, probably not.” Oliver looked as though he were considering something. “It will depend.”

“Where are you going, then? Somewhere equally dangerous?”

“I had to go, Laura, last time. Quite apart from the fact that the paper was sending me, I needed to go – for myself. Even for you, in an odd sort of way.

“But I know how hard it was, the distance and the absences . . .”

Why was he explaining all of this to her? Why now? A familiar chill clutched at her insides.

“Why are you so obsessed with war and bombs and . . . and . . . death?” she asked, her voice rising.

“Why do you have to put yourself in such danger all the time? I don’t understand! You don’t have to go.”

“If I’m obsessed,” he countered, his eyes flashing, “it’s with the injustice, the cruelty, the futility of war.

“People are dying – for no good reason. And people here need to know what’s going on. Someone has to tell them, or nothing will change, Laura.”

“But it doesn’t have to be you. Your father owns the paper, for heaven’s sake!”

“He’s my stepfather,” Oliver interrupted coldly.

“Stepfather, then. You could have any job you like!” It had come out much shriller than she’d intended, and he looked at her stonily.

“Even if that were true – which it’s not – I don’t want to be given jobs just because I’m the boss’s son. Stepson,” he corrected himself hastily.

“It’s hard enough working for him without taking advantage.”

How many minutes had it taken for them to return to exactly the same row they’d had so often before? She’d always come second to his job.

“So why aren’t you there now?” she persisted. “There, or somewhere equally war-torn?

“Do you think writing a book will mean your message will reach a larger audience than your columns?

“Or are you writing a book so that everyone will know how selfless and brave you are?

“What will you call it? ‘The Amazing Feats Of Oliver Evesham: celebrating the glorious achievements of a war correspondent’?”

Laura knew she was

talking out of turn now. She knew she was being unfair. The events of the evening were catching up with her.

Oliver was here, where she had dreamed of him being so often. And now she was accusing him of seeking adulation, of ulterior motives of the worst kind. She had to stop.

But she didn’t.

“You don’t care about the people you leave behind. We didn’t break up because of the absences and the distance, Oliver. I could have coped with that.

“We broke up because I couldn’t bear waking up every morning – every single morning – wondering if you were still alive.”

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but the tears which had been threatening to fall for several seconds had tumbled on to her cheeks. He bent forward and softly brushed them away, murmuring reassurance.

“I need a tissue,” she muttered.

“You look perfect,” he said seriously. “But I have to go. We’ve both got work tomorrow.” He smiled at her ruefully.

“You haven’t told me why you’re here,” she said slowly, “in my flat. Why did you suddenly arrive?”

“I got here just in the nick of time, I thought.”

Laura frowned and shook her head.

“But what made you come?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d got my note. I thought you might not ring me.”

“I wasn’t going to.” “There you are, then.” She raised her eyebrows at him, and he pulled a face back.

“I came,” he said with mock severity, “because Perry looked drunk and I feared for your safety. And I wanted to see you. But mostly I was worried about you.

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?” Oliver didn’t wait for her to answer.

“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he said, heading for the door.

****

“Edward wants to see you,” her assistant said.

“Oh, OK. Thanks, Alex,” Laura replied, frowning.

She hoped it wasn’t about anything too taxing. She’d had a bad night, filled with nightmares about Oliver. Oliver badly injured. Oliver covered in blood. Oliver dead.

Laura had promised herself that the very first thing she was going to do today was cancel dinner. It was a simple matter of self-preservation.

“I’ve just got one urgent call to make, then I’ll go and see Edward,” she promised, taking off her jacket.

“Edward said he wanted to see you right away,” the girl said nervously. “Can I make the call for you?”

Laura started to say no, then hesitated.

“Could you ring this number and tell Mr Evesham I can’t make dinner tonight, please?”

“Shall I organise it for another day?”

“No!” Laura said sharply. “I mean, no, don’t do that. I’ll deal with it some other time. Thanks.”

She turned round and headed for the top floor. She’d better find out what Edward had to say. And, of course, she had quite a bit to say to him. It wasn’t part of her job description to be mauled or ogled.

She knocked tentatively at the door.

“Laura, there you are! Let me get you a cup of coffee. I’ve got really rather exciting news . . .”

Laura waited while Edward buzzed his secretary for coffee, then listened with a sinking heart as he began.

“Perry’s been on the phone this morning. Already! Anyway, he’s taken a real shine to you.”

“Actually,” she said hesitantly, “I need to talk to you about last night . . .” Edward’s face fell. “Ah, yes. Perry did mention that he thought he might have overstepped the mark a bit – too much to drink, probably . . .”

He looked at her, concerned, for a moment, but carried on.

“The thing is, he wants you to go on his promotional tour. Oil the wheels a bit, you know the sort of thing.”

Laura’s mind was racing. Perry was due to go on a book-signing tour for a couple of days next week. Was it Liverpool, Manchester, Nottingham? It would at least mean she’d be “busy” if Oliver tried to rearrange their date . . .

“I suppose I could manage to be out of the office for two days,” she said with a frown. “If you think it’s essential. But I have to tell you that I wasn’t at all –”

“Two days?” Edward interrupted. “Oh – you mean the Liverpool bash.

“No, I’m not talking about that; Perry wants you to accompany him to Australia for the promotional tour and the premiere of his new film. Think of it: three weeks out of the office, in the sunshine.

“The Sydney Opera House, Bondi Beach – an escape from all this dreary weather . . . I wouldn’t mind swapping places, I don’t mind telling you! And don’t worry. I’ve made it abundantly clear to him that it’s a business trip.”

Laura stared at him, aghast.

“I really can’t afford to be away from my desk for three weeks, Edward.”

“What? Laura, I thought you’d jump at this chance. Think of it: the premiere’s a top-notch event, and at the State Theatre! You’ll get to meet the whole cast – real stars!

“And you’ll be with the guests of honour, obviously, so you’d better go and buy something to wear. Don’t go too mad, mind,” he added, smiling.

Laura took a deep breath.

“Edward, I’m sorry, but last night I was very uncomfortable.”

Edward’s smile had turned to a frown.

“Ah. I see. More serious than I thought. Well, we’ll obviously need to deal with this formally. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to the HR department.”

Laura nodded. She was reluctant to tell him that Oliver had witnessed it all, and had rescued her.

Edward stood up. It was a dismissal.

“I really think someone else would be –”

“Laura. I need you to go. Now just go out and buy yourself a ballgown, or whatever people wear to these events. This isn’t a request. I need you to go to Australia in ten days’ time. With Perry Floyd. Do you understand?”

Laura stalked down the corridor to her own office, aware that her cheeks were flushing red.

The very idea of going to Australia with Perry filled her with horror. Did Edward really think that a party dress would cheer her up?

She almost felt like quitting. But why should she be forced out because of some ill-mannered man? She took a deep breath. Of course, yesterday she’d been unprepared. Next time, she’d be ready. Pepper spray in her pocket, if that’s what it took.

She’d have to go to Australia with Perry – but on her own terms.

Perhaps she could book a seat as far from Perry’s as was humanly possible. And she’d make sure her room was several floors away from his, wherever they stayed.

“Three weeks!” Laura was angry at the thought.

She recalled his itinerary: Sydney for the premiere, book signings practically all the way up the east coast, publicity shots with crocodiles in the north, time at the Great Barrier Reef to get shots for his next book.

It would be a long three weeks.

****

Oliver looked at the collection of notes stuck around his computer screen and swore.

How could there be so many messages? He browsed through them. Laura had

cancelled dinner! And she’d had her assistant do it, apparently.

“Well, we’ll soon see about that.”

His mobile rang. He frowned as he answered. It was his stepsister.

“Hi,” he answered. “What’s up?”

He listened intently. Please don’t let this be happening, he thought, closing his eyes. Not now. Not yet.

They talked quietly for a little while.

“I’ll come home as soon as I can,” he told his sister eventually. And it would have to be pretty soon by the sound of it.

Though he couldn’t realistically get to Sydney until next week.

He hung up just as Harry put his head round the door.

“Have you looked at those pics yet, Oliver? We need a decision for the Sunday spread.”

Oliver looked at him, dazed.

“You OK?” Harry asked, concerned.

“It’s my stepfather. He’s ill again,” Oliver said, struggling to sound less worried than he felt.

“Right,” Harry said. “Well, if you could let me know which pics we’re using. ASAP would be good.”

“Nearly there. I’ll get right back to you,” Oliver said, guiltily switching his attention back to the monitor in front of him.

More pictures of war: wrecked buildings, smoke, fire, men on stretchers, women weeping, desperation.

Everywhere there was the relentless dust. And blood.

Suddenly he was seeing the photographs through Laura’s eyes.

Was this his life? Always surrounded by the horror of war? No wonder she didn’t want any more to do with him.

What was it she’d said? That she couldn’t bear waking up every morning wondering if he was still alive?

He clung to that sentence as a ray of hope; she’d still been thinking about him all the time they’d been apart. Worrying about him. He gave himself a shake. “Choose a picture,” he said to himself. “E-mail it to the boss. Write some copy. Do it now.”

****

“Three weeks from now, it will all be over,” Laura told herself.

Settled into her seat, she looked out at the fine drizzle blurring the view from her window.

For the first time since this whole charade had been proposed, Laura felt a small thrill at the thought of three weeks of warmth and sunshine.

After all, surely she’d be able to escape from Perry some of the time?

And she’d be as far away from Oliver as she could physically get.

She’d caught sight of him twice in the office in the last week, but she’d kept out of his way until the coast was clear.

And it would be easier to stick to it on the other side of the world.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.” A disembodied voice interrupted her thoughts. “I apologise for the delay – we will be taking off as soon as our final passenger has boarded, which we expect to be in a few moments.”

Perry leaned closer to her.

“Some selfish slob who thinks it’s OK to keep a whole plane full of people waiting,” he sneered.

A bit rich, coming from someone who didn’t have to pay his fare at all, Laura thought, turning her attention back to the window.

Then she was aware of a man walking through the cabin, the opening and shutting of an overhead locker, murmured apologies.

Finally someone settled into the seat opposite, as the plane slowly began to taxi down the runway.

Laura turned to smile at the latecomer.

Oliver Evesham smiled back at her. To be continued.