by Kelly Hunter
Strike one against compatibility, but he could woo her onto the verandah of an evening with fresh pâté that he’d cadged from Maggie and good wine that he had no problem procuring, and he never made her feel intellectually inferior, even though she knew she must be.
He presented her with a voucher for private cooking classes with a Hilton Hotel sous chef who was visiting Melbourne next month. Came home with an opal bracelet he’d bought in town, but not from any shop, no. He’d heard at the Post Office that his grandmother’s friend Maureen Buchannan was years behind on her land rates and facing eviction and so was trying to sell off her jewellery in a last-ditch attempt to pay her debts.
He’d paid thousands of dollars for a sweet little opal triplet bracelet, nothing more than a tourist trinket, and when Maureen had asked who it was for he’d said Tilly, so now she had to have it or let him be called a liar.
And then somehow a silver brooch with a deep blue oval opal at its centre had joined Maureen’s bracelet and the brooch was no trinket. It glittered with magic and a life all its own, and it looked old, very old, and very expensive. To go with your blue scarf, he’d said, and wouldn’t tell her where it came from, only that no one in Wirralong had ever worn it. Those were the things he did, and how could she not be impressed by him? Fall for him. Champion him.
*
‘Do you have time to take a drive with me and Rowan this morning?’
Henry had been uncharacteristically sombre at breakfast. Out of sorts since his meeting with London colleagues last night. ‘When?’
‘Now?’
Now meant five am. The light was on in the kitchen, but it wasn’t yet light outside. ‘Where?’
‘Just up to the top of Red Hill.’ The jagged, rocky outcrop after which the property was named.
Again, she had the feeling there was something off about his request. ‘Why?’
‘Amanda was cremated overnight. There weren’t many people at the service. No family. A couple of work colleagues, a couple of neighbours. And I wasn’t there and neither was Rowan, and it doesn’t feel right. I thought I might light a fire, say a few words or more likely no words. But do something to mark her passing. Even if it’s too little, too late.’
She hadn’t even thought about Amanda’s funeral arrangements or what might still need doing back in the UK. Too busy being in love with her life. ‘Of course I’ll come.’
They piled into the 4WD in silence and Henry drove and was quick to put the radio on.
Tilly had questions, a million of them now that her happy mindless bubble had burst. ‘Have you been in contact with Amanda’s family over in the UK? Did they arrange the funeral?’
‘Amanda had no family. Just an ex-husband. I arranged the funeral.’
Tilly frowned. ‘Amanda was married?’
‘By the time I met her, she’d been divorced for several years. In her will, she left her ex a lump sum equal to the amount of money she took with her out of the marriage. She called him a good man, just not the right man, and credited him with helping her realise her potential. The rest went to Rowan. Her ex was at the funeral. Her ashes will come to me. I’ve left her flat and contents as is for now. I’ll have to do something with them eventually. Put stuff aside for Rowan. Sell the flat or let it out. A decision for another day.’
All these decisions he’d been making and she hadn’t even known.
He knew all there was to know about her, but it didn’t go both ways.
Now was not the time to grow insecure. Now was definitely the time to keep her frailties to herself.
She was on her way to a funeral, for God’s sake.
*
They saw out the dawn up on Red Hill, with a tiny campfire burning eucalypt twigs and tea tree. Tilly set about rimming the fire with the smoothest rocks she could find. Busy work, because she didn’t know what to say to the man who stood silent and brooding, a baby in his arms as the sun rose over the horizon.
One of them should say a few words, Tilly thought, but she’d never known Amanda, and Henry offered none. When the fire had gone out and Tilly had covered it too in a heap of pretty stones they tromped their way back to the car.
The trip back was a silent one, but for his muttered ‘Thanks’ as they pulled up outside the homestead.
But when she made to take Rowan with her for the morning, he shook his head. ‘I’ll keep her with me today.’
‘I can stay too if you like?’ She wanted to stay. She wanted to take him back to bed and lie him down and make him forget all about Irish Amanda, mother of Rowan. Remind him that there was a here and now, and breath and life. Love.
Love standing right there in front of her and she owed his presence to a dead woman who would never watch her baby grow.
‘No.’
She couldn’t bear to leave with his last word to her being no. ‘I haven’t been thinking very clearly. You’ll have to go back to London soon, even if only to sort stuff out.’
‘I know.’
She would offer to go, but she didn’t want to hear another no. She nodded instead. ‘It’d be good if you could bring a photo back. Of Amanda.’
‘I don’t want to.’ Gravel from the depths of his soul.
‘For Rowan. In the years to come.’
‘Then I’ll box them up and she can have them in the years to come. She doesn’t need photos of the dead now.’
‘Will you come by later this morning?’ She knew she sounded needy. She ought to have kissed him—or not—and be heading for her car right about now. Why did she stand there and pick and scratch at a man who so clearly had a lot on his mind? ‘We have a stonemason in town. Arthur Dell. I’m sure he’d do up a memorial stone if you asked. Or a sundial. A sculpture. There’s these wire sculptures and you balance them on a pin and they move with the wind. They’re very pretty—’
‘Tilly.’ There was a world of no built into that one word. ‘Enough.’
‘Right. I’m just going to go now …’ Do what she’d usually do. Bake up a storm. ‘I’ll see you round.’
*
I’ll see you round. What kind of farewell was that? So breezy and hurtful, and yes she’d been hurt by the way he shut her down, but that was no reason to turn tail and run. Tilly spooned cookie mix onto her baking trays. She’d needed something quick and easy to make; she didn’t trust herself to make pastry today, because it sure as anything wouldn’t have turned out airy and light.
Stay for a week’s worth of nights, he’d said, but that was back when he’d wanted her there to help care for his new baby. But Henry had Rowan’s nights completely in hand now and Tilly was no longer needed for that. Not anymore.
And, yes, she was sharing his bed, but they hadn’t exactly talked about how that might pan out in the long run. He’d never said I must have you with me every night or I shall waste away for love of you. Okay, the chance of him ever saying that was slim to non-existent. Not that she wanted him to, it was just …
Just a fragile new relationship developing. Perfectly normal anxieties surrounding it.
Just because they’d taken to playing happy families, complete with bouncing baby, didn’t mean they were one.
‘Trouble in paradise?’
She hadn’t even heard her mother come into the kitchen. ‘How did you know?’
‘I know you.’
Mothers. Always with the answers. ‘I’ll have you know I’m a cipher. A mystery locked in a puzzle.’
‘Also, you have no baby this morning.’
Observant mothers. They were the worst. ‘She’s with Henry. It was her mother’s funeral yesterday. Overnight. We went up Red Hill and watched the sunrise to honour her and then I came home.’ It sounded so normal when she said it like that.
Impromptu funeral notwithstanding.
‘Does baby Rowan have a lot of family back in the UK?’
‘None. Henry’s all she’s got.’
‘And how does Henry feel about that?’
Tilly shrugged. ‘I have no idea
. He doesn’t really talk about any of that.’
‘What do you talk about?’
Tilly blushed, hot and hard.
‘Ah,’ her mother said delicately. ‘May I offer some advice?’
Was there a right way to answer that and not offend? She nodded warily.
‘Slow down. You’re moving too fast.’
‘He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.’ More. ‘I’ve loved him forever. I don’t know how to slow down when I’m with him.’
‘You’ll be taking on a baby who’s not your own,’ her mother warned. ‘One who doesn’t look like you or Henry.’
‘My heart’s big enough.’ Shamefaced, she ducked her head. Because her heart hadn’t been big enough this morning. She’d been jealous of a dead woman, both for capturing Henry’s attention when alive, and commanding it all over again in death. Doing everything but stamp her foot and say lookatme lookatme in an effort to secure his attention. ‘It’s only right he should mourn the passing of his daughter’s mother. He’s done nothing to make me think any less of him.’
‘I don’t disagree.’ Her mother’s voice was achingly gentle. ‘And yet here you are. Fretting over something, although I’m not quite sure what.’
‘He has this whole other life I’ve never been part of.’
‘Any one you date is likely to have that.’
‘And he’s clever and worldly, and I’m not, and that bothers me. Have you ever felt dumb around someone you really wanted to impress?’
Her mother sighed. ‘I imagine Henry’s already well aware not everyone can follow him on his intellectual flights. Besides, there are different types of intelligence. You have excellent people skills. I like to think you understand yourself pretty well too. What you feel. What you want. Whereas I suspect Henry has a lot of feelings he’s never unpacked and examined with an eye to understanding them.’
‘Do you think we’re a good fit? Me and Henry?’ She badly wanted her mother to say yes.
It didn’t happen. Instead, her mother headed for the jug and switched it on, buying time. ‘You want a cup of tea?’
Oh, this was bad. ‘Yes. Please.’ Didn’t mean she had to drink it.
Only when the tea had been made and Tilly’s cookie mix had been divvied out onto trays and put in the oven did her mother return to Tilly’s earlier question.
‘I think in many ways, you and Henry make an excellent match. What farming family doesn’t want their only daughter settled somewhere nearby so they can still be in her life? Even better if they can have visions of combining properties to form a farming dynasty. All those decades spent tending the land stays right where they want it—securely held in family hands. Your marriage to Henry Church would give us all of those advantages. I can see Beth and Joe being thrilled to bits too. They already know and love you. Isn’t that convenient?’
Her mother made a convenient marriage sound like the worst thing in the world. ‘If I want to be here, and I do, it is kind of convenient.’
Her mother smiled wryly. ‘And if money’s no issue—and I assume, given Henry’s résumé, that it isn’t—the pair of you can build a beautiful home on either Moore Creek or Red Hill and you’d enjoy that process too.’
‘I would.’ Know thyself. Her mother had said it was a strength.
‘Then there’s that little girl who needs a mother figure, and there you are with your very big heart. That works too.’
No argument there.
‘And if Henry loves, desires and respects you, I have no issue with you marrying him if that’s what you want. It works on many levels.’
‘So, you’re in favour?’
The older woman nodded. ‘The day I married your father I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. We’ve had our ups and downs, life happens. Drought and sickness and death happens. Financial worries, too. I used to stare up at the sky and think this year … this year we’ll find the money and the time to have a holiday at the coast. Married over forty years and we’ve managed it just twice.’ Her mother huffed a laugh. ‘And I still wake up next to that man every morning and think I’m the luckiest woman in the world. I want that for you too.’
And yesterday Tilly would have said in all honesty that waking up to Henry and going about their newfound morning routine made her feel exactly that way. This morning, though, reality had intruded in the guise of a funeral halfway around the world, and a life Henry had led that she knew nothing about. ‘I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take my time on the romancing Henry front.’ Get to know the man that the abandoned, too-clever boy had become. ‘Slow down some.’ Be sure of his love.
‘He’s here for a while, is he not?’ her mother asked, and Tilly nodded.
‘Then you have time.’
*
When Henry came knocking mid-afternoon, Rowan nestled into his shoulder and a bunch of pretty purple irises and fern leaves in hand, Tilly tried to hide her relief at the sight of him and probably failed miserably.
‘For you,’ he said.
‘The flowers or the baby?’
‘Which do you want?’
‘Both. Definitely both.’ She rifled through the cupboards for a vase to put the flowers in, and then took baby Rowan off his hands and let contentment wash over her. And when Rowan seemed equally pleased to see her, well, that was just passionfruit icing for the cake, coconut for the lamingtons, and the prettiest sight she’d seen all day.
‘Do I get one of those smiles too?’ Henry wanted to know, and his words were light but his eyes seemed guarded.
‘Why not? I’m happy to see you.’ It meant she wouldn’t have to sit at home arguing with herself about whether or not to seek him out.
‘I spoke to Joe earlier.’
‘How’s Beth?’
‘Two steps forward one step back. She’s asking for me. Seems agitated. I said I’d drive down tomorrow. Take Rowan with me.’
‘Oh.’
‘Want to come too?’
Oh. Yes and no. Take it slow. Her mother’s words were still fresh in her mind. ‘But you don’t exactly need me to. I mean, you’re all sorted on the caring for Rowan front now. Good job. Are you staying for coffee and cookies?’
‘If you’re offering.’
‘Definitely offering.’
‘But you don’t want to come to Melbourne with us,’ he said, as she got busy buckling the baby into the play carrier currently suction cupped to the top of the counter.
She set a plate of macadamia and white chocolate chip cookies in front of him. ‘I took an order for cakes today that I promised to deliver tomorrow. It’s still a week before I’m officially back at work, but some of my clients have really missed me. They heard I was back and got in touch.’
‘Small world.’
‘Around here, yes.’
‘Anything you’d like me to bring you back?’
She liked that he didn’t try to wheedle and cajole. That he took her fledgling business seriously enough to know that there would be times she needed to tend it rather than be at his beck and call.
At the same time, he could have tried a little harder to get her to go.
This was the state of her mind at the moment. If wanting two opposing reactions from him—and wanting them with equal intensity to the point where she would be disappointed in his response either way—didn’t tell her she was not fit company for a road trip, nothing would. ‘Nah, I’m good.’
‘No cooking ingredients?’
‘I already have a supplier in Melbourne. They can source anything I need. But maybe I can send a few sweets down for Beth. Do you think she’ll be tiring of hospital food by now?’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t say no to some of your food instead.’
‘Good answer.’
‘I’m trying,’ he murmured. ‘This morning went wrong, and I don’t know why. I’m trying to fix it.’
Now would be the perfect time to confess her insecurities. Her thoughts on his big bold life that she’d never been part of. Now would be the tim
e to mention how, after all these years of fighting her way out from beneath that Silly Tilly label, that she often felt so inadequate when he talked about the work he did with his super-smart think tank colleagues. She’d never been shy about telling people what was troubling her before. Silly Tilly could be quite direct.
But she didn’t want to voice her thoughts and watch him back away fast. ‘This morning was hard.’ She gave them both that much. ‘For me, it hit home that Rowan will never know her birth mother, and that’s something to mourn. By your account, Amanda was a worthy colleague and someone you thought enough of to go to bed with. She was smart. She tried to solve her own problems. Cancer beat her. Cancer beats a lot of people in the end. I think she tried to anticipate your wishes, by not foisting the unintended consequences of your night together off on you. And you might think less of her for that, and I see your point of view, but she doesn’t get a do-over. Amanda will never see her baby grow to be an amazing young woman. She’ll never get to see you be the wonderful dad she thought you could be. You didn’t put one rock on the cairn I made for her this morning.’
He shoved his hands in his pockets, a defensive gesture of old, but he held her gaze, his eyes a study in conflict. ‘You shame me.’
She didn’t mean to. She simply wanted to get to the meat of this issue, because it wasn’t going away any time soon. ‘I’d rather love you.’ She couldn’t hold his gaze. ‘I always thought it would be so easy to do. Nothing so far has made me change my mind. Not even your sock drawer.’
He huffed a laugh. ‘God, Tilly.’ His voice was rough. ‘I do not deserve you.’
Seriously? Was he taking the piss? She risked a glance. He looked sincere. ‘So, we’re good? This talking business is working for us?’
‘Insofar as when I go to London next, I’ll be bringing back a box full of Amanda photos and trinkets and things she might have valued, yeah. For her daughter.’
Tears were not appropriate, thought Tilly, blinking wildly. So not appropriate over cookies and tea, and with a baby at her side who understood none of what they’d been saying, but whose future seemed brighter and more loving on account of it. ‘I’ll pack those treats for Beth.’