Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Jules
One year earlier
F amiliar, musty smells waft around me as I stride down the brightly lit hallway. I reach my destination, straighten my jacket and readjust the stranglehold on my handbag.
My fingers hover over the door handle.
Breathe, Jules. You can do it. This job was made for you. I suck in a deep breath and knock.
“Come in.”
Oh God. This is it. I smooth the sides of my carefully coifed bun and turn the knob.
Professor Leaton pushes out of a black leather chair and meets me halfway. “Welcome, Ms Garcia.”
I’m taken aback for a moment at hearing my maiden name, but I quickly compose myself. I shake his hand, pleased that mine doesn’t seem to tremble even though my insides are jiggling like I’m dancing barefoot on an ant’s nest. “Thanks for seeing me, Professor.”
He gestures to the chair across from his desk. “Please, call me Chris. ”
I sink into the plush seat and admire the bookshelves lining the walls. Drink in the warm, comforting smell of leather-bound tomes. Dropping my handbag onto the floor, I cross my legs and make eye contact, trying to project confidence.
He taps a file in front of him. “Your university results are outstanding.”
“Thank you, Professor … I mean Chris. And please call me Jules.”
He pours a glass of water. “You look like you could do with this?”
I laugh. It’s a shaky sound that’s out of place in the impressive office. “Is my nervousness that obvious?”
He smiles and hands me the glass. “It’s natural. You mentioned on the phone that you have a five-year-old daughter?”
I should have kept my personal life out of it, but I had to explain the massive blank space on my resume. “Yes. It won’t affect my ability to do the job, though.” I hope.
He leans back in his chair. “We do our best to be flexible. I’m sure you’d find the working arrangements to your liking.”
Oh wow. Does that mean I’ve already got the position? Program Coordinator. It’s a foot in the door, helping to set up research programs, including my specialty, Egyptian archaeology. A chance to prove myself. I clasp my fingers on my lap and will my expression to remain neutral. “That’s wonderful.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Jules. Your lack of experience is of concern to the other members of the faculty.”
A lump swells in my throat. Of course, it would be. But they wouldn’t have invited me for an interview if they didn’t think I was suitable. “Unfortunately, there hasn’t been the opportunity before now. But I can do this job. ”
“I know you can.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. “There may be some travel required.”
“That won’t be a problem. I have my husband to help at home.” I cross my fingers. Mick has no clue I applied for the position, let alone I’m at this interview, but he’ll support me. He has to.
“That’s great.” He folds his arms, his expression satisfied. I try to keep the little spark of hope contained. They must have other candidates to assess. “Your supervisor from the Egyptian dig was very complimentary regarding your work ethic for the short time you were there.”
“You spoke with Professor Messon?”
“Of course.”
That’s a relief. I was too chicken to ask the professor to be a referee. I wasn’t even sure if he’d remember me.
Professor Leaton asks me a few more questions and our thirty minutes are gone in a flash. He stands and I scramble out of my seat, my legs protesting at the sudden movement.
“Thanks again, Jules. I’ll be in touch within the week.”
I float on air down the corridor and into the car park. This job is mine. I can feel it all the way to the first piece of pottery I uncovered on my virgin dig in third year uni.
Thank you for your application. Unfortunately, you’ve been unsuccessful on this occasion.
Blah, blah, blah.
I stare at the email for the hundredth time, but the words haven’t changed. They still say ‘no’.
When I received the response, I immediately rang Professor Leaton. He said he recommended me for the position, but the dean of the faculty overruled him. The professor was apologetic but a fat lot of good it does me. They went with some guy with eight years’ experience instead .
My plan had been to surprise Mick and tell him I’d secured a full-time job. Instead, I’ll be telling him I failed.
I punch my fist on my thigh. Why is life so unfair?
I glance at the door of the little café I’m sitting in, but there’s no sign of my husband. He promised he’d take an extra-long lunch break today. He’s done it many times in the past so we can enjoy a midweek date.
I call Mick’s number, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Hey, babe, if you’re not here in the next ten minutes, I’m gonna start without ya.” But I really, really want you here.
I drum my fingers on the table. I couldn’t tell him about the rejection yesterday. It was too raw, and he was distracted. Checking his phone constantly. I mean, even more often than normal. His mobile’s like another part of his anatomy. It’s surprising how busy accountants can be. If I was a jealous woman, I’d wonder if he was cheating. But I’ve seen a few of the hundreds of emails he receives every day, and they’re as boring as you’d expect an accountant’s emails to be.
Mick has a terrible habit of losing himself in his work, but when he makes a commitment, he always follows through. And I desperately need him today.
I thought about keeping the disappointment to myself, but it’ll eat away at me if I do that. Best to share the news. Let Mick know that, with Riley now in school, resuming my career is important to me.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Would you like to order?”
My stomach protests. Food’s the last thing it wants. “No, thanks. I’ll just pay for the coffee.”
I step through the door and onto the pavement. Men and women in suits jostle past, some smiling, others resembling Mick with their mobiles stuck to their ears. Bugger it. If he can’t come to me, I’ll go to him.
It’s a short walk to the taxation office. But I’m met with a brick wall in the shape of a fifty-something woman who looks like she hasn’t smiled since leaving school .
“I’m sorry, but Mr Williams stepped out for lunch.”
“No, he didn’t, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“Jules?” I swivel at the husky voice and look up. Then up some more. I’m not a short woman, but Ryan’s at least six feet four.
The tension in my neck eases at the familiar face. “Hi. Mick was supposed to meet me for lunch, but he didn’t show.”
“Oh.” He glances at the receptionist, then at the door as if Mick’s going to burst through it. “That’s odd. Maybe he double booked.”
“Double booked?”
“Yeah.” His gaze slides to the left. He’s lying. Why?
Heat sweeps up my neck and across my cheeks. I suddenly feel like a fool for chasing a husband who isn’t here to be caught. “No problem.” I spin on my heel and stride through the glass doors.
How could Mick forget our lunch date? And why did Ryan lie?
“I’m sorry, Jules.” Mick stands in the living room door, shadows in his eyes, hands in his pockets.
I don’t need to look at my phone to know it’s 8.30 pm. I’ve been checking the time every five minutes for the last hour.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. I had a business lunch come up and forgot about our date. That was inexcusable.” He shrugs off his coat. “You said you had something to tell me?”
I shake my head and pick up my wine glass. He’s never forgotten before. What’s different about today?
His gaze flicks to the empty bottle beside me. “I’m guessing your news wasn’t that you’re pregnant.”
I ignore the hopeful half question in his voice. “It was nothing. I just wanted to have lunch with my husband.” No way I’m baring my soul to him now.
He slumps onto the lounge next to me. “I really am sorry, Jules.”
“I know you are.” So am I. Because, for the first time in our marriage, a niggle of doubt seeps into my heart.