Short and Sweet (16 page)

He raised one eyebrow at Bianca. ‘How long is it, darling? To me it seems for ever.’

‘Mama, you can stop grilling him right now!’ she exclaimed.

Her mother made a puffing noise, waving her fingers in a gesture of dismissal. ‘He calls you “darling”, so I got a right to ask, hey?’

‘We’ve known each other a while, but we’re taking things easy,’ he informed her, putting his arm round Bianca. ‘It’s understandable that she’ll not rush into another marriage, don’t you think?’

Bianca’s mother nodded. ‘You’re much nicer than him. Better looking, too.’

Hal blushed.

Face also red, Bianca tugged him away, muttering, ‘You don’t have to play up to my matchmaking mama quite so much.’

With the bottle of grappa still clutched in his hand, Hal followed her round the edge of the garage to the back patio where dancers of all ages were gyrating more or less in time to the music under the shade of the big awning. He put down the bottle and held out his arms.

She walked into them without hesitation. Their steps matched perfectly, their bodies fitted neatly together.

When the music stopped, it took Bianca a minute or two to catch her breath again. ‘You’re quite some dancer,’ she muttered.

‘You’re quite some everything.’

Someone cleared their throat behind them and she turned to see her father. ‘Papa!’

He enveloped her in his usual bear hug, then waited to be introduced to Hal, who was retrieving the bottle. Papa accepted the grappa with a murmur of thanks, scrutinizing her young man carefully but not embarrassing her as her mother had.

‘Your cousins are in the pool.’

She felt reluctant to take her clothes off, or let her female cousins see how handsome Hal looked in his swim shorts. ‘Maybe later.’

‘Come and get a drink, then.’

The day passed smoothly. After a while she forgot about her mother and allowed herself to enjoy Hal’s company.

They left early.

When they arrived at the gate to their development, a figure stepped out of the shadows and knocked on her car window.

‘Oh, no! It’s Roger.’

‘I’ve had enough of this.’ Hal swung out of the car. ‘Look, you—’

Another figure stepped forward to join them, a woman. ‘He’s not trying to hurt her; he’s trying to apologize.’

Bianca got out of the car and moved close to Hal. Her ex was clutching the woman’s hand but looking at her pleadingly.

‘Kylie’s right. I am trying to apologize, but I seem to be making a mess of it. I’ve been having counselling. I think – no – I’m sure I’m cured. But it won’t feel right till you forgive me. Bianca, I’m so sorry I hurt you.’

She felt tears of relief rise in her eyes. ‘I’m so glad you did something about it at last.’

‘It was the only way Kylie would have me. And I
am
sorry. Truly sorry.’

‘Good.’ She felt a load slip from her shoulders.

‘Be happy.’ He stepped back and got into his car.

‘Well, who’d have believed it?’ she said. ‘It’ll be great not to be looking over my shoulder all the time.’

‘I’d not have let him hurt you,’ Hal said quietly.

He said goodbye to her at the door. His kiss left her tingling right down to her toes. They looked at one another and he muttered, ‘We’re taking it slowly, right?’

She nodded, not trusting her voice. But he looked disappointed.

She woke that night worrying about herself and Hal. Things were going too smoothly – and far too quickly. Was she going to allow that to happen?

The decision was taken out of her hands. The following day she came home to find a note in her letter box.

Had to fly over to LA. Big fuss and they need me to sort something

out. I’ll be back in a few days.

Hal

She missed him dreadfully and got angry about that. But though she kept busy, and gave herself several lectures, she grew very despondent when she didn’t hear from him.

She was annoyed that her heart skipped a beat when she saw him returning one evening, because she’d decided to have nothing more to do with him unless he had a very good explanation for his lack of communication.

She waited for him to come round, and when he didn’t, she was devastated. Had he just been playing her for a fool? Or had he met someone in LA?

What was going on here?

Just as she was going to bed, the doorbell rang. She crept down the hall in the dark and used the peephole. The security lighting was bright enough to show that it was Hal. Should she open the door or not?

She’d done it before her mind got control of her hands. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’

He marched into her living area and glared at her. She stared at him in shock. What was wrong?

‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘I can’t pretend any more.’

‘Pretend about what?’

‘About you and me.’

‘Oh, well. Sorry. I won’t trouble you again and—’

He grabbed her arm and pulled her close, his voice softening. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

She looked up at him from the circle of his arms. ‘What did you mean, Hal?’

‘I can’t pretend not to care for you. I can’t take it slowly. I’ve fallen madly in love with you. And if there’s no chance of you loving me back, I’ll have to move away, because I can’t bear to see you every day and not—’

With a laugh that was almost a sob, she pulled his head down and kissed him. This time she welcomed it when the world began to spin round them, and she could have sworn there was music playing somewhere. When she pulled away, she said softly, ‘Don’t move out.’

He looked at her. ‘And that means?’

‘I’ve fallen in love with you, too, you big fool. I’ve missed you every hour of every day you were away. Why didn’t you phone me or email?’

‘I didn’t dare in case I said something that upset you.’

She squeaked when he lifted her up and carried her across to the sofa. He set her down then knelt in front of her. ‘Bianca, it’s so bad between us that I’m going to do something I’ve always vowed I’d not do.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’m going to ask you to marry me. You will, won’t you?’

She surprised herself. ‘Of course I will.’

With a cheer, he tugged her to her feet and danced her round the room, then sighed and looked at her pleadingly. ‘My family will make a big fuss. Can you bear that?’

‘Only if you’ll put up with my family. They’ll be even worse.’

‘Should we run away and get married? Would that be easier?’

She shook her head. ‘That’s what I did last time. It hurt them. We’ll just have to put up with the fuss.’

‘How soon can we do the dreadful deed?’

‘One month and a day is the notice you have to give.’

They sat down on the sofa, holding hands.

‘I want children,’ he said. ‘I hope you do, too.’

‘Yes. Not more than two or three, though.’

‘That’s all right by me.’ He scowled. ‘There’s just one thing.’

‘What?’

‘I refuse, absolutely and categorically refuse, to spend Christmas with either of our families from now on. I still don’t like Christmas.’

‘I was about to make the same stipulation.’

‘No wonder I fell in love with you, woman. We have so much in common.’

‘We’ll work something out.’

The trouble was, every year they had so much fun finding ways to escape their families that Christmas lost its sting. Even their three children got into the spirit of the game as soon as they were old enough to understand what was going on and voted the getaway Christmases cool.

And one year, they really did find a cottage in a forest with a cave nearby. They all sat inside the cave with a huge box of their favourite chocolates and solemnly toasted one another with champagne and lemonade.

‘Here’s to Christmas!’

‘I just
love
Christmas!’ little Jenny sighed ecstatically, and couldn’t understand why her parents fell about laughing.

A Sticky Affair

Anna’s Notes

I wrote this story nearly twenty years ago, and could never forget the characters in it. One day, when I was sitting looking at a little lake in Wiltshire, England, I suddenly saw the story taking place there, instead of Australia.

We’d been looking round a village full of old houses that week, and as the old stone houses in Wiltshire are often stunningly lovely, it seemed natural to put a very old stone farmhouse into the tale. And how can you have a farmhouse hundreds of years old without a resident ghost?

My heroine’s daughter came about because my niece has two delightful, intelligent children who sadly have SMA3, Spinal Muscular Atrophy, which makes their back muscles weak and could lead to them using wheelchairs as they grew older. I checked with her that she’d not mind me using this as the background for my new heroine’s daughter and she was pleased, because people don’t understand that, apart from the spinal weakness, such children are just . . . normal children.

As it turned out my husband felt that the child character was the star of the book! She was certainly fun to write.

The result was the novel
Saving Willowbrook.
And it all started because a story would keep coming back to nag me to tell more. If you’ve read
Saving Willowbrook
you may be interested to see how it all began.

T
acie parked her station wagon in the back street, among the mud-spattered utes and station wagons. Her thoughts were miles away, anger at the bank delays still simmering within her.

‘Oof!’ The breath whooshed out of her as she collided with someone at the corner, bouncing back so hard that she would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her.

She realized that she was gaping at him like an idiot and pulled herself together. ‘Sorry! Thanks for catching me.’

‘My pleasure.’ His eyes flickered over her slim body and shoulder-length auburn hair, not offensively but with definite approval. He wasn’t tall, just a little taller than she was, but he was muscular and looked confident, as if he knew how to take care of himself. His short brown hair was burnished into near-gold by the sun and his eyes were very blue and direct.

As he walked on, he looked back over his shoulder at her and those eyes said he wished he could pursue their acquaintance.

She stared openly as he drove away in a gleaming white Mercedes convertible, a car as incongruous in a small West Australian country town as he was, in his dark business suit.

As she turned to enter the minimart, she sucked in her breath in surprise. She’d forgotten how desire could flare at a glance. Since she and Richard had separated and divorced three years ago, she’d steered clear of men. Why her body should spring suddenly to life at the touch of a stranger whom she would never see again, she couldn’t imagine, however good-looking he was. A distraction like that was the last thing she needed at the moment. The very last.

She bought her groceries, then went to fill the car with petrol, facing yet again the problem of Matt Harding, who seemed to think himself God’s gift to women. If only there was another petrol station in town!

Twenty minutes later, she turned into her gateway, stopped to pick up the letters from the road mailbox, then bumped along the two hundred metres of driveway to the house, her mind already on what she’d need to do today.

She braked to an abrupt halt when she saw the white Mercedes parked outside, its owner lounging on her veranda steps as if he belonged there. What on earth was he doing here?

He stood up, his eyes widening in surprise. ‘Ms Johnson?’

Reluctantly Tacie took his outstretched hand. Currents immediately started playing along her nerves and she could still feel the firmness and warmth of his fingers after he’d released her. She concentrated on breathing slowly and carefully through her nose.

‘I’m Daniel Gregory. I’m here on behalf of the bank, about your request for a second mortgage.’

Disappointment coursed through her. Fool, she thought! How could a man like him possibly be interested in you? She led the way into the house, determined to remain calm and polite, whatever he said about the loan. ‘Would you care for a cup of coffee?’

‘If it’s no trouble.’ He followed her into the kitchen, but stopped just inside the doorway, whistling in surprise. ‘What a beautiful room!’

‘Yes. It’s my favourite. I like to look out at the lake as I prepare the food.’ The mere thought of living anywhere else made the anger against Richard surge up again. How many promises had her ex broken now?

She led the way out on to the veranda and sat with Mr Gregory at a table. Be businesslike, she reminded herself. Crisp and businesslike. It’s your only chance.

Daniel Gregory stirred the coffee. ‘I gather that your ex-husband now wishes to withdraw all his money from your business, as part of the divorce finalization.’

‘Yes.’ Trust Richard to stick the boot in just at the time of year when the tourist trade slowed down.

‘I believe you’ve received a good offer for the property from a developer.’ He gestured towards the windows. ‘A hundred acres of scenic land with its own trout lake and tourist cabins is a very marketable asset.’

‘I didn’t put the property on the market. My ex did! That offer came as a complete surprise to me, and I have no intention of selling this place willingly.’

‘It’s always wise to consider every option.’

‘Selling my home is not an option! You can tell the bank they’ll have to evict me to get me out, and I’ll scream every inch of the way! This is my home, for heaven’s sake!’

‘I’m only here to assess the situation in general, not approve or deny loans.’

Despair twisted inside her. Whatever he said, they would probably veto an increase in the mortgage. Banks still didn’t trust women, especially women under thirty. She lifted her coffee cup and took a bitter sip.

He put his cup down and gave her a wry smile.

He had such beautiful blue eyes she was betrayed into smiling back. She needed to watch herself here. She didn’t dare lower her defences, however charming this man was.

‘I’d like to rent one of your cabins for a few days while we look into things, if I may, Ms Johnson. I lunched at the hotel in town and found it very noisy. You have the only alternative accommodation, I’m told.’