Jack and Kate

By Dianne Blacklock

“Dianne is one of Australia’s most beloved writers of women’s fiction and if you haven’t yet read any of her books, you’re in for a special treat.” — Liane Moriarty

It’s 1980, and Kathryn Rowland is young and ambitious. She has precise plans drawn out for her future and no one — not demanding parents, nor romantic entanglements — is going to get in her way.

But then she meets Jack Gallagher. As one of the top fashion photographers in the country Jack knows all about ambition, but he’s become bored with the picture-perfect women who surround him and he finds himself enchanted by independent Kate.

So how did they end up, almost a decade later, estranged, still nursing long held pain and regret? How did Jack find her, and what does he want with her son? As family secrets are revealed, and lies — so many lies — unravel, a tragedy brings them once again into each other’s orbit.

Set against the backdrop of Sydney in the 1980s, the fashion houses of Paris, strife-torn Ethiopia, and all the way back to a house overlooking the beach on the picturesque south coast, Jack and Kate is a captivating tale of first love and second chances told with Dianne Blacklock’s trademark warmth and humour.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dianne Blacklock
• Release date: Jul 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781925786125

Book preview

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PART 1

Sydney, 1980

Kathryn glanced furtively around the room, though from her height she could really only see the backs of heads and black dinner jackets. The guest speaker was announced and the crowd broke into applause. It was now or never. Once the clapping died down she would too easily be heard. She pushed hard on the metal release rail of the fire door and leaned her whole weight against it. As it opened she quietly slipped through, and although the door clanked a little on closing, she doubted it would have been noticed.

Even if Norville had seen her, what was he going to do? Try to stop her? What with, a good tongue-lashing? He was too much of a wimp even for that. She just wished her parents would stop setting her up with the incredibly dull sons of old family friends and business associates. They suddenly seemed hell-bent on marrying her off, for some reason. It’s not like Kathryn had ever shown much interest in the idea. Her priority for the next couple of years was to finish her degree and establish a career; marriage didn’t even rate a poor second.

Her immediate priority, however, was to get out of this building. She started to make her way up the dimly lit corridor, her heels clattering on the concrete floor and echoing against the bare brick walls.

‘Damned stilettos,’ she muttered under her breath as she stooped to take them off. She tiptoed along to the end of the passage, only to be confronted by yet another featureless grey corridor stretching off in either direction. Bugger. Where to now?

‘You’re making a getaway, too?’

Kathryn turned abruptly, like a child with her hand caught in the lolly jar. A tall figure was approaching out of the shadows. Her heart lurched. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all …

Then he stepped under the light and smiled down at her. This was a seriously good-looking face.

‘I think I know a way out of here,’ he said. ‘If you’re game?’

She considered her options — keep running around here like a rat in a maze, or trust the good-looking face. Not that looks should come into it. Kathryn was sure there must have been plenty of handsome serial killers over time. In fact, this could all be part of a trap. Hatchet Harry here might lurk deep in the bowels of hotels during functions, waiting for random women to sneak out the back way.

Though that seemed unlikely. Turn down the paranoia meter, Kathryn.

She tossed her head back, like some heroine in a romantic adventure novel, and said, ‘I’m game if you are,’ as though she said that kind of thing all the time.

He directed her along a series of passages until they arrived at a set of double fire doors. He pushed them open and stood back for Kathryn to step out into a narrow laneway. The air was cooler outside, and as she breathed it in she stole a glance at her accomplice. There was a floodlight above the doorway and she could see his features quite clearly now. He turned and gave her a broad smile, and Kathryn felt an involuntary flutter in her chest. Keep a lid on it, girl. It’s just a pretty face. Albeit a very pretty face, but it’s not like it was the first one she’d ever seen.

She cleared her throat. ‘So, where are we?’

‘That’s George Street, just ahead,’ he said with a wave of his arm.

‘You certainly know your way around. Do you work here or something?’

As soon as the words left her mouth she realised his tux was a bit too schmick for the hotel staff.

He was shaking his head. ‘No, I just usually like to have an escape plan.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’m not really cut out for these society do’s.’ He gave his bowtie a yank to release it. ‘I think I come from the wrong side of the tracks,’ he added, undoing the top button of his shirt.

‘Listen, I cut my teeth at do’s like this, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there either.’

He was smiling again. He certainly smiled a lot. Kathryn decided you must be able to trust a man who smiled so easily. She bet serial killers hardly ever smiled. Or if they did, it was creepy.

‘You should probably put your shoes on,’ he was saying. ‘You don’t know what you might step in around here.’

He held his arm out for support and Kathryn grabbed it, flustered, as she bent to slip on her shoes. So while she was debating whether or not he was a serial killer, he must have already made up his mind she was a madwoman, wandering the darkened halls on her own, barefoot.

‘All set?’ he said.

She nodded. They walked out to the street, and he turned to pass in front of the hotel.

‘No!’ Kathryn grabbed his elbow, yanking him in the other direction. ‘Not that way. Norville might be out in the lobby looking for me.’

‘Norville?’

‘My date — for want of a better term.’ She grimaced. ‘Can you imagine a mother looking down at her bouncing new baby boy and calling him Norville Abernathy-Fairhurst? I mean, how did she expect him to turn out?’

He smiled again. ‘And this Mr Abernathy … ?’

‘Fairhurst.’

‘Is he your reason for sneaking out?’

‘I didn’t sneak out.’

He gave her a sideways glance.

‘Okay, so I might have snuck out,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s not as mean as it sounds.’ Though secretly she knew it was a little mean. She pictured Norville wandering around, a worried frown on his pallid face. He wouldn’t do something stupid and alert hotel security, would he? Cripes, that’d really put the cat among the pigeons. ‘It was only to spare Norville the embarrassment later.’

‘What embarrassment?’

‘Oh, you know, when he asks if he can call me, and I have to make an excuse that we both know is an excuse because it’ll be so lame … I was doing him a favour, when you think about it.’ She sighed. ‘Though I don’t think my parents are going to see it that way.’

‘Will they be waiting up for you when you get home?’

‘God, no!’ she said in horror. ‘They live in Melbourne, not that the distance seems to stop them from trying to run my life — hence the date with Norville.’

‘Your parents set you up on a date?’ He looked surprised.

‘And not for the first time — it’s become their life purpose,’ she said drolly. ‘It’s terribly important to marry well, don’t you know.’

‘This is beginning to sound like a Jane Austen novel.’

‘Ah, my father’s favourite era, Victorian England.’ Kathryn nodded. ‘Those were the days. When men were men, and women sat around doing needlepoint and taking turns about the shrubbery.’ She looked up at him. ‘And singing,’ she added. ‘What was that about?’

‘I’m sorry?’ he said, obviously not keeping up.

‘You know, in all those novels, how the women have to get up and belt out a number for the guests? Can you imagine? If I had to do that, there’d be a stampede for the nearest exit.’

He laughed at that.

‘Actually, there’s an idea. I should try it next time my parents fix me up on a date.’

‘Or you could just try saying no.’

‘Oh, ha ha,’ she said, deadpan. ‘You haven’t met my father. He’s a judge. He sentences people who talk back.’

‘Even his daughter?’

‘Especially his daughter.’

They were almost at Circular Quay when he turned to her. ‘So, where are we headed?’

Kathryn stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh God!’ She slapped her forehead. ‘You wanted to go the other way, and then I talk and talk and you can’t even get a word in to excuse yourself and now you’ve ended up all the way down here.’ She took a breath. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ he assured her. ‘Really, I’m enjoying myself.’

She gave him a weak smile. ‘Well, you’re very gracious, but I’ll be fine from here. I’ll get a cab over at the Quay.’

He turned to face her properly. ‘Now just how gracious would I be if I left you to wander the streets on your own?’

Kathryn leaned forward and cupped a hand around her mouth. ‘It’s not really Victorian times, you know,’ she said in an exaggerated whisper.

He grinned. ‘All right. Then can I talk you into a drink? A cup of coffee … ?’

He was looking intently into her eyes, and it occurred to Kathryn that he could probably talk her into just about anything. She really hoped he wasn’t a serial killer.

‘I tell you what,’ she said finally, ‘do you know a place that makes a good hamburger around here?’

‘You’re hungry?’ he asked, a little surprised.

‘Starving! Those squibby little hors d’oeuvres they pass around …’ She shook her head in disgust.

‘It was only a cocktail party.’

‘That’s no excuse to be stingy.’

He laughed again. He seemed to be easily amused by her, not that Kathryn minded — she couldn’t recall anyone finding her so entertaining before. Certainly not Norville. He’d looked a little bewildered by her. Though she suspected that was his default expression.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I think I know just the place. It’s not far.’

He led her through the station building to the row of souvenir shops on the road opposite. They stopped outside a faded-looking cafe about halfway along the street.

‘Will this do?’ he asked.

‘Sorrento’s Seafood and Grills,’ Kathryn read the neon sign aloud. From what she could see through the window it looked clean and warm, and the smells coming out of the place were making her mouth water. ‘Sure.’

He led her to a booth at the back and they gave their orders to an Italian waiter, who promptly returned with water for the table before leaving them again.

He held his glass up. ‘To meeting in dark alleys.’

Kathryn smiled, clinking her glass against his. ‘So, what made you sneak out tonight?’

‘I didn’t sneak out,’ he said, mimicking her, so she mimicked the look he’d given her right back at him. ‘All right. I just wanted to make a discreet exit.’

‘Bad date, too?’

He shook his head. ‘No …’

‘It was the exhibition, right?’ she said. ‘Pretty dreadful, wasn’t it? Though I’m surprised, being a man and all, that you didn’t enjoy it, at least on a superficial level.’

‘What does being a man have to do with it?’

‘Well, you know, it was pretty much soft porn.’

He was incredulous. ‘You thought those pictures were pornographic?’

‘Not when you put it like that,’ said Kathryn. ‘I just mean, I don’t know, to have a serious exhibition of fashion photography, by a celebrity photographer. It’s pretty ridiculous, don’t you think? Stick figures fawning in front of some wanker who thinks he’s an artist …’

She was interrupted by the arrival of their hamburgers. Kathryn’s eyes nearly jumped out of her head when she saw the size of them.

‘You wanted a place that made good hamburgers,’ he reminded her.

‘I said good, not huge.’

‘What, is it too much for you?’

‘Don’t you worry about me,’ she said airily. ‘I’ll manage.’

He watched with some amusement as she tackled her burger, carefully picking it up to keep it intact, and then manoeuvring what she could fit into her mouth, before taking a decent bite. She was chomping away happily when she looked up, meeting his eyes. She swallowed.

‘Why are you staring? Have I got sauce on my chin or something?’ she said, awkwardly attempting to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand while still keeping a firm hold on the burger.

‘No,’ he assured her. ‘Sorry, I’m just not used to seeing a woman eat like that.’

Kathryn frowned. ‘Like what?’

‘Like you’re enjoying it, I guess.’

‘You have a problem with that?’

‘Not at all. I was just wondering … where you put it.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I have a theory about that. Food doesn’t make you fat, only worrying about it does.’ She took another bite.

‘You may be on to something there,’ he mused. ‘Anyway, you were talking about the wanker who thinks he’s an artist?’

She nodded, swallowing, as she put the burger back down on the plate. ‘Mm, Jack Gallagher.’ She picked up a napkin and dabbed at her mouth. ‘Well, he’d have to be. Arrogant, I mean. Don’t you think?’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘You must have heard the rumours.’

‘No … ?’ He seemed intrigued.

‘Well, according to the gossip mags he’s supposed to be a real ladies’ man.’

‘Is he?’

She nodded. ‘But I have my doubts. I’ve never seen a photo of him, there has to be a reason for that.’

‘Maybe because he’s usually on the other side of the camera?’

‘Or maybe because he looks like a Troll?’

He blinked. ‘I thought you said he was a real ladies’ man?’

‘Allegedly. But women would sleep with him just to get a break into modelling, wouldn’t they?’

He looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know that he’s like that. I think he’s fairly serious about his work.’

Kathryn eyed him suspiciously. ‘Are you a friend of his or something?’

‘No … I couldn’t call him a friend, exactly.’

‘But you know him, don’t you?’ Her eyes gleamed triumphantly as he gave a reluctant nod. ‘A-hah! That’s why you had to leave discreetly — so you wouldn’t offend him,’ she said. ‘So what’s he like, really? No, hold on, don’t tell me.’ She held one hand up. ‘I bet he’s pasty and pudgy and sweaty, with a receding hairline … no, worse, a comb-over!’

‘Did you see anyone fitting that description tonight?’

‘Are you kidding? Plenty,’ she said. ‘But he’ll be the only one who gets to go home with some cute little aspiring model, because she’s prepared to do anything for her chance at the big time. Otherwise she wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.’

He looked a little stunned. ‘What’s he ever done to you?’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Kathryn said sheepishly. ‘I got a bit carried away. I hope he’s not really a friend of yours?’

‘I think we’ve probably talked enough about Mr Gallagher. Why don’t we change the subject?’

‘Good idea. Though I will say this, looking at his pictures tonight, it’s a shame he’s wasting his talent.’

‘I don’t know, it seems to have given him a notorious reputation.’

‘Mm, but fashion photography is so commercial, and … well, kind of frivolous, don’t you think?’ Kathryn said. ‘And he obviously has a good eye.’

‘For women?’

‘No. Well, yes, but I meant for form, and composition.’

‘You sound like you know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh no, it’s just an interest. It’s related to the course I’m studying.’

‘What course is that?’

‘Architecture.’

He looked impressed. ‘A lady architect, what do you know?’

‘Plain architect will do, thanks,’ she returned drily. ‘At least, once I graduate.’

‘And what made you want to become a plain architect?’

Kathryn didn’t need an invitation to go on. Architecture may not have been her first love, but it was her one true love. She’d always liked to draw, ever since she was a little girl. And she clearly had talent, but her parents dismissed it as nothing more than a hobby and wouldn’t even allow her to take art as an elective in high school. That soon backfired when her grades began to slip because she spent too much time sketching and not enough time studying. When her mother saw how determined she was she tried to steer her towards art history, with visions of her daughter becoming a curator for a major gallery. But Kathryn didn’t want to curate other people’s art, she wanted to create her own. Finally a teacher pointed her in the direction of architecture, and that was that, she’d found her calling.

‘You are way too polite,’ Kathryn said after a while. ‘You’ve let me monopolise the whole conversation.’

But he was shaking his head. ‘It’s nice to listen to someone so passionate about what they do.’

‘And so what are you passionate about …’ Kathryn paused, frowning. ‘Oh my God, I don’t even know your name! I’ve really made a show of it, haven’t I? All evidence to the contrary, I’m not generally in the habit of picking up strangers in dark alleys and talking their ears off for half the night, without even introducing myself.’ She thrust her hand across the table. ‘Kathryn Rowland. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Kathryn,’ he repeated almost to himself, as he took her hand. ‘I didn’t expect that. You don’t look like a Kathryn.’

‘I don’t? What’s a Kathryn supposed to look like?’

He smiled. ‘I just mean it’s a little formal. Are you ever Kathy, or Kate?’

‘Ooh, definitely not!’ she exclaimed in mock disdain. ‘My parents would not abide it. Kathryn I was christened and Kathryn I’ve remained.’

‘Pity,’ he said, considering her for a moment. ‘I think you look more like a Kate.’

‘I do?’

‘Mm. Would you mind if I called you Kate?’

She was a little taken aback. When would he get another chance to call her anything, after they left the restaurant?

‘If you like,’ she said. ‘And what may I call you?’

‘Oh …’

He rubbed his hand across his forehead, looking suddenly … well, embarrassed, even guilty. Maybe he was a serial killer.

‘What’s the problem?’ she prompted him. ‘Will you have to kill me if you tell me?’

His face relaxed into a smile then. ‘No, it’s only …’ He breathed out. ‘You’re not going to like it.’

‘I won’t like your name?’ she said. ‘Listen, I was just on a date with a Norville, that bar is set pretty low.’

‘Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He paused to take a deep breath. ‘It’s Jack.’

‘What’s not to like about Jack? It’s a good honest name.’

He looked straight at her. ‘My surname’s Gallagher.’

Her eyes widened and she gasped. ‘It is not!’

He just gave her a rueful smile.

‘Don’t do that to me,’ she said, recovering. ‘Very funny, ha, ha. You almost got me.’

He dropped the smile. ‘I told you you wouldn’t like it. Jack Gallagher,’ he said, reaching his hand across the table. ‘Nice to meet you, Kate.’

‘Please tell me this is a joke.’

‘You don’t know how much I wish it was.’

Shit. She covered her face with her hands. ‘Why didn’t you say something before?’

‘There didn’t seem to be … the right moment,’ he said slowly.

‘You thought you’d wait till I made a complete fool of myself?’

‘Kate, I don’t think that, honestly.’

‘This is so embarrassing,’ she breathed, her voice little more than a squeak, hands still glued to her face. ‘I can’t look at you. I really can’t. You just have to leave. I’ll pay for the meal, that’s the least I can do. Penance … reparation, something.’ She paused for a beat. ‘Okay? Please go now.’

Kathryn sat still, but she knew he hadn’t budged. She peeked at him between her fingers.

‘I’m serious, Mr Gallagher. Please, I really can’t face you.’

She felt his hands take hold of hers, gently prising them back down to the table. He didn’t let go as he spoke.

‘Haven’t you ever wanted to be a fly on the wall?’ he said.

She gave a reluctant shrug.

‘Well, tonight you gave me the chance.’

‘But the things I said! I don’t even know you. I should never read those magazines in waiting rooms. I never buy them, truly. God, I sound so pathetic,’ she whimpered, slipping her hands out of his and dropping her head.

‘Kate, listen to me,’ he said. ‘There’s probably a little truth in what you said.’

She looked up, frowning. ‘Which part?’

‘I think some women do try to come on to me, for all the reasons you mentioned. I’m sure it worked when I was younger, but now it’s just … well, it’s tiresome, to be honest. I’m never really sure if a woman’s only interested in me as a stepping stone in her career.’ Jack smiled at her. ‘I certainly know where I stand with you.’

Kathryn desperately hoped she wasn’t blushing from the inference. She composed herself. ‘Well, I take back everything I said. You’re obviously a very nice man. Let me take care of the bill to make it up to—’

‘Nonsense, you’re a struggling student,’ he dismissed, taking out his wallet. He left a few notes on the table and they walked out of the restaurant. The hushed lapping of water against the piers of the Quay echoed into the night, the calm broken only by the distant jangling of a ferry’s bell.

Kathryn turned to look up at him. ‘Well, thank you for the hamburger, and the escort …’

‘This is beginning to sound like a farewell speech,’ Jack said.

‘Taxi rank’s just over there.’

‘I’m not putting you into a taxi on your own at this time of night,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘Come on, my car’s back up this way.’

‘That thing I said about Victorian times—’

‘And I’m not taking no for an answer.’

‘Now you sound like my father,’ she muttered, but she allowed him to lead her along, back towards the way they came. Why was he being so nice to her, after she’d just so rudely and comprehensively insulted him? Though to be fair, she had no idea she was insulting the man who was actually sitting opposite her. How could she have suspected for a moment he was Jack Gallagher … who, come to think of it, had snuck out the back way from his own exhibition?

‘So what made you leave your own exhibition tonight?’ Kathryn said out loud.

‘It wasn’t about me, it was for charity.’ He paused. ‘Besides, I was supposed to be meeting someone back at my studio.’

‘What? Why didn’t you say!’ Kathryn cried, flustered. ‘First I drag you off in the wrong direction, then slander you mercilessly to your face, and now I’ve kept you from an appointment?’

‘Don’t worry about it, she’ll wait.’

‘She will?’

He nodded. ‘Young model, trying to break into the business, wants me to shoot her portfolio.’

‘Wow, you do that for unknowns?’

‘Depends …’

‘On what, if you see some potential?’

‘No, on whether she’ll sleep with me.’

Kathryn came to an abrupt halt, staring up at him, and his face cracked into a wide grin. Hmph! She yanked her arm away and started up the street ahead of him. But with his long legs he kept up with her easily.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t resist.’

She snorted. ‘I changed my mind, I don’t think you’re such a nice man after all.’

He caught her by the shoulders and swung her around to face him. ‘Forgive me? I won’t do it again. Promise.’

He was smiling, but there was a strange, oddly earnest look in his eyes.

‘No more jokes?’ she said, arching an eyebrow.

‘No more jokes,’ he assured her. ‘Come on, let me take you home.’

He offered her his arm and after a moment’s pause she took it, and they turned up the street again. They walked on another block when he indicated his car, opening the passenger door for her. ‘Where to?’

‘I live in Randwick, near Centennial Park. If you can get to the university, I’ll direct you from there.’

‘So, I assume you go to New South Wales uni?’ he asked as they drove away.

‘Uh huh.’

‘I went there too, a few years ago now.’

Kathryn turned to him. ‘Really?’

He glanced at her. ‘Don’t look so surprised.’

‘Sorry, I just didn’t think you could take photography at uni.’

‘I didn’t do photography.’

‘Then what, art?’

He shook his head. ‘You won’t believe me,’ he said. ‘No one ever does.’

‘Try me.’

‘Accountancy.’

‘You’re right, I don’t believe it,’ she said. ‘I can’t really picture you as an accountant. Did you finish your degree?’

‘Sure, but I never practised. It’s not really my … passion.’

‘Is there anyone who has a passion for accountancy?’

‘You’d better believe it.’

Kathryn was thoughtful. ‘So if it’s not really your passion, why did you do it?’

He shrugged. ‘My parents didn’t take photography seriously. Not as a profession anyway. They were keen for me to go to uni, so … I’d never had much trouble with figures—’

‘As your photographs more than adequately demonstrate.’

He looked sideways at her. ‘I thought we said no more jokes?’

‘You don’t think you owed me that one?’

‘Anyway,’ he continued, looking straight ahead again, ‘accountancy was something I could manage on the side while I built my photographic business.’

Kathryn was intrigued. Accountancy was not exactly a soft option, something you did ‘on the side’. There was a lot more to this guy than they made out in the gossip columns.

When they pulled up outside her apartment block, Kathryn turned to look at him. ‘Well, Mr Gallagher, apart from being possibly the most embarrassing night of my life …’ She paused, considering how to put it, ‘it was also fun. Thank you.’

‘The pleasure was all mine, believe me,’ he said. ‘So tell me, what’s the street number here?’

She frowned. ‘Eighteen. Why?’

‘I don’t have a pen handy to take down your phone number, and I’ll never remember it. But I’ll remember your address. You’re in the book?’

‘Yeah …’ she said warily.

Jack gave his head a shake. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’ He turned to her. ‘Would you mind if I called you sometime, Kate?’

She blinked. ‘Oh stop,’ she said, catching on. ‘I thought we agreed, no more jokes?’

He looked taken aback. ‘I wasn’t joking.’

‘No, you were, because of the thing I said before … about the awkward end of the evening …’

Now he looked confused. ‘Kate, I had a really good time tonight,’ he said. ‘I’d like to see you again … if that’s something you think you might like to do?’ he added hesitantly, watching her.

He didn’t sound like he was joking, and he had that earnest look in his eyes again. Kathryn didn’t know what to say …

God, she was so naive. She’d almost forgotten this was the Jack Gallagher of the gossip columns. He probably didn’t know how to say goodnight to a girl without asking for her number. As if he didn’t have a pen handy.

She tried to sound offhand as she finally answered, ‘Sure, why not?’

He seemed relieved, even a little pleased. ‘Good. Then we’ll talk soon. Thanks for a very unexpected evening, Kate.’

‘Goodnight,’ she breathed, as she virtually leapt from the car.

The next day

David Taylor parked his car outside the warehouse and walked up to the heavy metal door with its massive iron bolt. It was the original door, and was still in its original condition, except for the security locks Jack had installed. He’d bought the dilapidated warehouse long before it was the fashionable thing to do, and now he had a state-of-the-art studio and a comfortable home on a site that was worth a small fortune. David would have preferred to work in a leafier location on the north side, but he had to concede that Ultimo was central for everybody. And anyway, once he stepped inside, the transition was so radical he could have been anywhere. The foyer was a full two stories in height, stretching right up to a glass-covered roof that formed an atrium down the centre of the building. The area was sparsely decorated: a black and white chequerboard floor with white walls and nothing but a couple of potted plants and a red metal coatstand. The main feature was the facing wall covered in black and white prints of some of Jack’s best work. On either side were two doors, both painted red — the one on the left was to Jack’s apartment, the one on the right to the studio, which David entered now.

‘Hello!’ he called to no one in particular.

‘Morning.’ Tess had just come from the kitchen, carrying two mugs. ‘Coffee’s fresh.’

David went to take one, but she resisted. ‘… and you can get your own,’ she added, continuing to her desk where Jack sat poring over the White Pages.

‘Hi Dave,’ he murmured without looking up. He took the coffee from Tess and frowned. ‘Well, I can’t find it here. How would you spell Roland?’

‘What are you looking under?’ she asked.

‘R-o-l-a-n-d.’

‘Try it with a ‘w’,’ Tess suggested.

‘What, you mean, W-w-woland,’ David snorted, doing a bad Elmer Fudd impression.

Tess and Jack both looked up at him, deadpan.

‘No one appreciates my humour,’ he grumbled.

‘Never mind, Davey,’ Tess consoled him. ‘We do appreciate you on occasion, so you should be thankful for small mercies.’

‘That’s a bit of a back-handed compliment,’ he said, perching on the arm of her chair.

‘I don’t think this chair is meant for two people.’

‘But, Tess, you know I like to be close to you,’ he said leaning down to nuzzle into the back of her neck, before she shrugged him off.

‘Bingo!’ Jack reached for the phone.

‘Who’s he calling?’ David asked Tess.

‘Well, he hasn’t informed me, but I’m going to take a wild stab and say it’s a female,’ she said drily.

Jack covered the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘Not that it’s any of your business but, yes, she is female.’

‘And you didn’t get her number?’ David shook his head. ‘You’re slipping, Jack.’

‘I didn’t have a pen on me, it was easier to remember her address.’

‘She didn’t have a pen at her place? Can she read and write?’

‘I just drove her home, I didn’t go inside,’ Jack said.

David winced. ‘Oh dear, Jacky, we really are slipping.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘You sound like you’ve been reading the gossip columns too.’ He hung up the phone and glanced at his watch. ‘I must have missed her,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Probably already gone to class.’

‘Oooh!’ Tess and David chorused.

‘A student!’ David exclaimed. ‘Was she wearing a uniform, Jack?’

He groaned. ‘Did you wear a uniform to uni, Dave?’ He stood up and walked over to the set.

David followed him. ‘So, dating teenagers now? The real women get wise to you?’

‘She’s not a teenager,’ Jack sighed. But then he frowned. ‘At least I don’t think she is. I hope she’s not.’ He shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m sure she couldn’t be.’

David cracked up, clearly enjoying this.

Jack ignored him. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ he said as he began positioning the lights. ‘It’s only a cover today.’

David was mainly responsible for sets and locations. As a magazine cover only required a backdrop, there was really no reason for him to be here. But Jack was used to David turning up at odd and inappropriate times, especially if there was likely to be models about.

‘I just wanted to check through some of the locations I found for the Arden shoot.’

‘Okay,’ said Jack, ‘but I won’t get a chance this morning. It’s taking me longer and longer to get Melissa warmed up these days, so I don’t want to interrupt her for anything.’

‘No worries,’ David said. ‘So, it’s Melissa today?’

‘Yep, and don’t get any ideas. I want all her attention on the shoot, not on trying to avoid you.’

‘Sure, sure.’ He held his hands up. ‘Look, I have plenty of calls to make, so I can easily fill in the morning, and maybe we can talk this afternoon?’

‘Fine.’ Jack looked over at him. ‘But use the house phone, will you? I want Tess to keep trying that number for me.’

‘Whatever you say, boss.’

Although a couple of years older than Jack, David still felt like a novice in comparison. Jack was a genius with a camera, which explained something of his startling rise to the top of his field at such a young age. The reason he’d taken David on in the first place was because he was so swamped he could barely keep up with the demand. He’d hired Tess a couple of years earlier as his PA, and that had probably been his smartest move professionally. She was quick as a whip, clever, pragmatic, and she’d taken over as much of the administrative side of the business as possible. But when Jack no longer had the time to scout for locations as meticulously as before, or search for just the right prop for a set, Tess recognised the strain he was under. It was a while before she could convince him to take on someone else, but eventually David — freelance photographer, graduate in art and design, sometime exasperating colleague — became a permanent fixture. David felt like he’d landed on his feet; he couldn’t imagine a better place to work, or better people to work with.

*

When Melissa finally arrived, Jack went to let her in, and her drawl could be heard echoing from the foyer. That was something she’d picked up working in New York, and despite being back in Australia for a while now, she still affected the accent. Tess braced herself. A lot of the girls they worked with were charming and genuinely hardworking. But there was that certain proportion who were both neurotic and egotistical, and Melissa was Queen Bee of them all. Tess didn’t know how Jack put up with her.

The studio door opened and Melissa swanned in.

‘But, Jack darling, I had such a frightful night,’ she was complaining. ‘Couldn’t we postpone until next week?’

‘Now, Lissa, you know as well as I do that neither of our schedules would allow for that,’ he said. ‘And besides, we have a deadline.’

She circled her arms around his neck, pouting. ‘But these bags under my eyes …’

‘Nonsense, you look as beautiful as ever,’ he assured her.

‘You think so?’ She was beginning to waver.

‘Do you trust me?’

‘Of course I trust you, darling.’

‘And do you think I would ever take a bad shot of you?’

She gave him a coquettish smile and leaned in to kiss him square on the lips. ‘Okay, whatever you say, you know I’m putty in your hands.’

Jack turned her in the direction of the dressing room. ‘Now, off you go. Your stylist’s waiting.’

She threw back her dark hair as she strode off with a seductive sway of her hips. Jack glanced across at Tess and they exchanged a knowing look.

‘No luck with that number yet, Jack,’ Tess said. ‘I’ll keep trying?’

‘You better leave it now until after we’re done — she’s going to be a handful today.’

*

The morning dragged. Jack had to cajole and flatter Melissa incessantly. But eventually she loosened up and by the middle of the day she was playing up to the camera like the pro she was. Around two, however, she was beginning to fade, so Jack called a wrap; he didn’t want to push his luck.

‘Stay for a coffee or something, Liss?’ he offered.

‘Once I get out of all this.’ She winced as she disappeared into the dressing room.

Jack began striking the set. ‘Could you try that number for me again?’ he called across to Tess.

She held up the receiver. ‘Already on it.’

David had come into the studio to watch the last hour of the shoot, and he started to help Jack with the lights.

‘Still trying to track down the schoolgirl?’ he said. ‘Maybe she was kept in late after class.’

‘Shut up, Dave.’

*

Kathryn hadn’t been home long when the phone rang. That would be her mother, no doubt, calling to reprimand her about last night. She picked up the receiver and steeled herself.

‘Hello, Miss Rowland?’ said an unfamiliar female voice.

‘Yes?’

‘Could you hold, please?’

Before she could ask what it was about, a male voice came on the line.

‘Hello, Kate?’

‘Sorry?’ She frowned.

‘It’s Jack Gallagher.’

She sat up straight. He called. He actually called. Not even twenty-four hours later. What the hell?

‘Kate? Are you there?’

She stirred. ‘Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, it’s just that no one ever calls me Kate.’

‘Would you rather I call you Kathryn?’

‘Oh no, I’m sure I’ll get used to it.’

Get used to it! What was she saying?

‘Good,’ he said. ‘So I was ringing to see if you’re busy tonight?’

They were interrupted by a muffled string of words in the background — something about a curfew? — followed by what sounded like a low wolf-whistle.

‘Sorry about that,’ Jack said. ‘Listen, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?’

‘You can ask,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.’

‘Fair enough. Well, ah, I was just wondering … how old are you?’

Kathryn hesitated. ‘I’m twenty. How old are you?’

‘Twenty!’ Jack repeated in a loud voice, as though he was talking to someone else. ‘That’s good, that’s really great … you’re twenty years old,’ he said, emphasis on the ‘twenty’. ‘Not a teenager anymore.’

This was getting weird. ‘I’m actually nearly twenty-one,’ she added.

‘Nearly twenty-one!’ he exclaimed. ‘Well, congratulations.’

‘What’s going on, Jack?’

He sighed. ‘I’ll explain later.’

‘Later?’

‘At dinner.’

‘Was that an invitation?’

‘Oh, didn’t I say that already? That’s why I’m calling, to ask you out to dinner tonight.’

Kathryn didn’t know what to say, much less what to think. She hadn’t expected to hear from him again. Those green eyes were obviously as earnest as they looked.

Why did she have to go and think about his eyes? And why was her heart pounding like that?

Because her body was sending her warning signals, that’s why. Danger! Danger! This man was not only out of her league, he was out of her stratosphere. This was a bad idea. She had to put an end to it, right this minute.

‘Sorry, I can’t. You see I was out last night—’

‘I know, I was there.’

‘Yes, but I don’t go out weeknights.’

‘And yet, there you were last night.’

‘But that’s the thing, I hardly ever go out weeknights.’

‘We’re going to have to do something about that.’

We? Who’s we? What we?

‘No, we don’t,’ Kathryn said. ‘I’ve got assignments I should be working on.’

‘Are any of them due tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘Well, no …’ she faltered.

‘Then it’s beginning to sound like one of those lame excuses you were going to give Norbert.’

‘Norville.’

‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘Come on, don’t make me beg. You’ll ruin this carefully cultivated reputation you claim I have.’

Kathryn couldn’t help smiling then. What was the matter with her? She’d had fun last night — he was nice, he’d behaved like a gentleman, and he was certainly easy on the eye … maybe too easy on the eye … Oh boy, she was really going to have to keep her wits about her.

‘Kate, are you still there?’

‘Yes, I’m here.’

‘So, what do you say?’

‘All right,’ she said finally. ‘But only if it’s somewhere casual,’ she added. ‘I couldn’t stand getting dressed up two nights in a row.’

‘Suits me. Is seven okay?’

‘Seven’s fine.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

Kathryn replaced the receiver. She didn’t know what to make of all that. Jack Gallagher was literally surrounded by gorgeous women every day, and if even a fraction of the gossip was true he wouldn’t be short of a date. His looks alone guaranteed that. So why would he want to go out with her? And what was the big hurry?

She suddenly felt self-conscious. Last night she was all dressed up, she probably looked older and more sophisticated — that’s why he made such a big deal about her age on the phone just now. She shouldn’t have insisted on going casual tonight; it was going to be difficult to create much of an illusion in jeans, with her hair down.

She sighed aloud. Why was she thinking like that? She hardly ever dressed up. If he was so interested, he’d just have to take her as she was. Take her or leave her. Probably the latter. So who cared? It was one night. Better to spend it with him than another Abernathy-Fairhurst.

Kathryn stood and stretched. If she was going out later then she really needed to get some work done now. As she had tried to tell him, she barely ever went out on a weeknight, and never two in a row. She only accepted the almost unavoidable dates her parents engineered, and even then she’d plead pressure of study to get out of most of them. Friday night was the only night she regularly gave herself off. After class she’d go to the uni bar, listen to whatever band was playing, have a few drinks. Her friends considered it a triumph if they could get her to stay out after ten.

Spending so much time alone didn’t bother her. She was happiest in her own company, seated at her drawing board. Her ‘magnificent obsession’, Charlie used to call it. He was the only one in the family who understood. Her father had expected her to follow his footsteps into the law, so Kathryn changed her preferences after her parents had signed the form for university admission. She’d seen what it had done to Charlie and she wasn’t going to let that happen to her. She also took the extra step of moving up to Sydney. It had taken a relentless campaign on her part, but her parents had finally given in, albeit with a long list of conditions. Kathryn knew she wasn’t really independent, but somehow studying a course of her choosing, in another state, made her feel independent at least. And as soon as she graduated and started earning her own income, her life would finally be her own. And no one was going to take that away from her.

So a social life was merely a temporary casualty on the path to bigger things; there’d be plenty of opportunity to make up for lost time later.

But now her thoughts wandered as she sat, pencil poised above her current project — the northern elevation for a small townhouse development, that was due in a couple of weeks. Last night she’d been absorbed right up to the minute Norville arrived, reluctant to drag herself away to go to some dreary function. But today Kathryn just couldn’t get her brain back into gear.

She finally gave up and went to her wardrobe to see what to wear tonight. Usually she barely gave that a second thought. She wasn’t sure she liked the effect Jack Gallagher was having on her. See, she knew this was a bad idea. She should have stood her ground and said no, then she’d be happily working away without this distraction.

Maybe it was just as well he’d called so soon — she could get this out