The House At Flynn's Crossing

by Elisabeth Rose

  ‘Great. There are a couple of cafes, a restaurant and the pub. We supply them with fruit and vegetables. I’m sure I can organise something. And I’ll introduce you to Flynn. He’s the man to see in town. He’s the real estate agent and he owns the pub. I’ll make sure he finds you something really good.’

  ‘Thanks Simon.’ She stood up. ‘I’m really happy you want to see the twins.’

  ‘Tonia, of course I would. Did you think I wouldn’t?’

  She smoothed the fabric of her dress over her knees. ‘I wasn’t sure. I hoped … but …’ Her eyes met his. ‘Dad said be prepared for you to say no, that you might have a family, a wife …’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘What about Lauren?’

  He frowned. ‘What about her?’

  ‘Isn’t she your girlfriend?’

  ‘No, she’s just a friend.’

  Antonia studied him for a moment with one of the inscrutable female expressions he could never figure out. Lauren did it too, sometimes. Antonia’s had a hint of amusement. She picked up her handbag.

  ‘Do me a favour, Simon? Please don’t tell anyone about my past, what happened to me. I want to start fresh. A new life. I don’t want to be pitied or discussed.’

  ‘What about the kids? I’m not ashamed of having them.’ He smiled. ‘I’m proud. Twins. That’s fantastic!’

  A genuine smile lit her face and the teenage Antonia he’d loved so much made a reappearance. ‘I guess we can tell the truth about them. You thought I’d had an abortion. We split up and I was living somewhere else with my parents. Kind of blame our parents.’

  He laughed because that was so Antonia at seventeen.

  ‘Be vague. Okay, I can do that.’

  She said, ‘When can I meet this Flynn person? Is the town named after him?’

  Chapter 2

  Antonia followed Simon’s battered ute back into the small town of Flynn’s Crossing, quivering with relief. He’d taken the news amazingly well, although in some deep-down part of her mind she knew he would despite Dad’s warning. Dad meant well but he didn’t know Simon the way she did; he barely knew Simon at all, that had been the problem. Part of the problem, she corrected herself. Dad wasn’t to blame for her appalling decisions and he said several times he and Mum would have stood by her and supported her through whatever choice she made about her pregnancy. If she’d given them a chance by telling them.

  But that was then. This was now and she meant what she’d told Simon. Fresh start. New place, new friends, new happy memories. Sarah and Jacob would go to the white weatherboard primary school and gradually forget they’d spent the first five years of their lives as captives. Already they were blossoming in the knowledge they wouldn’t be shouted at or told to be quiet, and that their mother wouldn’t be bashed by the man who told them he was their father. They had grandparents and an uncle who loved them unreservedly. Now they would have their real father.

  New life, new thoughts. She clamped her hands on the steering wheel and focused on the road. Driving was still a novelty. Dad had bought her this second-hand red Honda and she loved it and what it represented. Her freedom. She’d gained her licence shortly before her abduction but … No. That part of her life was over.

  Who was this Flynn? He sounded like one of those wealthy landowners in a soapie who thought they owned everyone and everything in the district. Maybe he did, though Simon laughed at her question and said the town was named after some early settler. She didn’t care so long as he had a house she could rent at a reasonable rate, and if he owned the pub maybe he could give her a job in the kitchen as well. He and Simon seemed to be mates, judging by the conversation they’d had when Simon phoned him.

  She chuckled softly. Simon was still as clueless about girls as ever. Lauren was clearly in love with him but he was oblivious. Poor girl. She seemed nice, and who could blame her for a bit of jealousy when some old girlfriend turns up out of the blue and goes off with her man?

  Lauren needn’t worry, that wasn’t going to happen. She and Simon had run their course six years ago and seeing him now didn’t reignite any emotion beyond relief and gratitude that he was prepared to love his children. That was enough for her. She couldn’t face any sort of relationship with a man. Now she wanted to be herself, find out who she was and what she could do, explore life with Sarah and Jacob and teach them they could do or be anything, work on enjoying the freedom and new experiences. Be happy again. The last thing she needed was a man messing with her life.

  Her fingers ached and she realised she’d begun gripping the steering wheel in a stranglehold. She breathed in slowly and relaxed her hands, shaking first one then the other to remove the tension. She was in control of her life now.

  Simon slowed at the town sign and Antonia did likewise as they drove down the main street. She liked the small country town feel of the place. Apart from the two-storey pub, the buildings were neat, small, wooden-framed with shaded verandahs, all nestled snugly into the folds and curves of the hilly terrain and surrounded by lush gardens. When she arrived earlier, she’d asked for directions at the Bluebird Cafe and the red-haired woman had been very friendly and helpful, directing her to the Mountain View Motel where she booked a room for the night, giving her a run-down of Simon’s gardening business and introducing herself as Bettina.

  ‘It’s a cooperative,’ she’d said, leaning on the counter, ready to deliver a thorough explanation of what that entailed. A group of six people running a market garden-style operation and supplying the local area with fresh organically grown fruit and vegetables and honey. Very successful, too, though they weren’t concerned with making money. They liked the lifestyle. Simon wasn’t one of the founders but he’d been there for about four years. The original people were Aidan and Georgia with their friend Rufus. The others had come in later, Lauren being the most recent, as the business expanded. She couldn’t remember who the sixth one was but Bettina thought Lauren and Simon would be a good match.

  All the information came with barely any prompting on Antonia’s part and she knew Bettina, itching to discover exactly who she was and why she was looking for Simon, would expect an explanation of her own in return. She didn’t get it. She’d find out soon enough.

  Simon parked outside the pub and she swung the Honda in beside him and got out.

  A man stood on the wide wooden verandah watching, hands on hips, as she and Simon came up the steps towards him: white shirt tucked into worn blue jeans, slightly tousled sun bleached hair, well-built, strong but not musclebound, an aura of confidence. Good looking and knew it. A man sure of his place and his worth, the owner of the town. Just seeing him made her breathing shallow, made her tense.

  ‘G’day, mate,’ he said. White teeth flashed in the tanned face.

  ‘G’day, Flynn.’ Their palms smacked together in a handshake. A pair of piercing blue eyes met hers. ‘Antonia. Welcome to Flynn’s Crossing.’

  ‘Hello.’ Her hand disappeared into his and she couldn’t prevent the instinctive flinch as he gripped her fingers.

  ‘Sorry.’ He let go instantly, his face collapsed in remorse. ‘Don’t know my own strength.’

  She managed a tiny smile. ‘It’s okay, Mr Flynn.’

  ‘Just Flynn.’ His smile was reassuringly warm, the voice and expression softer when he said, ‘Simon tells me you’re looking for a place to rent. A house.’

  ‘Yes. Two bedrooms would do. It’s just me and my children.’ She waited for the inevitable query about a husband or partner but Simon jumped in.

  ‘You need three or four bedrooms,’ he said. ‘Two isn’t enough. What about visitors?’

  ‘Come inside.’ Flynn led them through the empty bar area to a courtyard with tables and chairs. Potted flowering plants set about on the brick paving and a trellis covered with bright purple flowers made it a cool, welcoming space. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘How many children?’ he asked when they’d chosen a table in the sh
ade.

  ‘I have five-year-old twins.’

  ‘They must be a handful.’ Again that sparkling smile, but it had an assessing edge. He must be doing quick mental arithmetic, figuring she’d been a teenage mother, but he oozed charm. A man confident in his looks and ability to get his own way. Her skin prickled uncomfortably. He made her edgy, unsettled, the way he looked at her. They should leave.

  ‘No … they … they’re very good. They’re very quiet. No trouble.’ She glanced at Simon for help, forcing herself to stay seated when she wanted to run for the car.

  ‘Is there anything suitable in the area?’ he asked.

  ‘As a matter of fact, there is a house.’ The blue searchlights turned their beam on her. ‘Perfect for you—but the owner really wants to sell it rather than rent.’

  ‘Oh.’ Antonia nodded. ‘Okay, well, thank you.’ She looked at Simon. ‘We should go and not waste Flynn’s time.’

  It had been a long shot. Flynn’s Crossing was small, a bit out of the way to attract many tourists and retirees even though it was a throughway to the mountains. Apart from the hikers and travellers, people came and stayed put or had been here for generations. The whole venture was fraught with maybes and ifs. She pushed her chair back.

  ‘When would you be wanting to move up here?’

  She may as well not have spoken.

  ‘As soon as possible. But if there’s nothing available … I can look elsewhere.’

  ‘You must know of something,’ said Simon. ‘Come on, Flynn. You know everything.’

  She waited, hands on the arms of the metal chair, ready to rise and escape.

  ‘There’s a place out on the river road … but …’

  ‘You mean Higgin’s old place? That’s a dump. She can’t go there!’

  ‘How bad is it?’ she asked.

  ‘No. You can’t live there,’ Simon said sharply. ‘It’s too isolated for a start.’

  Antonia nodded and bit her lip. He reached out and squeezed her hand gently. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured.

  A wrinkle appeared in Flynn’s brow. He missed nothing. ‘You’re right. It’s in terrible condition and too far out of town.’

  ‘How much does the owner want for that other house?’ she asked.

  He rubbed his lips together. ‘Three-twenty but may negotiate.’ He obviously thought she wasn’t buyer material. No profit for him here.

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘But Tonia …’ Simon began.

  ‘Let me look at it, Simon.’

  He smiled. ‘Sure, why not?’

  She risked a quick glance at Flynn. ‘Maybe the owner will rent it to me if you ask him.’

  He tilted his head. Considering. ‘Maybe.’ Which meant ‘unlikely’.

  ‘Which place is it?’ asked Simon.

  ‘On Randall Road. Old Mrs Tracey died last year and the heir wants to sell up. It’s been empty for months.’

  ‘The white house down the end with the mango tree at the front?’

  ‘That’s the one. Shall we go?’ Flynn clearly didn’t like to sit about wasting time.

  Neither did she in this case. A mango tree. How wonderfully exotic. The house sounded perfect already. If they would rent to her and she could get a job, Mum and Dad would help her with a deposit, buying wasn’t out of the question … So many ifs. Too many. The little bubble of euphoria popped.

  ‘You can come with me in my car,’ said Flynn. He led them back out to the front of the pub where the increasing heat made shimmery waves over the road.

  ‘I’ll take the ute, thanks mate. I have to drop into Kev’s and pick up the generator.’

  ‘Right. We’ll meet you there.’

  Get in a car with a strange man? Every fibre screamed no. Antonia hesitated. ‘I’ll follow in my car.’

  Flynn didn’t care. ‘Okay, if you prefer. Mine’s the BMW.’ He pointed to a black car parked in the shade. ‘We go back the way you came in.’ He strode away, car keys jingling in his hand. An electronic chirrup sounded and the BMW flashed its lights.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ said Simon. ‘Don’t worry. Flynn’s a good bloke. He won’t rip you off. Trust him. Trust me.’

  ‘He’s very … confident.’ She wanted to add smarmy and slick but he was Simon’s friend and she had to trust his judgement. Had to trust someone.

  ‘Yeah, I guess. Anyway you’d better go. He’s waiting.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘See you soon. Don’t worry. I’m so pleased you came.’ He dropped a soft kiss on her cheek, which surprised her, but he was gone before she could react.

  Flynn drove faster than she was comfortable with along the quiet roads but she had to keep pace or lose him. She didn’t want to annoy him by keeping him waiting. He took a left turn just before the primary school, followed around the block and turned again down a street with a lopsided white signpost saying Randall Road. It was a cul-de-sac with three houses down each side and two at the bottom. Towering gum trees formed a backdrop along the right-hand side. Flynn drove to the end and pulled into an overgrown driveway on the right, leading to a low white weatherboard cottage with green trim and a long verandah. A large tree with big dark green leaves spread its branches regally over the front yard. The mango tree, with plump fruit hanging like green treasures. Antonia laughed with delight. She got out of the car still smiling, gazing up at the magnificent tree, its thick leaves casting dappled shadows on the lush green of the yard. A swing for the twins would be brilliant on that lower branch.

  Flynn came and stood beside her, grinning. ‘It’s a monster.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. Look at all that fruit.’

  ‘Take some when you go,’ he said.

  ‘But I couldn’t do that. It’s not mine.’

  ‘The neighbours will be collecting it and if it’s left, it’ll just rot.’

  ‘Oh. Well, if you think so. Thank you.’

  ‘No worries.’

  ‘It’s a magnificent tree.’

  ‘It needs a trim.’

  ‘No!’

  He looked at her, eyebrows raised.

  ‘I think it should be left the way it is … free … to grow.’ She stopped abruptly, breathing hard. ‘I’m sorry. I …’

  ‘That’s okay. Jean Tracey felt the same way about it.’

  ‘Did she?’ She stole a glance and discovered he was watching her with a tiny smile playing on his lips. He nodded.

  ‘That’s why it’s such a monster. She was ninety-one when she died and she reckoned her father planted it when he was ten. Never cut so much as a twig off it, although the odd branch has come down in a storm.’

  She couldn’t stop her own smile mirroring his. ‘It must be nearly two hundred.’

  ‘Come and have a look inside,’ he said after a moment.

  The garden had been organised and cared for once, but during the months of neglect had begun a life of its own in the warm moist conditions.

  ‘This needs work,’ she murmured looking about, assessing and calculating what she would do first. Clear the weeds from the path and the rose beds. Prune and trim, take out some of the overblown flowers. Not too bad. Jean Tracey had been a gardener.

  Flynn said, ‘Hey. Inside. Remember?’ He stood on the top step with the green painted front door already open. The paint was flaking and cracked. The same deterioration showed on the verandah railings where the paint had disappeared completely. Where the guttering had leaked onto the verandah, some of the wood was rotten.

  Antonia rushed forward. ‘I’m so sorry, I was daydreaming. I know you must be busy.’

  ‘No worries.’ He stepped aside to allow her entry but she hesitated on the verandah as a rush of memory froze her in place. Alone in a house with a strange man. At his mercy. He had no mercy, the other. Her breathing accelerated, skin clammy despite the heat of the day.

  ‘Antonia, are you all right?’ The concern in his voice was genuine. She focused on his face. Not the same man. They weren’t all the same. T
rust him, Simon said. Simon would be here soon. Any minute. Should she wait for him?

  She exhaled slowly and took another deep slow breath. She could do this. She must if she had any chance of making a new life. ‘Yes, I’m … I’m okay.’

  She caught a reassuring whiff of a woody fresh scent as she passed him to enter the dim, cool interior.

  As houses go, it was a basic, old-fashioned floor plan with wooden floors, white painted walls going cream with age and the occasional water stain, a big living room, three decent-sized bedrooms with large windows, a bathroom with a showerhead over the bath but also a newer-looking shower cubicle, separate toilet and a kitchen big enough for the red formica-topped table and four chairs still in residence. Mrs Tracey’s relatives had cleared personal items but left some of the larger pieces of furniture. A reasonably new fridge stood with its door open. Partly furnished was good.

  The stuffy closed-up smell would dissipate in no time and she wasn’t afraid of scrubbing and dusting. As long as the roof didn’t leak, she could live here.

  ‘There’s only one bathroom but she had the hot water system switched over to solar twenty years ago. It’s on the town water, electricity and sewerage. The water’s still connected but you’d have to arrange for the power.’

  A verandah ran the length of the house at the rear and along both sides to join the one at the front. The back garden was half-vegetable plot, again neglected but flourishing. A green garden shed looked quite new. The back fence struggled against the encroaching bush, but neighbours on both sides meant the house wasn’t isolated. Music floated over from next door. An orchestra playing Mozart. They wouldn’t mind her practising flute.

  ‘It’s rather run-down but the owner won’t spend any money on it. She wants to sell as is.’

  ‘Would she rent until someone wants to buy? I mean, it’s empty. She could make something out of it in the meantime.’

  He rubbed his chin. ‘I agree. I’ll call and see what she says. Excuse me.’ He pulled his phone from his pocket and headed out into the back garden.

  Antonia wandered about the empty rooms. ‘Poor neglected house,’ she murmured. ‘Mrs Tracey loved you and so do I.’