Ran From Him (7 page)

Cate took a quick shower to remove the smell of cooking, and dressed in the stretch pants and soft angora top she’d bought that afternoon. She hesitated over shoes, and with a feeling of freedom, decided to go barefoot.

“Pretty in pink.” Daniel was appreciative of the picture she made. He was barefoot, too, in old jeans and a casual shirt, standing at the bar. “What would you like to drink?”

“Mineral water.”

He grinned at her fervour, but refrained from further comment. He handed her a glass and raised his own beer in a toast. “To the future.”

“To the future,” she echoed, bewildered by his meaning, but willing to go along.

“And may all our dreams come true.”

She drank before asking curiously. “Do you dream?”

His mouth quirked. “You mean, I look too tough to indulge in wishful thinking?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’re right. But I do dream. I just call them plans. I don’t think any well-balanced person can live without dreams, even if it’s simply a wish for current happiness to continue. Dreams are an expression of hope, and they challenge us to be true to ourselves, and to grow.”

Cate forgot to drink. She stared at him. “You’re a philosopher.”

“No.” He shrugged away the label. “But I’m old enough to have thought about life and what I want from it.”

“What do you want? What will you do with your freedom from the company?”

“Go bush,” he said promptly. “Western Australia is huge and we’ve barely scraped the surface of its mineral wealth. It’s not just metals like gold and iron ore, there are nickel and lead, diamonds and beryllium. We mightn’t have expensive deposits of ruby and emeralds, but lower grade beryllium is used in the manufacture of space materials, and there’ll be a growing need for it. I want to be one of the people who further opens up our State’s potential.

“Besides, I like the outback. The peace, the space, the feeling that you can touch the stars and sink your feet into the red dirt.”

She nodded. “Africa has the same sense of space. You can feel that it’s an ancient continent, but at the same time the future is waiting. We just have to find the key to open the door.”

“Exactly.”

They looked at each other in mutual approval and understanding.

She glanced at the clock. “Time to stir the casserole and add the rice.”

“Need a hand?”

“No, thanks.”

But he followed her into the kitchen and leaned against a bench, watching. “I have other plans, too.”

“Oh?” She looked up from stirring the casserole.

“Amie is about to become Rob’s problem.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say about your sister.”

“You’ve forgotten what she’s like. Didn’t last night remind you? Fortunately, Rob seems willing to cope with her enthusiasms.”

Darkly, Cate wondered just how willing Rob really was. Had their dad pushed him into it, sensing Daniel’s eagerness to have Amie settled into a happy-ever-after scenario?

“And I think Mum’s about to accept her long term suitor.”

“Your mum has a boyfriend?”

“Eric Charlesworth. He’s a retired botany professor and Mum’s mad on roses. They’re currently on a garden tour through Europe. Eric intends to propose to Mum in Monet’s garden in France.”

“That’s so romantic, but don’t tell me he asked your permission?”

“No.” Daniel grinned. “He’s so excited he had to show me the engagement ring he’d bought Mum. I think she’s guessed what he’s planning, but she’s not letting on. They’ll be happy together.”

“Which leaves you free to concentrate on yourself.” Cate added the rice, gave the casserole a final stir, then placed it back in the oven. When he didn’t answer, she looked at him. “Isn’t that what going bush is about, having time for yourself?”

He straightened away from the bench. “I’m beginning to think that time to myself would be awfully lonely.”

“I’m beginning to think that time to myself would be awfully lonely.”

Cate stared at Daniel while his words echoed between them.

Lonely?

Standing four square in the kitchen, he looked entirely self-sufficient. He was young, healthy, rich, gorgeous—and lonely?

For her, recognition of loneliness had come from appreciation of his nearness. After this time together, she wondered if without him, she’d feel quite so confident of her self-sufficiency. With him, she felt comforted, excited, glad, in a way she couldn’t remember feeling before.

Was it possible he felt the same?

“Would you like a refill? Mineral water or juice?” He indicated her empty glass, and her foolish, unsettling dreams burst. She was a passing stranger in his life. Freed from old commitments, he didn’t need or want new ones.

And nor did she. She was independent. She didn’t need anyone. “No, thanks.”

He walked out of the kitchen into the living room and sank down into a leather recliner.

Uncertain and curious, she followed, and sat on the sofa opposite.

“Tell me about your work in Sydney.”

“We-ell.” In her experience, people were disappointed to hear that journalism was as much routine grind as any other job. “It’s not glamorous.”

“Nor is big business. People think it sounds wonderful—flying around the world, negotiating million dollar contracts, wining and dining wealthy and influential people—but it’s simply sustained stress and, sometimes, mixing with people you despise.”

“You handle the responsibility well.” She thought of the hundreds of people his company employed either directly or indirectly. He’d feel responsible for them. More ties. With freedom in sight, he wouldn’t commit himself to a new relationship.

“No grey hairs yet,” he said dismissively.

“How do you know?” She shook off her unreasonable disappointment and teased. “You blondies can hide the silver in the gold. It’s us brunettes who have to use hair dye.”

He grinned, his gaze dwelling appreciatively on her. “You can’t convince me you’ve ever dyed your hair. I’ve seen it in the sun. It has too many shades of bronze and wine in its darkness to be dyed.”

“You’d be surprised what hairdressers can do now. But you’re right. I’m too lazy to dye my hair.”

“Lazy?”

“And busy. I don’t seem to have factored indulgence time into my schedule.”

“Which brings us back to my question: tell me about your work.”

Cate tucked her feet under her on the sofa as she considered the request. She felt a need to convince him that she valued her independence as much as he desired his freedom. She didn’t want him thinking of her with even a shadow of the dependent daughter he’d viewed her as six years before. She was her own woman now, and proud of her achievements. She’d built a life clear of the sort of emotional entanglements that brought the risk of heartbreak.

“I began working for the paper two years ago, after I finished my degree. My blog, and the book, gave me something to put in my CV. I cover general interest stories and sometimes a feature article or series. I work long hours, but maybe more from choice than necessity.” When the silence and solitude ceased to be a refuge and became a threat of loneliness, she went into the busy newspaper office.

“And where is home?”

“Banksia, just south of Sydney. I rent a one bedroom flat. It’s convenient, and close to a train station, not that the trains run on time.”

He nodded, as if he’d ever been dependent on public transport. “And social life?”

“I made some good friends at university, and we keep in touch—coffee, drinks, baby showers. At the office, journalists are gregarious, so there’s always someone willing to try anything, especially when promoters send in free concert and theatre tickets.” She smiled at the thought of her colleagues’ parsimony. They could be incredibly generous, but like everyone trying to live in Sydney, budgets got stretched. “I’ve been bungie jumping and kayaking. A bunch of us play volleyball, but not seriously.”

She looked out the window. It was pleasant to sit above the world with Daniel and watch the evening darken, the shine of the city lights and the streaming exodus of cars taking busy people home to Perth’s comfortable suburbs.

“Sometimes I think the most important part of being a journalist, and being happy in the job, is an interest in people. One of the great things about working on the paper is the people I meet.” She smiled. “A couple of weeks ago I interviewed a self-proclaimed psychic about a New Age festival. She was the nicest old lady. She made me a cup of tea, then insisted on reading the tea leaves.”

“What did she see?”

“A wedding ring and a warning.”

Daniel sighed, loudly. “So when you heard Rob and Amie’s news, you immediately put two and two together and made seven.”

“A tea leaf reading was not the reason I worried,” Cate said with dignity.

“Didn’t you think the wedding ring could be for you?”

“Me? But I’m not involved with anyone.”

He slumped back in the recliner, his irritation past. “Is your work so all-important to you?”

“I’ve been establishing my career, I like meeting people, and I like my independence.” She drove the point home. “Six years ago I learned how important independence is. I wouldn’t give mine up for anything, for anyone.”

Instead of agreeing, he looked regretful. “Cate, the damage your dad and I—”

“Forget it.” Talking about the trusting girl she’d been, hurt. Nor did she want him regretting the past and seeing her as his responsibility, a debt owed. She retreated to the safety of her work. “The only problem I have with my job, is sometimes the superficial nature of the stories gets to me.”

“Superficial?” He let her retreat, but his searching look showed he recognised her evasion.

“We’re told to give the facts, but there’s almost no room for discussing motives, and there’s no space at all for discussing grey areas. The reporting is all black and white, no shades of grey. The editor says the starkness encourages readers’ response, and hence, loyalty. Apparently there’s nothing like a colourful exchange of letters to the editor to sell papers.”

“You don’t agree?”

“He’s probably right.” She corrected herself, her fundamental honesty surfacing. “No, the editor is right. People don’t want a newspaper to debate everything. They just want the story, and an occasional feeling of outrage or sentiment.”

“And what do you want, Cate?” He leaned forward. “I’ve started reading your book. I can’t imagine its impassioned author being satisfied with routine journalism.”

“I was younger then.”

But he showed a disconcerting ability to remember her confidences. “You said Sister Lucy wanted you to write another book. I agree.”

“There are enough books in the world.”

“There is never too much hope. Your book is very appealing. It reaches out to the dreams and daily fears of the reader. I’d hate to think of your empathy being ground away at a newspaper.”

The sincere insight, praise and encouragement seduced her into sharing a secret ambition. “I’ve thought of collecting people’s stories around Australia about what makes a home.” Shyness gripped her. Trusting someone with your dreams was a huge risk. She glanced at Daniel’s absorbed, interested face and continued. “Home defines who we are and what we dream. It’s where we belong.”

“Home,” he drawled the world.

She wondered if, like her, he thought of all the connotations, happy and sad, that went with the notion of home. It was a place of refuge, and also of challenge. Family and close friends were more likely to challenge you than strangers. They were the ones to speak up when you were going astray.

“I like the idea. People should consider what makes a home.”

“Exactly,” she said eagerly. “Is it a place, a collection of people, memories? Can we have more than one home, and how do our homes shape who we are?”

He smiled at her enthusiasm, but his eyes were serious. “What does home mean for you?”

“Me?”

The question threw her off stride. Where was home? Not her flat. Maybe her job? Or maybe the idea lurking in her since this morning, and even earlier, needed to be acknowledged. Home was Perth—if she had the courage to reclaim it.

“Is it people, or a place?” he prompted.

The strident buzz of the entrance intercom broke their conversation. It crackled into speech. “Daniel? Are you there? Daniel, please be there.”

“Damn.” He moved quickly to the intercom and punched the open button. “Come on up, Amie.”

Cate uncurled herself from the sofa and headed for the kitchen. It sounded as if Amie needed to speak privately with her brother—and Amie had first claim on him.

He caught her arm. “I want to continue this discussion when Amie’s gone.”

“What discussion?”

“About dreams, about the future. Yours, mine,—”

The penthouse door opened.

“Oh, Daniel, it’s awful.” Amie raced straight to him and began sobbing.

He looked ruefully at Cate and patted his sister’s back. “What’s so awful?” He guided Amie to a chair.

“Rob,” she wailed.

Cate halted her discreet vanishing act and turned back from the kitchen. “What’s happened to Rob?”

“Nothing. Nothing ever happens to Rob. That’s what’s so awful. He won’t do anything exciting. All he can think about is business.”

Daniel stopped patting Amie’s shoulder and pushed her into a chair.

Cate looked at him.
So much for sympathy
.

He caught her eye and his next words were half a reminder for Amie and half explanation for Cate. “Rob did say he was entertaining a Middle Eastern delegation today and tomorrow.”

Ah. A big business delegation does have a certain priority.
Cate’s automatic sympathy for Amie’s tears faltered. If she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand Rob’s concerns, marriage between them would be a disaster.

“I found the perfect house for us, and he said he was too busy to look at it.”

Unbelievably, Cate saw Daniel turn away to hide a grin. He’d just agreed with her about how important was the notion of home.
Honestly, men!

He caught her accusing glare and winked. “Amie, how many houses has Rob looked at with you?”

“Not many.”

“Twenty? Thirty?”

“Maybe a few more.”

Now, Cate understood his unwilling amusement. An answering smile tugged at her mouth. Refusing to see one house was hardly the end of the world.

“That’s not the point.” Amie knew when she’d lost her audience’s sympathy. “Rob’s being totally unreasonable about what sort of house we should buy.”

“Unreasonable how?” Cate sat down opposite her.

“He said he won’t live any further than a fifteen minute drive from the city centre.”

Cate stared at Amie’s tear-streaked, tragic face. “What’s so unreasonable about that?” Houses in that radius were expensive, but Rob could afford it.

“I can’t keep animals in an inner suburb.”

Cate blinked. Since when had local councils banned people from keeping a dog or cat? It would be unAustralian.

Daniel elucidated. “Amie means the councils have limits. One or two dogs. One or two cats. Amie wants to bring home the strays from the rescue shelter.”

“Someone has to love them!” Amie sat bolt upright with indignation.

“How many do you have at the moment?” Cate asked.

“I live in a flat,” Amie mumbled.

“None,” Daniel said. “Pets are a long term commitment. Amie couldn’t flit off here, there and everywhere if she had to feed and walk a dog every day.”

Amie glowered at him. “It will be different when I’m married. I’ll have made a long term commitment.”

“Does Rob want pets?” Cate couldn’t remember her brother as an animal lover.

“He says one dog, one cat.”

“Sensible man.”

Amie glared at Daniel for his contribution.

He stared back calmly. “Amie, you know my feelings on the subject. Your work at the animal shelter is good and worthwhile, but you can’t single-handedly save every animal. You have to control and focus your enthusiasm.”

She rolled her eyes.

The intercom buzzed. “Daniel, it’s Rob. Is Amie there?”

“Don’t tell him!”

Daniel’s mouth compressed and he hit the open button. “Come on up.” Then he looked at Amie. “I’m not participating in a soap opera drama.”

“Just because I have feelings.”

The sibling argument was interrupted by Rob’s arrival. He saw Amie immediately. “I knew you’d run to Daniel. You drag me out of an important dinner conference, and then you don’t even have the decency to be at home.”

“Uh-oh.” Cate had never seen Rob so angry. He looked like their dad, right down to the nerve pulsing at his left temple.

“Why would I be?” Amie flashed. “You told me you were too busy to listen.”