Chapter Forty-Four

After his meeting with Steve Thompson, Owen tried to focus on the paperwork piling up on his desk. He had a lot to catch up on, but with so many things in his mind, he just couldn’t. Leaving the paperwork strewn on his desk, he stood up and stared out the window at the city skyline. He let his mind whirl, his troubles a flickering kaleidoscope of the people nearest to him: Soonja, Olivia, Jude now, Olivia... Olivia. Her image hung in his mind. He knew he wanted to be with her and for that to happen, he had to clear the air with Jillian first.

On a spur of new certainty, Owen buzzed his secretary on the intercom. “Cancel my afternoon meetings, please.”

“You don’t have any,” his secretary replied. “You kept cancelling them. I can book some; there’s a list. But your schedule this afternoon is already free.”

“Oh. Right. Well... carry on, I suppose.”

Somewhat rocked by this exchange, Owen pursued the fleeting sense of certainty and started for the door. On the threshold he wheeled about, hurried back to his desk, and looked up a sudden thought online. Assured by what he found, he set out again, came back for his jacket, then headed back out of the office at speed.

***

He was calm on the drive, distant to his thoughts picking over the bones of his relationship with Jillian, his attention on the road and route, memories observed and avoided as incidental traffic.

Parked up outside her house, Owen found he had no idea what to say or do next. He had not even checked if she were in. He pulled out his phone and started tapping out a text but changed his mind almost at once and made a call instead.

It rang twice before she answered. “Owen?”

“Are you in?”

“...Yes?” She sounded surprised. “Um...”

“I'm outside. We need to talk.”

“Give me a minute.” She hung up.

Owen got out of the car and crossed the street to her door, wondering every step of the way what he would say when he got there. The door opened just as he stepped onto the front garden path, and Jillian appeared, draped in a fluffy dressing-gown over a flimsy nightrobe. Her hair was mussed as if fresh from bed and she looked sleepy, despite that it was early afternoon.

Owen suspected, uncharitably but knowing her well, that she may have done a quick-change from her day-clothes to greet him thus.

“What are your plans this afternoon?” Owen demanded.

Jillian blinked, taken aback. “Um, nothing I can’t cancel?”

“Fine, get dressed. We’re going for a paternity test. Right now.”

“I already had one,” she started to protest.

“I’m sure I don’t know how, but a paranoid man might suspect you of screwing a bent doctor to have him go through my records and forge the paternity results.”

“You can’t prove any such thing!” Jillian’s face went white with outrage, and she drew her gown closed.

Owen heard a rushing in his ears, like a wind far away. Jillian too seemed suddenly distant, his awareness turned inwards. The rushing wind was the thunder of his blood, the internal echo of his heart suddenly accelerating. Then he saw red.

Not since his schooldays and the sports field had he experienced anything like the rush of adrenaline that now took hold. His visual field narrowed upon Jillian like a predator sighting prey. Darkness edged his vision until he saw only her, a tight circle of perfect focus with all else a dark blur. Then even she was gone, a red haze falling across his eyes like a curtain.

It lasted only a moment. He was in no way a violent man. The blind fury broke against some inner bulwark of self-control that even he had not known he possessed. When he could see again, Jillian still stood alive and unharmed before him.

But she had seen the look that for a moment transfixed his gaze. She stood frozen now, recoiling but rooted to the spot, eyes like pinpricks in a mutual rush of adrenaline.

In the wake of the wave of blind rage, Owen recognized an echo of the passion that had ruled their brief relationship. But there was nothing sensual, neither in her terror nor his rage. Both were animalistic, repugnant to the better man he strove to be.

As the rushing of blood receded from his ears, he heard himself speaking, quick and sharp, spelling out her doom.

“No, I can’t prove a thing, but until I actually give a DNA sample, that’s the only possible conclusion anyone can reach. Anyone including both our lawyers and the judge. So you do want to come with me right now and get that sample. It’s the only way to cover your tracks thus far. The whole stinking plot will come apart in your hands the instant I speak to a new doctor. The only way you can even pretend to be innocent is to be with me right then and there when I get the DNA tests. If I do it alone, the next step is court, your tests against mine and your bent doctor on the stand.”

It was not a planned speech. The words just came to him, unthought until uttered. He found himself breathing hard, out of breath, calm now but with a sick, empty feeling in his gut. He swayed and stepped forward into reach to lean his hand on the doorframe for balance. Jillian shifted to make room, rotating in the doorway, leaning her back into the opposite post of the frame.

“Listen to me,” Owen managed, “it’s your last chance to show good faith...” a wave of exhaustion darkened his vision, unexpected, the aftermath of unexpended adrenaline.

“Are you all right?” Jillian asked, with apparently genuine concern.

“No... no, I think I’m about to throw up.”

“Not on my flowerbeds, you’re not. Get inside, quick, past the stairs, first door on the left.”

Owen nodded once and bolted inside. He barely noticed the décor, following her directions blindly, past the stairs, through the first door on his left and then face first into the porcelain he found beyond.

When he emerged once more into the hall, Jillian handed him a glass of water and a paper towel.

“We really are over, aren’t we?” she said. “If on seeing me, your reaction is either murder or vomit.”

Owen shook his head, accepting the water and the towel. “It’s the stress.”

“That soothes my heart no end. But come into the kitchen and sit down.”

Owen didn’t follow her. “No, Jillian. You won’t talk your way out of this. Not this time.”

“So what do you want, Owen?”

“Get dressed! We will go to a clinic and get a proper paternity test.”

Jillian stared at him, confused. “Is there such a thing as a walk-in for that?”

“Yes, I checked online before I came over,” Owen replied.

“All right, then. But I’m not getting in a car with you ten minutes after that fit at my door. Talk about if looks could kill! I thought you were about to wring my neck!”

“I think I almost did,” Owen admitted, and took out his phone. “Let’s get a cab.”