Chapter 68
Ore
Day 14
Sydney Harbour
After the fight with Daniel, Ore was in a daze. He had played her, wheedled his way into her heart, gotten her excited about her journalism again, for just long enough that he could sleep with her. And then once that was not an option anymore, all of a sudden his true colours revealed themselves, or maybe re-revealed themselves. She felt a fool for trusting not once, but twice. Who knew how much he’d told Chuck. She was in a fight against the clock to get this story finished and published before it got smothered by gag orders.
That last night, she’d cried herself into a dreamless sleep. At dawn she’d gathered her things and waited in the main salon right next to where the gangway would emerge. She wanted to get off as soon as humanly possible. She wondered if it was Daniel guiding the ship into the harbour from above, and she seethed at the idea of him sitting there, calmly getting on with his job as though he hadn’t broken her heart.
It was Oscar who popped up to heave the large red leverinto place and open up the side of the boat. ‘Eager to get off, are we?’ he quipped between huffs of effort.
‘Yes I am actually, being on this boat is making me sick to my stomach,’ Ore replied dryly.
‘Never did find your sea legs then, miss?’ Oscar pulled on the large metal door and Ore felt a relief wash over her with the morning breeze.
‘It appears not. I thought that maybe I had settled into ocean-faring life for a minute there, but I was wrong,’
‘Right you are, miss …’ Oscar pressed a button and they both watched as the gangway unfurled itself shakily. Oscar blithely hopped onto the swaying mesh walkway and tied its wavering end to a metal bollard on the dock.
‘Whenever you’re ready, miss, dry land awaits,’ he called.
Don’t look down,Ore told herself as she stepped out. Arriving on the chopper had been terrifying in its own way, but on balance this was worse. Somehow she made it to the marina. She waited impatiently for Oscar to collect her bags and then made a hasty exit. As the rumble of her wheels thundered across the wooden planks underfoot, she shot nervous glances over her shoulder, paranoid that someone was following her. She wouldn’t be able to shake that feeling for days.
When she arrived at the airport, the check-in desk informed her that she had been upgraded to business class ‘courtesy of theNew York Herald’. Her late-night, hastily compiled email turning down the job and withdrawing her consent for the profile piece to be published obviously had not yet reached the New York office – the wonders of time zones. She was grateful for this one last perk of the job she’d never have.
She landed in JFK groggy and sleep-deprived, and almostburst into tears to see her Auntie Laurie waiting in arrivals. She folded herself into the familiar warmth of her arms.
‘Let’s get you home,’ Laurie said, stroking her head softly. ‘You must be exhausted.’ They barely spoke on the drive back to Queens, and Ore was thankful for it as she dozed in and out of sleep to the Nineties hits of WBLS.
The next day Ore woke up to a response from Henry, and five missed calls. The email read:
Hi Ore, I’m not sure what prompted this change of heart, but I would urge you to reconsider, give me a call and we can discuss everything.
All my best,
Henry
Ore was even more unsettled by the pleading Henry than she had been with chirpy Henry. She didn’t reply and blocked his number. After some digging around she found the tip line for theNew York Tribune. In her pitch she made it sound like she had already secured Mel as a named source. For the next few days she checked her missed calls and inbox incessantly.
