Love or Money (2 page)

‘Edna owned that beautiful strip of bush along the headland, running down towards the bay. She called it Lovers' Lookout,' he said, waving towards the window. ‘But of course you know all that. She spent a fair bit of her life working on it. Over the years, she regenerated the whole area. For far too many years, we worked there often — the local volunteer Landcarers, that is.' He looked towards the window with its glimpse of the ocean. ‘When we gathered on her veranda after our toil, Edna would serve those incredible lunches. Soups, quiches, salads, barbecues. Fresh-baked sponges slathered with cream. Cupcakes with fresh blueberries stuck to the icing, peanut brownies, shortbread…' He paused.

‘And now that land belongs to me,' Erin breathed, half to herself. At last, she could believe her grandmother's long-ago promise. She had an urge to drive out to the elderly cottage, stand on the veranda, lean into the waves of childhood memories, let them flood over her.

‘Yes.' The man became a lawyer again.

‘I'm…a bit confused about what to do next,' Erin said.

‘You'd better go and take a look at the property,' he said. ‘A fresh look. Now you're the owner.' He smiled, then looked away.

Erin had heard the expression ‘pregnant silence' and it suited the moment well. What was he holding back? Was he sharing the memory that had given her goosebumps the moment their eyes met?

‘Well then,' she said, simply to break the silence. ‘What should I do with this?' She waved the wad of papers.

‘Store it somewhere safe. As soon as possible.'

‘I should tell you now,' Erin switched back to business mode, ‘I'll have to sell the place. Very soon.'

She watched the man's face twitch, his smile dissolve. The sun had suddenly slid under a grey cloud, making the space around them cold, unfriendly. ‘Sooner rather than later, that is.' She might as well tell all. ‘My mother…she's…not well. Lives alone. She had to scratch and scrape to make ends meet ever since my father left, twenty-odd years ago. It's undermined her health. She really needs my help. Financial help, that is.' She paused, aware her words had thrown a bucket of cold water over the man. ‘What should I do with the place until I put it up for sale?'

‘You mustn't — you can't — sell Lovers' Lookout.' The man's eyes flamed. ‘An absolute travesty of your grandmother's wishes. Her dreams for you. For the property.'

‘But I told you — my mother's health, her life, even. I have no choice.'

‘I…my professional advice is that you have a very valuable asset.' His face darkened. ‘It could be extremely unwise — the height of stupidity — to sell it.' He slid into another of his forever pauses, his piercing blue eyes still staring into hers. ‘I strongly suggest—' He choked back his next words.

‘Suggest what?' she asked. ‘What other advice?
Not
professional advice?'

‘Go and look at the old place.' He drew a long breath. ‘In the next hour or so, before dark. Walk along the cliff-top. Look down at the waves. Connect with the space — with your grandmother's ghost.' He looked away. ‘Edna would turn in her grave if she heard what you just said.'

‘I'm sorry,' Erin said. ‘But I don't really have a choice.'

‘You asked me for my non-professional advice. That's it.' His frown deepened. ‘The five second grab, anyway.' Erin saw that as well as a body, the guy had a soul. For a lawyer, that was unusual. ‘Well, Ms Spenser. I mustn't keep you.' He stood, tanned hands splayed onto the desk, face businesslike. His smile had disappeared. The storm cloud which had settled over the meeting now looked positively threatening.

‘Thank you,' she said, giving in to the obvious. ‘I'd better be going then.' She collected her handbag from beside her chair and stood.

‘The name's Bourke,' he said. ‘Hamish to my friends.' His deep blue eyes drilled into hers again as she turned to leave. ‘But if you sell the place, we probably won't meet again.' She took his outstretched hand. The feel of his fingers flicked her mind back to the last time they'd touched her body.

As Erin walked back to her car, she let herself recall that tumultuous day at the beach. Was it the year she turned sixteen? Yes — the summer she'd discovered body-surfing, grown a passion for it. It had been a hot day. Pushing aside her fear of the big swell, she'd swum out beyond the breakers. With no warning, a tidal rip dragged her away from the red and yellow flags that marked the patrolled part of the beach. The safe swimming area was guarded by a young volunteer lifesaver, sitting tall and tanned on his observation tower, red and yellow cap tied under his chin.

Like a huge python, the rip tightened its grip on Erin's body, dragging her further out to sea. Enveloped by a surge of panic, she waved to the lifesaver, desperate. He spotted her, grabbed the surfboard propped against the tower, sprinted into the water, slid onto the board, and paddled out towards her.

Minutes later, he smiled down at her as she grabbed the board. She knew she was safe. Daddy Longlegs' smile had brought it all back…the way he caught her arms, hauled her onto the board, lay over her body as he ferried them back to shore, his hands powering the laden board through the waves.

As she walked, she relived the flood of relief at her rescue, and something else — the lifesaver's muscular body, lying on top of her, skin to skin, flexing against her body with every stroke of his arms. Soon, too soon, in the calm inshore water, the man slid off his board, asked her if she was okay, smiled again. She pictured the lean body, the wide shoulders, the muscles that gleamed like burnished bronze. Then his goodbye wave, her mumbled thanks. She remembered the weird, excited, unsettled feeling that swept over her as she walked back to collect her things. She'd followed him along the beach at a distance as he headed back to his lookout tower, feeling more besotted with each step.

And so to the wakeful nights in the following weeks of her first crush, the endless replays of their time together. His body warm against her wet bikini-covered skin. His chest sliding against her shoulders as he paddled back to shore. His parting smile. The same smile that had turned her brain to mush this afternoon.

Erin parked outside her grandmother's ancient weatherboard cottage. Actually it wasn't her grandmother's cottage now, she realised, but her very own. She'd enjoy it for the brief time she owned it. Why not? As she locked her car, she saw the tangle of bougainvillea wrapping its purple flowers round the brick chimney at the end of the cottage's roof. Left ungroomed, that vine would cover the rusting roof in a few years.

Fishing in her handbag for the keys given to her by the lawyer, she took hold of the verdigris-covered front door knob and turned it. The sagging door scraped against the worn sandstone step as she pushed it open. Its bare weathered wood cried out for a coat of paint. As she stepped inside, the whiff of wood smoke washed over her. In her mind's eye she saw Grandma Spenser leaning over the wood stove, stirring a pot of something that would later become a tasty country-style dinner.

She gazed around the gloomy room. There was so much to do. She must have painters in, and a carpenter to fix the sagging roof. An electric cooktop to replace the wood-fired stove. The place would fetch a higher price after some basic sprucing up. Then, the garden. Her grandmother's pride and joy would be a jungle now. She'd think about that later. Night would fall in the next hour.

She changed into shorts and trainers, hoping to catch the last of the sun as she walked the cliff-top path. There'd be scenic beauty there, she knew, but she'd tune her senses for something more precious — memories. As she walked, looking down at the white spray surging over the rocks, recollections fluttered back like birds returning to their nests at twilight. Her grandmother telling her the names of flowers growing beside the track, picking edible berries for her from overhanging branches, explaining the history behind a wave-spattered headland or a distant lighthouse.

‘I'm so sorry, Grandma,' she murmured aloud as she walked. ‘I love this place, love that you gave it to me. But Mum…you know how she suffered after Daddy left. Now, at last, I can make it up to her. And Grandma, that will mean selling your beautiful place. Your lawyer friend, Hamish — I can understand why you two got along so well — he said that you'd turn in your grave if you heard me say that. Please don't. Please understand that I don't have a choice.'

She stopped to listen, childlike, for the sound of the old woman's voice; heard nothing but the keening cry of a seagull in the dusk. Could there, just possibly, be another way? No. Without surgery, her mother's tired heart could not go on beating for much longer. Erin had been told often enough that the surgery would be expensive, but it was the only way to save her mother's life.

She turned and headed for home in time to beat the dark. There were more memories to be savoured as she sat in the lopsided cane chair on the veranda and looked out over the darkening sea. Wouldn't it be a joy to live here forever, nurtured by her grandmother's spirit? It was easy to believe the old woman's soul still lurked here, watching her every move.

Then the side of Erin she called Practical Pig tapped her on the shoulder. She must sell. Her mother wouldn't live without the financial help that could only come from selling the place. There were other positives in Erin's life. She lived a happy enough existence in a cute Sydney suburb — a comfortable flat, a job she loved, a mother who needed her to visit often. It would be crazy to leave all that behind.

There was Todd Archer too — the ex-boyfriend who didn't know the meaning of ex. Moving to Luna Bay for a few weeks while she organised repairs might finally cut the rope he'd tied round her over the years, and still tugged way too often.

They'd been seeing each other for six years; too many, she saw now, in hindsight. She'd met Todd when he was in business school and she was part way through her graphic arts course. After graduation, he segued into his father's merchant banking consultancy, and gradually took it over. Their relationship had firmed into a reliable, always-there convenience — slowly, like milk turning into cheese. Todd had seen their future together as a given. Over the last few months, he'd been ramping up the pressure.

‘We're getting to be an old married couple these days, Eri,' Todd had said over a celebratory Friday night dinner at Sydney's glitzy Darling Harbour. For days beforehand, something in Erin's subconscious had bugged her about that dinner — the latest in an ongoing series marking the capture of yet another new client for Todd's business.

‘I wish you wouldn't call me that,' she said, edgy from the moment they were shown to their table.

‘Call you what?'

‘Eri.'

‘But I've always called you that.'

‘And I've always told you I don't like it.'

‘Come on. It's your name isn't it? Close enough?'

‘I've lost count of the times I've asked you, Todd.'

‘Better get used to it, Eri. Anyway, I have something to tell you.' He leaned back, smiled mysteriously. ‘Something rather interesting.'

‘Really?'

‘My new client will deliver a nice little blip in my bank account.' He hammed a dramatic pause, hands extended. ‘Enough for…a deposit on the Pacific Towers penthouse!'

A few weekends before, he'd frogmarched her through the newest high-rise monstrosity to be built on Sydney's harbourside. As they took the lift to the penthouse floor, she decided she hated the glass-and-glitz building plastered with For Sale signs. He'd liked it. Fallen in love with it, actually. Then he'd walked her through the penthouse on the fortieth floor.

‘So, we should move in as soon as possible — as a couple,' he finished.

‘As a couple?'

‘Of course. You know my parents would approve. Strongly.'

‘I see. So it's all about what pleases your parents?'

‘Oh, come on Eri. We're solid. As if you didn't know by now.'

‘Maybe I…didn't.'

‘Get real, babe. We've always known we were made for each other. I don't have to mention the ‘b' word, do I?'

‘Are you talking Bentley or Benz? You've already done BMW.'

‘Babies, Eri.'

‘It's not a word that turns me on.' She shivered as she answered. The idea had hit her like a cold wind. Something she'd known in her heart, through six years of tagging along with Todd, had now surfaced. She must deal with it.

‘But everybody's doing it. Sebastian and Kate. Tarquin and Sheena.'

‘I see. Your friends are having babies, so you want one — some, even. I suppose fancy new cars do get boring eventually.'

‘So when would you like to move into my stunning new penthouse — sorry,
our
stunning new penthouse, beloved?'

‘Mmm. I'll get back to you.'

Over the next few nights, Erin lay sleepless through the small hours. Why, when she loved children, had she shuddered at the thought of having Todd's babies? Why, why, why? Eventually, her heart told her the simple truth. Todd was not Mr Right.

A week later she phoned and told him the relationship was over. Now, months later, it still hadn't registered with Todd. Hardly an evening went by without a phone call from him: a cheeky text, a grovelling email. Sometimes he was apologetic, then aggressive, or let's-kiss-and-make-up. But always he was the same boring, insensitive, selfish, ego-driven, testosterone-powered man on whom she'd finally turned her back. As she sat on the veranda, the stars came out in all their glory. Waves breaking on rocks below whispered their messages of untamed nature. Life in a city penthouse might have its moments, but it could never offer nights like this.

When the dark solidified around her, Erin stepped inside, ready to take a realistic view on the repairs the old cottage would need to make it liveable. A year before, she'd visited to help her grandmother move house for the last time in her life — the shift to Sunnyside Nursing Home in the nearby respectably-sized town of Pembroke. Over the months that followed, the old woman grieved over the loss of her lifestyle, her cottage, then quietly died.