Page 4 of Third Time’s a Charm

“Okay. Right. Well. Umm.” Louise clears her throat. “Thank you for making time to listen to my presentation today on the marketing, distribution and winery partnership opportunities I believe Cellar Road International are uniquely positioned to leverage.”

It’s not like me, but as Louise settles into the rhythm of her presentation, my mind wanders. There’s something familiar about her. She’s not so familiar that I think I know her, but something is teasing at the back of my memory.

She directs most of her presentation to the managing director of the Australian office, but every now and then spares me a nervous glance, confirming my suspicion that my presence has rattled her.

Given how much my stomach is rebelling, it’s probably a good thing she isn’t paying me too much attention. But the noises are getting louder and it’s only a matter of time before they drown out Louise’s words.

I shift in my chair and reach for the glass of water in front of me, then think better of it. The last thing I need is to undermine my dignity by upchucking on the table, and I’m not confident of my ability to keep it down.

Just as she’s coming to the bottom-line numbers in her presentation, it hits me.

Holy shit.

If I wasn’t so knackered, maybe I would have twigged to her name.

Louise Baker.

How could I forget, even if I haven’t seen her since I was fifteen.

We shared what were surely some of the most mortifying moments of each other’s lives. Even if we were only children.

Louise Baker, whose mother was my mother’s childhood best friend.

I gasp at the realisation and sit bolt upright in my chair.

The sudden movement directs all eyes towards me. It’s clear from the terror on Louise’s face that she knows this is the moment when I’ve recalled who she is. No wonder she seemed nervous.

She needn’t worry. There are plenty of people out there who’d classify me as a Grade 1 Listed Arsehole, but I’m not going to embarrass her over things that happened when we were kids.

“Is everything alright, Jasper?” John Mackelden asks.

I swallow down the unpleasant lump in my throat. “Yes. Yes, carry on,” I manage to mutter.

Despite the technical snafu at the start, and the fact I’ve been distracted by both her familiarity and the cramps in my belly, not to mention how pretty she is, what I’ve managed to take in of her presentation has been thorough and well put together.

As she’s about to conclude, I realise my mouth is watering. A sure sign I need to get out of this room, lest I have an accident to rival Louise’s from all those years ago.

I stand abruptly.

“Thank you for the presentation, Louise. Please email a copy to me. John can confirm my email address.”

I stalk out of the room without a backward glance, heading straight for the cool silence of the men’s room.

Rather than stay in the office and risk embarrassing myself, I decide to work the rest of the day from the serviced apartment the company has put me up in.

It’s small but has a lovely view of the harbour and is walking distance to the office.

The rain of this morning has given way to a glittering afternoon, sunshine gilding the buildings of the city on the other shore of the bustling waterway.

Steam rises off the damp street below as I sit on my tiny balcony with a bottle of lemonade and a box of crackers, trying to catch the faint breeze, and feeling monumentally sorry for myself. There’s a strange kind of bittersweet comfort in the fact that I can still remember my mother’s standard treatment for an upset stomach so many years after she died.

Comfort and melancholy. Because I’m here again in Sydney. A city I promised myself I would never revisit. And with over five million people living in this spectacular city, how did I manage to end up in a conference room with the one who witnessed my pain? Who, with nothing more than a glance, can remind me of what I’ve lost.

I’m sure the odds are astronomical. Perhaps I should buy a lottery ticket.

Working with her, for however short a time, will undoubtedly be akin to pressing my tongue on a sore tooth.

But I can’t think about that now.