Page 62 of Third Time’s a Charm

“I know the business is struggling. I’ve seen the revenue projections. Honestly, it’s a miracle we’re still holding on. So, how long do we have before London cuts us loose?”

My heart sinks. Now is the time to tell her. But I can’t. And I can’t outright lie either. I curse Tate Brown and his scheming and NDAs, and his damn disappearing act.

The temptation is almost irresistible. I open my mouth to spill the whole dirty mess, but something holds me back. There’s still the chance I can save this situation. And if not, breaking the NDA and getting myself fired won’t help me protect Louise in the long run. So I swallow down what I want to say and prevaricate.

“Honestly, I don’t know for sure.” Which is true, up to a point. I don’t yet have a fixed date for closure, although it’s most likely weeks, not months. And there’s still the chance Tate could decide the proposal I sent him to turn the business around is worth pursuing. It’s impossible to tell with him. The title of Regional Director might imply I have some power in this situation, but in reality, it’s nothing more than a smokescreen for him to hide behind.

When I emailed my plan, I was confident it would at least generate a discussion and give me the opportunity to convince him to change his mind. But with every day that passes without hearing from him, my confidence dwindles.

“Hmm. Well, maybe if you approve my proposal, we can turn things around.”

In a perfect world, that might be the case. I might be in a position to make those decisions. Sadly, there’s nothing even close to perfect about the erratic way Tate runs the business.

My mention of Mackelden earlier has reminded me I’ve forgotten to follow up on his HR file, which still hasn’t surfaced.

“Can I ask you something?” I deflect.

“Sure.”

“I picked up on some tension between you and John Mackelden. Has he ever been … inappropriate … with you?”

Louise is silent for a long time; the fingers that had been ghosting up and down my forearm fall still. Which all but confirms my suspicions. I wait. Give her the time she needs. When she finally does speak, her words are halting and barely more than a whisper.

“Is this just between us? Louise and Jasper—not account manager and regional director?”

I need her to tell me, so I nod. “If that’s what you want.”

“Cellar Road is my first job out of uni. I was so grateful for the opportunity because a lot of my friends struggled to find work. At the end of my first week, he asked me out for drinks. I thought everyone was going. Kind of like a welcome thing. But when I got there, it was just him and me. I felt so stupid. He went on and on about how lucky I was to have landed such a great job. And how he would take me under his wing. That we could meet like this regularly, and if I did as he suggested, I’d have an amazing career. I wasn’t so naïve that I didn’t know what he was suggesting.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. It was one thing to have suspicions, quite another to have them confirmed.

“I only stayed for one drink, and then I made an excuse to leave. He kept inviting me out for a while, even after I told him I had a boyfriend. Eventually, he stopped asking. He never actually did anything. Well, not really. The odd touch on the arse. Sly comments about the way I was dressed.”

“You never reported him?”

“I didn’t want to lose my job. And he hadn’t actually done anything. But when the previous HR manager left and Colin joined the company last year, he noticed there was something off. I didn’t tell him everything, but even so, he was furious. Wanted me to put in a formal complaint. The thing is, once you do something like that, well, it’s the beginning of the end of your career. I’ve seen it happen to friends of mine. Nobody wants to employ a trouble-maker. Anyway, eventually Colin convinced me and I told Mackelden that if he didn’t stop, I would report him. Not just to HR, but to the Fair Work Commission.”

“And he stopped?”

“Yes, but in a way it was worse. Because that’s when he started with the criticism. I guess I was lucky my direct boss could see my value, and the winemakers like me.”

All of which adds substance to Louise’s determination to manage how and when knowledge of our relationship might get out. But begs the question why a smart, determined, confident woman like Louise would put up with his behaviour.

Unless.

Unless you know about her childhood. I remember how surprised I was that she didn’t go to her mother for comfort after that awful party accident. Something she said about her mother when we talked in Bullibingal triggers a thought. I wanted to dig into this then, but it wasn’t the right time.

“When we talked about your mother coming to England to take care of mine when she was sick, you said something about it giving her the chance to get away from home. How was your relationship with your mother after your brother died?”

If Louise is surprised by my change of topic, she doesn’t say. But again, she’s silent for a long time.

“She blamed me.” The words are a broken whisper. And the pain that I sensed, the pain she didn’t fully articulate last time we talked about this, comes out. “Because I wasn’t a match. I couldn’t save him. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me.”

Unspoken is the fact that she’s never forgiven herself. For something entirely out of her control.

She snuggles further into my shoulder. There’s damp where her face has been resting, and it tickles as it runs down my pec and into my armpit. I tighten my arms around her.

So much about Louise now comes into focus. Her unfailing cheerfulness. How she goes out of her way to make others comfortable, to put others first.