Love or Money (20 page)

Later that morning, as Erin walked to town to buy last-minute groceries, she saw Hamish from a distance. He was heading back to his office from Sarah's, paper cup in hand. She ventured a wave. She watched as he recognised her. Then he turned away, crossing the road to avoid her.

Back at the cottage, she threw herself at her computer, polishing the last of the Katy stories that might soon be — dream on, dream on— a movie or a TV series. After a long day where every second had been a struggle, she gave in to her bed's seductive call, creaking with tiredness as she showered, then collapsing between the sheets. Tomorrow would have to be a better day.

It was. Inspired by the turn her writing and drawing had taken, she locked herself into the project for a final day, then put the finishing touches to her packing for Los Angeles. That left her three days of peace — time to ground herself, prepare for the most important moment in her career. How should she spend those days? If her mother hadn't been in hospital, they could have spent precious time together. Then, as if her grandmother's ghost had whispered to her, she suddenly knew. She would spend a night at Sea Eagle's Nest.

Next morning she filled a backpack with a collection of interesting cans: soup, pasta, salmon, anchovies, and other oddities. She bundled her sleeping bag into a roll, packed a bottle of wine, some books and some water. An hour later, she climbed down the ladder, jumped the last half metre, and walked into the cave. She fought to forget the moment Hamish had taken her in his arms and lifted her down from the ladder. As she stepped into the darkness of the cave, she sensed a warm, loving presence — her grandmother's spirit had come to welcome her.

Dropping the backpack onto the little table, she set her provisions on the shelves — a way to thank her grandmother's ever-present smiling ghost. A few minutes later, as she opened the door of a little cupboard, her eye caught a dusty manila folder on a shelf. She opened it. A pile of dog-eared papers, all filled with her grandmother's scrawly writing, spilled out.

For Erin, when she turns 21,
she read at the top of one faded page. Could it be that the old woman had left the papers there for her granddaughter to read after her death? She read on.

Today my one and only beautiful grandchild turns twelve. Lately, she has grown; shot up like a bean pole, as the saying goes. I think she is going to be one of those tall willowy beauties you see in the fashion magazines. She must get it from my mother Ellen
.

I love her, and I want her to remember me, remember the special times she gave me during her visits. Each time I collect her from the bus stop at the start of her summer holidays, my heart leaps. We reconnect with the wonderful feelings we shared over her last holiday, and our love grows like the ever-blossoming Peace rose I have in a corner of my garden
.

To that end, I want Erin to inherit my Luna Bay property. It will be a fitting way to perpetuate the memory of my beloved Henry. She knows he died when his ship exploded not far from here. Sometimes I sit back and dream a dream. Erin is sitting right here in the Sea Eagle's Nest. Two little children play at her feet. She points to the sea and tells them about their great-grandfather Henry Spenser, and his wartime exploits. Henry will hear them from wherever he now resides, and smile. He loved family history, and he will know that the Spenser family's future all hangs on our Erin
.

Erin couldn't hold back a sob. She must apologise to her grandmother in some fitting way when she sold the property, as sell it she must. Grandma Spenser would understand that her daughter-in-law Helen's life was at stake, literally. If she were here now, she'd smile and nod, and tell Erin that she was glad she'd been able to help the fragile, always put-upon Helen.

Erin's eye caught another page, headed

To The Love of My Life, Henry Oswald Spenser

Dearest Henry,

Wherever you are now, my only beloved, you will know how our love was so strong that death could not part us. I have made this place a shrine to that love. Indeed, you will remember that we discovered this unlikely cleft in the cliff face as we sailed down the coast in your beautiful yacht, the Sea Eagle. I remember it was a calm day, with the sails barely moving. Then you, binoculars clapped to your eyes, saying ‘Look, Edna. A cave up there. What a view it must have. Wouldn't it be wonderful to buy that land, explore that cave, spend time together there of an evening, arm in arm, looking out over the glorious Pacific.'

Ah, those heady first years of our marriage! The sea was always in your blood, dearest Henry. Somehow it is fitting that your bones lie out there, most likely within a day's sail of this spot. You will know that true to your wish, after your death I sought out this beautiful stretch of coast, and bought the very portion that houses the cave you showed me. It is, in every way, beloved, the place where our two souls will stay forever
.

Erin hesitated. She was here to open her soul to whatever message the universe might choose to send her. Within minutes, she'd had a message from her dead grandmother. She put the papers back into the folder and tucked it into her backpack. As she did, she whispered a message to her grandmother.

‘Dearest Grandma, I love this place, as you knew I would. I wish, wish I could keep it, pass it on to children I might have, ask them to treasure it as I did. But, forgive me, Grandma, my mother's life is important to me too. Please give me your blessing for what I have to do.'

She laid her sleeping bag on the narrow bed. It looked almost inviting. Then she unfolded a deckchair she'd discovered in the gloom of the cave and parked it outside the entrance. The view of the sea was more than breathtaking. It embraced her very soul. She pulled out a book. Dancing to the Rhythm of Love, it was called — a self-help title from the hundreds her mother had chomped through over her last twenty years. The sick woman had given the book to her daughter last Christmas, hinting that there was a special message in it for her. Inevitably, Erin hadn't got around to reading it yet. Now would be the perfect time.

As dusk settled over the sea, its mauve surface morphed into dark blue, violet, then inky darkness. Sipping her wine as she lay back in the deckchair, Erin knew it was right to be in this hallowed space. In perhaps a few days, when the property changed hands, it would be lost to her forever. Finding her grandmother's letters was a dividend she hadn't expected. If she hadn't rescued those dog-eared pages, the rest of her life would have lacked a magical connection with the old woman. Soon, she'd take time to read the rest of them. She imagined showing them to her children, telling them stories about the lovely person they'd never get to meet in this life.

As she slipped back into the warmth of the cave, Erin cogitated. She'd write down her innermost thoughts — ideas she could scarcely admit to herself. She fished in her backpack for paper and pen, and wrote before inhibitions clouded the ideas now flooding her mind.

I love Hamish Bourke. I didn't want to, but I do. I could never have married Todd Archer. Long ago, our paths diverged beyond the point where we could ever be happy together. Too bad about our parents and their small-time wishes for a bunch of happy little grandchildren to swim in their pool or play on their tennis court
.

I doubt Hamish will ever know how I feel for him. I doubt I'll ever see him again. So be it. I need to put on this paper the truth I'm now privileged to see
.

Hamish is a beautiful spirit. His work, his energy will live on. I only wish I could have been with him as he sets about saving the beauty of this special part of the planet
.

I will survive. I will work at my dreams. And I will never forget Hamish Bourke as long as I live
.

Erin Spenser
.

She folded the paper, tucked it into an envelope, and put it in the cupboard that had held her grandmother's folder. It reminded her of the times she'd put flowers on the old woman's grave, an act to honour someone she'd loved. The envelope might lie in the cupboard unread for a century — a millennium even. It was unlikely the property's new owner would ever find this sacred place. Good.

Next afternoon, feeling as fresh as if she'd just surfaced from an expensive spa weekend, Erin climbed the rope ladder back to the cottage and reality. After a final phone call to her mother's hospital, she'd be ready to leave for Sydney on the airport bus that called at the Luna Bay post office at five next evening.

‘We expect to have a donor heart ready in the next twenty four hours,' the nurse told Erin. ‘Then we'll operate. It's quite a long procedure. You could call us the day after tomorrow. Around this time.'

‘I'm flying out to Los Angeles tomorrow morning.' Erin reeled, fought to control her sobs. Her trip had happened at absolutely the worst possible time. ‘I'm not sure if I can —'

‘If you give us a number, an email address, we'll contact you as soon as the op is finished.'

‘Thank you.' Erin gave the nurse the number of their LA hotel and her email address. If everything went to plan, she'd be able to get in touch around the time her mother would be conscious and resting after her operation. She hung up, told herself that the news was as good as it could be for the moment.

Meeting Stacey Hill at the airport began a string of nail-biting moments for Erin. She was tired from the long bus ride, worried about her mother, fighting heartsickness for the wonderful man she'd lost. Stacey showed up at the appointed meeting place, a mere half-hour late.

‘Taxis! Never on time when you need them!' Stacey apologised. ‘Let's hope it's smooth sailing from here on.'

The next hours played out like a bad movie — sleeplessness, boredom, as the plane lumbered on through the dark. Then the landing at LA's perpetually smoggy airport, the taxi to the hotel, and twelve blissful hours of oblivion in a comfortable bed. As Erin lay half awake in the gloom of early morning in the foggy city, some friendly ghost told her that a life-changing event would happen any moment soon.

Around two o'clock the day after Erin's departure, Jenny transferred a call to Hamish. ‘A Mr Brightwell,' she said. ‘Fruity Pommy accent.'

‘Good afternoon, Mr Bourke.' The accent was indeed British — upper crust British. ‘Charles Brightwell speaking. From Green Earth. Don't know if you've heard of us?'

‘I have.' Hamish had often read of the British Greenie outfit, knew that it had hit the UK headlines many times in the last few years.

‘Sorry to break into your day like this, Mr Bourke. I'm at a conference in Melbourne. There's a contingent of us here from the UK. And, first…' The pause puzzled Hamish. ‘Congratulations! We've just watched a video of your Pembroke Shire campaign. You really hit the opposition for six. I —'

‘Excuse my butting in, Mr Brightwell,' Hamish interrupted. ‘But I can give you an update. I had a call this morning from Pembroke Shire's mayor. Asaka has just withdrawn its development application. It seems the TV coverage was the straw that broke that rather lame camel's back. So the Pembroke Ranges are safe.'

‘Excellent news, Mr Bourke. I was going to compliment you on your speech in the park — with the children dressed in their little furry animal costumes — absolutely poetic.' Another pause. ‘Now tell me, Mr Bourke. Have you done anything like this before? Even in the very short television clips we saw, your well-considered game plan came through loud and clear. That's what impressed us most.'

‘Well, yes. I have done one or two other little numbers.' Hamish enjoyed recalling the student days that had shaped his values. ‘Starting with a junket where I chained myself to a log in the path of a line of bulldozers. It got national TV coverage for days. I was nineteen at the time, studying law. Since then, we've taken on a few other bad guys. From mining companies to hotel chains. And so far, we haven't lost a battle.'

‘Oh. So you're a lawyer then?'

‘Yes.'

‘Icing on the cake, Mr Bourke. Can you spare a day to meet with us in Melbourne? Before we head back to the UK. We'd like to talk to you face to face. Quite possibly the outcome will be to your advantage.'

‘Well yes, but —'

‘We'll pick up your travel costs, Mr Bourke. Of course.'

‘Thank you, but —'

‘We're in Australia only until the weekend. Would tomorrow suit?'

‘Yes. I can make that.'

‘Good. The Ambassador Hotel. Say eleven.'

‘Fine.'

‘Well then, goodbye Mr Bourke. Till eleven tomorrow.'

After a celebratory lunch at the Ambassador next day, Hamish flew back to Sydney and collected his car. Throughout the flight, three-second grabs of his interview that morning had replayed in his mind like an Ipod download.

‘We all feel you're the best man for the job, Mr Bourke. And I don't mind telling you, we've been combing the world for months.'

‘Television audiences are going to love you, Mr Bourke. That down-to-earth Aussie style of yours — and the fact you look like a hands-on man of the forest. You'll melt hearts. Especially female hearts.'

‘A retainer for starters, Mr Bourke. Something in the six figures range — UK pounds, of course. Plus fees for your media appearances. How does that sound?'

‘Are you free to travel at short notice? Places like Nigeria, Sweden, the US?'

‘Of course we'd expect you to maintain your legal practice. Wouldn't want to upset your clients, would we?'

‘For a job title, how does Green Earth's International Ambassador sound?'

As Hamish drove back to Luna Bay from the airport, he took time to revisit the disastrous night with Erin at Highlands Hall. Now, a few days after the event, his emotions had cooled a little. Maybe, just maybe, he'd jumped to conclusions a mite too quickly during that nightmarish drive home from Highlands Hall. Erin had said she didn't know Todd Archer would be there, that she'd broken up with him long before.