Love or Money (17 page)

Around five, the crowd began to melt away. Erin looked for Hamish, not wanting him to think she'd been avoiding him. She needn't have worried. She caught a glimpse of him, surrounded by a group of elder statesmen from the local Green scene — his fan club. She found her car and drove home, tired but fulfilled.

Once inside, she checked her cell phone. There was a message from Hamish.

Hi Erin, this is Hamish. Sorry we couldn't catch up at Pembroke today. My day got completely out of hand. Anyway, lots to talk about. Can you make dinner at the Golden Dragon this week? Tuesday night round seven? I'd like to discuss the next steps of the campaign with you. And enjoy your company too. Of course. Could you call me to confirm asap? Bye, and thanks for the great job you did today. The sandwich team all fell in love with you
.

Tonight was not a Golden Dragon night. After a day of noise and crowds and passion, Erin needed space and solitude. She'd earned a glass of wine on her veranda. She took bottle and glass outside and flopped into her deckchair. As she let the darkness flow over her, she heard her phone ring. Groaning, she walked inside and answered it.

‘Erin!' It was Todd's voice, breathless, hysterical. ‘What on earth?'

‘Not again, Todd.' She groaned. ‘What's bothering you this time?' Desperately, she wanted to slip back to the veranda and reconnect with the dusk falling over the sea.

‘I just watched the evening news.' Todd seemed to be choking with disbelief. ‘There you were, Eri, waving a knife. Grinning insanely. Then this voiceover. Saying something like the residents of Pembroke Shire would fight to the death to save their beloved forest. That they'd hack to death anyone who came into town talking woodchip mills.'

His voice died away. Erin paused as she pieced together what had happened. The television crew had done their own thing with their shot of her waving the knife, in the interests of their story. Never let the truth get in the way of a good story, a veteran journalist had once told her. As front man of the woodchip project, Todd would lose many Brownie points if his former girlfriend was seen to be fighting for the other side. As she puzzled over his words, he came back.

‘Eri. Please! You have to come home. It's an absolute emergency. After that TV disaster, the whole project is at risk. Say you'll come on Monday. Just for a night or two. Please! My clients will kill me if they find out that knife-wielding loony on the TV news is my girlfriend.'

‘You mean ex-girlfriend, Todd. And the answers to your questions are no, no, and no.' She hung up and headed for the veranda, giggling as she walked.

Erin woke next morning fresh and ready for the long day ahead. She'd focus on her writing during the morning, then post-lunch, begin organising the cottage repairs. As she sat at the kitchen table making her to-do list for the day, her cell phone rang.

‘Erin?' It was Stacey Hill, her literary agent.

‘Hi Stacey.'

‘You absolutely won't believe this, Erin.' The usually deadpan woman, always quick to play down any situation, was fizzing with excitement.

‘Try me.'

‘First, when can you make a quick trip to Hollywood? Leave, say Friday week? All travel costs taken care of?'

‘Whatever my agent wills. As always.' Erin's heart, suddenly with a mind of its own, pounded like a jackhammer. If stolid, emotionless Stacey was excited, something pretty spectacular must be happening. Was it — could it be — something to do with the two Katies?

‘I just had a call from Fantastory — you remember?' Stacey continued, breathless. ‘The guys from Los Angeles who liked your magic kangaroo story. They emailed me. Want the two of us to pay a visit. Soon. “To discuss working together on an idea for a future animated series.” Those are their exact words, Erin. I'm blown away.'

‘Well…' Erin drew breath. ‘Let's go, then.'

‘Okay. There's so much to talk about.' Stacey bubbled like a just-popped bottle of champagne. ‘I'll book our trip for Friday week. We'll have time to talk on the plane — royalties, costs, distribution, licences, the works. They told me there's a respectable hotel a block away from their offices. I'll get them to book us rooms for a few days.'

‘Fine,' Erin said slowly. If this was a dream, it felt pretty real. If the deal happened, it could change her life. Not least, by winning her cash for her mother's operation. Maybe she wouldn't have to sell the property she loved more each day. At the very least, some cash might give her a little breathing space. ‘Get back to me with the flight details, Stacey,' she chirped. ‘I'll head for Sydney the night before, fully loaded with high hopes and girlish optimism.'

Fighting a mad urge to run round and round the cottage screaming like a hysterical teenager, Erin moved to the veranda and tried to figure out a sensible plan for the next few days. First, she must work on her manuscript. For the rest of the day, she'd start polishing. The whole six episodes would take time. The sooner she started, the better.

At six, she showered and changed into a special dress for the date with Hamish at the Golden Dragon. This time, there'd be something to celebrate.

‘First, something I should put on the table before we get serious about woodchips,' Erin said as she sat down with Hamish at the restaurant. ‘I fly to Los Angeles on Friday week.' He stared at her, eyes wide. ‘It seems one of my crazy children's book ideas just might come good. The LA people want to talk to us, my literary agent and me. They'll pick up the travel expenses. My agent is…how to put it? Cautiously optimistic. And if ever there was a slick negotiator, she's it.'

‘Congratulations!' Hamish smiled and stooped to recover a bag from under the table. ‘I'm glad I brought a little something to go with dinner. I was a bit undecided about it.' He paused. ‘After — Honey and everything. But now we have a good excuse.' He fumbled in the bag and pulled out a bottle. Andy Chan appeared on cue. ‘Hi Andy,' Hamish smiled. ‘It seems we have something to celebrate. Meet the most famous children's author in Luna Bay.'

‘Congratulations!' Andy smiled. ‘Perhaps you'd like to lash out tonight, Erin? Not your usual. Some Peking duck?' The waiter had caught the mood.

‘Why not?' Erin allowed herself a grin. A huge bubble of happiness threatened to pop inside her head and make her burst into song. Wine glasses appeared. Andy poured. Hamish lifted his glass. ‘To your golden future, Erin. You deserve it.'

‘Thanks.' Erin sipped her wine. ‘The LA thing — it's not a done deal — no way. My agent says even when moviemakers sit down with writers, ninety-nine percent of the time, nothing happens.'

‘You'll be the one in a hundred,' Hamish beamed. The meals arrived. Erin was glad she'd splurged on the duck. As she tasted the crunchy brown skin floating in a sea of Peking sauce and seductive vegetables, she felt life was good. The wine, carefully topped up by the attentive Hamish, helped to spread the icing on the cake of her happiness. She watched his smile, his body language. She could be pretty sure he'd put his sorrow behind him.

Hamish needed time out. The night before their dinner date, he'd lectured himself again. Don't let it get too up close and personal. That gorgeous woman with the big innocent eyes — she could be a spy, remember. A very smart spy, who knows how to exploit a man's weakness. Now his naïve heart was falling for her. What to do? Just be cautious. Don't fall for the first thing she tries to tempt you with. Enjoy your evening, but…

Between courses, Erin raised the subject of Todd without any prompting from Hamish.

‘He's in the game to win,' she said. ‘Ethics or no ethics. And I think his client will encourage him. “Money's no object for these guys,” I heard him say once.'

‘We have the people on our side,' Hamish said. ‘And we're getting pretty good at working with the media too. One of these days I'll tell you about the stoush at Harley's Creek. But not tonight.' He leaned back, hands behind head.

The bill came and Hamish paid it. Silence settled over their table. A part of her hungered to be close to him, alone. She looked into his eyes. ‘Ready for something a little different?' she said. ‘Maybe a stroll along the beach?'

Hamish's radar lit up. He remembered his self-lecture — the spy thing. Don't get too up-close-and-personal. He slid a sideways look at Erin. Somehow his earlier suspicions that she might be a spy for the other side no longer made sense. He could handle it. A stroll along the deserted beach would be pleasant, non-threatening.

‘That would be
perfect
,' he said. Something melted inside Erin. Soon the two of them would be walking barefoot on the strip of moist sand at the water's edge, maybe hand in hand. Would there be a moon?

‘The moon should be rising about now,' Hamish said, reading her mind again. ‘Let's go.' He drove to the beach and parked near the steps leading to the sand.

‘Let's sit on the steps for a minute,' he said in the dark. She snuggled close beside him, feeling the warmth of his body through his jacket.

‘There's something I have to do before we brave Nature in the raw,' he said. Even in the dark, she could tell he was grinning.

‘Really? What's that?'

‘This.' Slowly, slowly, he slid an arm round her. Slowly, slowly, he pulled her close. She turned her face up to his.

Slowly, his lips found hers. The kiss taunted her. She shivered. Still he moved in slow motion, kisses warm, loving. She remembered the moment she'd held him on her visit after Honey's death — the way their souls had seemed to melt into one. Again, her body began to have ideas of its own — ideas that made her crush him close, climb over him, smother him with her body. His gasps told her he liked it. All of him, including a certain part of his body…His kisses took on a hunger that fuelled hers. As she pressed herself closer, he held her tighter.

‘Not here.' He looked up at the sky. ‘The moon. Maybe…our walk.' She looked to the horizon, saw the bright half circle swimming up from the depths of the ocean. He stood, pulled her up beside him. Shoes abandoned, they walked to the stretch of hard sand lapped by the whispering wavelets. The moon smiled down as it rose, laying a silver carpet across the water. They walked arm in arm to the end of the beach, bodies brushing warm against each other.

‘I should go soon.' Erin wanted to walk on forever, but Practical Pig told her to back away. Her body wanted just one thing — to lie beside this man, smother his hot body with hers, nakedness to nakedness, make everlasting love with him, have his babies, never leave him.

‘Okay,' he whispered. He led her back to his car. Silently, with loving touching, he drove back to her place. ‘Next time, we'll…' He whispered into her ear, her lips, her cleavage. As his tongue brushed the sensitive parts, she swallowed the urge to shriek with happiness.

‘We'll what?' she asked, grinning in the dark.

‘Wait till you get back from LA.' With a long, deep, no-holds-barred kiss, he farewelled her. She walked down the path to her cottage door, body singing. Next time, next time…

For the first time in ages, Erin slept like a baby until the sun's heat filled her bedroom. She sprang out of bed and walked to the veranda. As she took in the sparkle of the morning sun on the water, her cell phone rang.

‘Sorry to call you, darling. I waited till I thought you'd be awake.' Erin caught the worried pitch in her mother's voice, a pitch the older woman tried, and failed, to hide. ‘Thought I should tell you, I'll be spending a week or two in hospital. Just for some tests and things.'

‘Oh, Mum. Tell me the truth.' A cold hand crushed Erin's heart. ‘Why more tests? Didn't you do the whole test thing a couple of weeks ago?'

‘I did, darling. It's just that — I've had some turns over the last few days, and Doctor Evans said we should do more tests. And bed rest meantime.' Erin knew too well that this was the doctor's way of saying her mother's condition had worsened.

Erin reeled. The LA trip. She mustn't breathe a word of it to her distressed mother. Should she postpone it? What if — God forbid — her mother died during her time in hospital? But she might be back home again before her mother's tests were even finished. What if? What if? What if? If she turned down the trip now, the LA people would surely ditch her and her story. Her one chance to make money for the operation, without selling the property, would waft away into the stratosphere.

After dishing a few spoonfuls of sugary platitudes to her mother while she choked back her own tears, Erin hung up, let the tears come. Los Angeles was at best a long shot, a one-in-a-hundred chance. And it might take months, years even, to deliver. She would make the trip to LA, but she'd also put the property up for sale — now. Her mother was the most important person in her life. This was no time to let selfishness take over.

Without bothering to change out of the tracksuit and trainers she'd climbed into for her morning walk, she headed for the gate. She'd visit the local real estate office.

‘How long do you think it'll take to sell?' she asked the fortyish, dark-suited man who ushered her into his office.

‘I know the place well,' he said. ‘It's a beautiful property. The cottage could do with a makeover. But that view —'

‘Yes, but will someone walk in tomorrow and buy it?'

‘There are no certainties in this business, Ms Spenser. It could sell in a day, it could be sitting on the shelf for a year or more. Now as to price, what were you thinking?'

‘I just want it to sell. Fast.' This was no time for common sense, for driving a hard bargain. ‘My mother's — dying. I need the money for her heart transplant. If I get enough for that, I'm satisfied.'

‘Leave it with us, Ms Spenser. We'll write the ad copy. Do a little research and get back to you. And remember, once you have a genuinely interested buyer, you can always negotiate.'