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Sonia looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. “You make it sound disgusting. The micro-nutrient analyser is still going ahead—in synergy with the tiger nuts. It takestime, Duncan. We can’t possibly expect to see a return on investment yet.”
Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if Sonia was sinking a lot more than her husband’s money into Davenport Inc. He flipped the brochure over, only to be met by the white teeth and swept-back hair of the health and vitamin entrepreneur, Michael Davenport.
Oliver had seen enough. He passed the brochure back. “It might be beneficial in the first instance to discuss your individual comfort levels for financial risk. I’m thinking a growth plan mixed with conservative might be a good compromise.”
He shot a reassuring smile at Duncan, who struck him as a man exhausted by the vagaries of a wife twenty years his junior.
Maybe Oliver should think himself lucky. Singledom had its benefits. In a few more months perhaps he’d work out what they were. Right now, even when he lay in bed and racked his brains as to why Leonie had left him, he came up with negative returns.
“Great advice.” Duncan let out a resigned sigh. “My love, I think we’ll arrange another appointment with Oliver before I agree to sink any more money into this scheme.”
As Oliver escorted them out, Sonia bristled like a Persian cat and even the padding in Duncan’s sports jacket couldn’t mask the fact that, after a lifetime of manufacturing sliding doors, the poor guy was sliding into retirement with a wife who was determined to bleed him dry.
Having organised another appointment, done the hand pumping and suffered an air kiss from Sonia, Oliver returned to his office and flung himself into his chair.
Had it been a good idea to leave his life in Sydney for a job in his dad’s financial advisory business here on the west coast? Sure, he’d needed a break, but had running back to the city he grew up in really helped?
Perth held painful memories.
But now Sydney held worse ones.
No,he reminded himself firmly. He’d needed to escape the media storm. Thehumiliation.The double page spreadNew Ideahad planned to run about their wedding had turned into a piece entitled “Life not adding up to happy ever after for finance guru, Oliver Blake”. But it was the headline in theSydney Morning Heraldsocial pages that really took the cake: “Oliver Blake’s fiancée decides he’s a bad investment”. And don’t even get him started on the social media hashtags…
A groan escaped him. At least here in Perth, he could quietly take up space on the top floor of Dad’s huge house on the river, be fussed over by his stepmum, Andrea, eat her beautiful food when he could summon an appetite. Go for long runs, pounding the path along the river every morning, desperate to forget.
He stood up abruptly, strode over to the window. Sweeping views of the city met his gaze, the cars like ants crawling along the edge of the river and the sparkling buildings around Elizabeth Quay making Perth look like a toy town. A toy town with toy people, going about their toy town business.
He’d given himself an open-ended time frame, but maybe after Aaron and Alice’s wedding he’d return to Sydney, put the apartment on the market, then take off with a backpack and climb Machu Picchu. Meditate in a monastery in Tibet. Skydive out of a small plane and hope his parachute failed to open.
Stop. Just stop.
He ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t going to become one of those miserable glass half-empty types. Looking back only gave you a stiff neck. As of now, he was moving forwards.
His intercom beeped.
Hayley, their receptionist, chirped, “Aaron on line one.”
Oliver hesitated. It would be another call about the preparations—could you organise this or do that, pick up the bonbonnieres. Like seriously—sugared almonds? Leonie would have said they were so yesterday…
At which the word “Fuck!” spurted out of his mouth.
“Is everything okay?” Hayley, who inhabited a world filled exclusively with rainbows and unicorns, sounded confused.
“Ignore that Hayley, just seen a dip in the price of iron ore. Put him on—hi mate, what’s up?”
“Are you busy?”
“Just finished with my last client.”
Aaron rushed on. “You wouldn’t be able to pick up Felicity from the airport by any chance? My car’s got some bloody oil leak happening and Alice’s dress fitting is running over.”
Oliver stifled his annoyance. Felicity was part of the English contingent and Alice’s first cousin. He had nothing against any of them—in fact, he was looking forward to meeting Alice’s father, Henry Beacham Brown, a professor of English at Cambridge University. Intelligent conversation was Oliver’s gig. But he’d been an informal tour guide often enough to know that educated humans appeared to lose most of their grey matter at the prospect of seeing a kangaroo in the wild. And koalas. “What? No koalas in the city? You’re kidding me, I thought they wereeverywhere.”
He pulled himself up short. There it went again, that carping monologue inside his head. He needed to focus on someone else’s happiness. Aaron and Alice’s. He was the MC, for god’s sake, he had to do meet and greets and kangaroo sightings with a good grace.
“Sure. No problem.” He smoothed any tension from his voice. “I’ve finished here, so I’m free any time.”
“The flight arrives in one hour.”
