The Better Woman (43 page)

‘Well, don't worry about the board. They'll understand.'

Sarah put down the phone, took a few deep breaths, and then picked it up again. The phone at the farm rang through to the answering machine.

‘Tim! I'm ringing to let you know that I'm coming home in the morning, and to tell you how sorry I am for being such an idiot, and for not being honest with you . . . You see, there's something you don't know about me, something that happened when I was eighteen, and it might explain why I am the way I am. Why I feel I don't deserve to have a baby. Why I'm always pushing to get to the top, to be the best. I know I'm talking to a machine . . . but I just needed you to know that I'm sorry . . . and that I'm coming home . . . I hope you can forgive me . . . I love you . . .'

She didn't say on the message that she was willing to try IVF. Nor that she'd been to a classical music concert and had finally let go of her first love. She would explain all that when she saw Tim face to face. She would explain the self-hatred after the abortion and how it had nurtured the notion that she didn't deserve another baby. She would explain how the need to prove herself had compelled her to fly to New York in pursuit of a job she didn't really want or need. Only now could she see the past few weeks for what they were: her old demons disguised as self-righteous anger rather than their usual manifestation of depression and anxiety.

Tim would forgive her, Sarah was sure of it. He'd already shown her in a thousand ways how much he loved her. He would gently tell her that she shouldn't hate herself or feel unworthy.

‘You're more than good enough as you are, Sarah,' he would say. ‘There's no need to be better.'

The following morning dawned with heavy cloud and drizzling rain. The traffic on Seventh Avenue was even more aggressive in the wet, but the double-glazed windows of the Renaissance muted the squealing tyres and honking horns.

Jodi looked critically at her reflection in the mirror. The suit she wore was grey, the skirt falling to her knees and the jacket nipping in at her waist. Her pastel green shirt softened the grey, as did her hair, golden and loose. Her make-up was subtle, her lips glossed. She looked both feminine and professional.

Who is Jodi Tyler? She's smart. She's loyal. She works hard. Family is important to her. She likes the smell of the sea and the feeling of sand between her toes. She doesn't compromise. She's a survivor.

Jodi checked her compendium to ensure that she had everything she needed: a few spare copies of her résumé, a notepad and a pen. She felt quietly confident. She'd always been good at interviews, possibly because she was good at sales, and what were interviews, after all, but a sales pitch?

She could do this job and she was quite certain that she would be able to convince the board of this fact. She would share her enthusiasm with them, let them see how much she wanted to live and work in this city, to breathe in its vibrancy. In a few years' time, when she'd tired of the glitz, she would return to Sydney, to live in Grandma's house, her inheritance, her home. But that was not for her interviewers to know and it didn't in any way diminish what she could achieve for EquiBank in the interim.

With her compendium under her arm, and her matching Oroton bag on her shoulder, she closed the door to her room and
headed towards the lift. It came without delay and she stepped inside. Just as the doors were closing, she saw a woman rushing down the corridor, pulling along a travel case.

‘Can you hold it, please?'

Jodi had lived in London long enough to be able to pick an Irish accent. She pressed the button to hold the lift open and the woman smiled her thanks as she got in. With a slight jerk, the lift started downwards. The woman smoothed her chestnut hair, which had fallen out of place in the rush. Her skin was pale and clear, typically Celtic.

‘Going home?' Jodi enquired politely.

‘Yes,' she nodded. ‘A last-minute change of plans.'

They said nothing for the rest of the journey down. When they alighted at the foyer, the woman headed for the desk to check out and Jodi went outside to get a cab.

‘There's not many around this morning, miss,' the bellboy told her. ‘It's the wet weather.'

Jodi had plenty of time to get to her interview, so there was no need to worry. After a few minutes, the Irish woman hurried outside and her expression became panicked when she saw that Jodi was still waiting.

‘I hope I don't miss my flight!'

She seemed to be in a very big rush to get back to Ireland.

Jodi smiled reassuringly. ‘I'm sure there'll be other flights this morning.'

The woman still looked anxious. ‘My husband is meeting me off the plane. I don't want him to have to wait, he's been patient enough.'

Her face brightened as not one but two taxis pulled up outside the hotel.

‘Thank goodness for that.'

Jodi smiled. ‘Have a good trip home.'

Moments later, the yellow cabs rejoined the heavy traffic, one behind the other. Shortly after, the second one changed lanes and the cabs were abreast. They stayed like this until the next intersection, and there they went their separate ways.