There was a tap on her door. She jumped, shoved the little book between the others she’d bought at the second-hand stall and opened the door.
Bazz stood on her balcony, highlighted by the glow of the fading sun behind him. His smile was wide. “Hello, lovely lady. Have you finished what you hurried off to do?”
“Yes…well…no…” A shiver prickled down her back. “How did you know I was here?”
“You came here after you left the pool.” He stepped closer and glanced over her shoulder. “All alone? I thought perhaps you’d like to join me for a pre-dinner drink.”
“I…” She stood taller and put the edge of the door between them. “I’m getting ready for dinner, meeting friends.”
“Perhaps after dinner then? A nightcap?”
Natalie found it hard to drag her gaze from the moustache that looked like it had been pasted on above his lip. It was what her girls would deem ‘porn star’. Another shiver rippled down her spine.
“No, thank you.” She began to push the door.
“Tomorrow perhaps?” he asked.
“I’m leaving,” she said and shut the door firmly, her heart making a loud thud in her chest.
She pressed her fingers to her lips and listened as his footsteps retreated across the wooden deck of the verandah. The persistence of the man was incredible, she’d give him that much, but never in a million years would she have a drink or anything else with him. She turned to her case and began to pack with renewed fervour. She’d had a wonderful interlude here at Cable Beach but with Faye and Dot gone and strange men making advances, the shine had gone from her stay.
Laura heard her dad come into the kitchen behind her. When she turned he was staring at the table, a puzzled expression on his face.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Who’s the extra for?”
He waved a hand over the table she’d just set with five placemats.
“Granny.”
He frowned.
“It’s Saturday night and I’m cooking pork roast.”
“I didn’t think she was coming?”
“Who?” Bree asked as she joined them.
“Granny.” Laura and Milt spoke at once. His tone was a little sharp.
“Why wouldn’t she be coming?” Bree said as she took a beer from the fridge and passed it to her dad before getting one for herself. “It’s Granny Pork Roast night, isn’t it?”
Kate walked through the door yawning.
“You okay?” Laura asked. Her sister always looked pale these days.
Kate gave a half-smile in return. “Just a bit weary.”
“That’s rich considering you’ve slept for half the day,” Bree said.
“I’ve been doing other things.”
“Like what?”
“She prepared the vegetables,” Laura said.
“That’d be right, you two always stick together.”
“What’s got up your nose?”
“That’s enough,” Milt rumbled but his words were lost in Bree’s tirade.
“You’ve been late most mornings, you work at half pace sometimes and—”
“She hasn’t been feeling well.” Laura defended her big sister.
“What’s wrong with you?” Milt asked.
“Nothing.”
“Girls, girls, girls!” Olive strode into the room, silencing the noise with a clap of her hands. “What’s going on?”
They all stopped.
“Hello, Granny.” Laura broke the brief silence.
Olive eyed them all suspiciously then kissed each girl’s cheek. She hesitated in front of her son.
“Hello, Milton.”
“Mum.” He bent to brush a kiss across the cheek she offered then turned and sat in his chair.
“Can I get you a wine, Granny?” Kate asked. “I think we’ve got some.”
“That’d be very nice, thank you.”
Olive hooked her handbag over the back of a chair. “I could smell that roast from the door.”
“Can you look at it?” Laura pleaded. “It doesn’t seem to be crisping up.”
Olive went to the oven and peered in. “It might need a hotter oven. I never mastered the art of good crackling. Your mother’s the expert.” She turned back to the others. “Where is she?”
They all paused.
“She’s gone to visit Aunty Brenda,” Laura said.
“In Brisbane?” Olive looked to her son for confirmation.
He nodded.
“I would have come out earlier and helped if I’d realised she was leaving today.”
“She’s been gone all week.” Kate set a glass of wine in Olive’s place.
“But…” Once more Olive looked to her son. “What about school?” Her shoulders went back. “How on earth have you managed with tailing?”
“I’ve got three other grown women here to help.”
“We made quite a team.” Kate glared at Bree.
“But the food—”
“I did it.” Laura grinned.
“Very well, I might add.” Milt raised his beer in a mock salute. “You all did very well.”
Bree opened her mouth as if she was going to say something then took a mouthful of beer instead and sat at the table.
“Well!” Olive said. “Fancy that. Your mother’s left you and gone all the way to Brisbane.”
“We can look after ourselves, Granny,” Laura said. She hadn’t had a chance to prod Kate into asking their dad about the Brisbane trip and obviously Granny knew nothing.
“Let me help you now, at least.” Olive turned back to Laura.
“No need. Everything’s under control. Once the meat’s cooked Dad can carve and Kate can help me serve. I’m just making an apple sauce.” She waved her hand towards a pot that was steaming hard on the stove.
“Don’t let it catch,” Olive said.
“Oh no.” Laura whisked the pot from the stove and somehow the force of it flung the lid to one side, touching her hand. She jerked the pot forward and boiling liquid slopped down her front. She wasn’t wearing an apron and the hot apple soaked straight through her jumper.
“Get that top off quick,” Olive commanded.
Laura ripped it over her head and behind her there was a collective gasp.
“Hell’s teeth! Laura, is that a tattoo?”
She cringed at her dad’s bellow and turned slowly, hugging her bunched jumper to her chest. Olive whipped a tablecloth from a drawer and draped it around her shoulders.
Milt pushed back from his chair. “What in the blazes would you do that to yourself for?”
Her two sisters remained silent, Kate wide-eyed and Bree with a smug look on her face.
“Let’s deal with this first.” Olive waved a hand towards Laura’s midriff. “Did you burn yourself?”
Laura shook her head. “It barely soaked through.” She looked down at a red patch stinging on her wrist. “Only steam on my arm, I think.”
“That’s just as bad. Come here to the sink and run it under cold water.”
“A bloody tattoo,” her father muttered behind her. “The world’s gone mad.”
Beside her Kate cleaned up the splattered apple sauce and Olive saved what was left in the saucepan.
“Worse things happen up creeks without paddles,” she said.
Kate made a funny noise in her throat and gave Laura a grin behind Olive’s back. “A tattoo!” she mouthed.
“So what made you get a tattoo, little sis?” Bree had retrieved a thick work shirt from the laundry and put it on the bench beside Laura.
Laura turned off the tap and patted her hand dry. She glanced at Bree who was leaning on the bench beside her. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Christ!”
“Milton, I’ll not put up with you blaspheming,” Granny said. “Make yourself useful and carve this meat.”
He glowered at his mother a moment, opened his mouth, closed it, then took a deep breath and did as she asked.
“What is it anyway?” Bree peered at her shoulder.
“A moth.” Laura grimaced. It had been Kyle’s idea. He had flames tattooed up one arm and he’d joked about her being a moth to a flame. She’d thought it funny at the time but the next day, sore and sorry, she’d hated it. Hadn’t even told Spritzi about it.
“I think it looks like a butterfly,” Kate said as she passed with an armload of plates.
“It’s a moth.” Laura slipped the sleeve of the shirt gingerly over her wrist.
“No.” Bree shook her head as Laura shrugged the shirt over her shoulders. “Definitely looks like a butterfly.” She flipped the lid off a beer and passed it to Laura with a grin. “Drink?”
Laura didn’t say much over dinner. She was aware of the odd glare from her stony-faced dad but he said nothing more about the tattoo. She got compliments for her roast but she’d been disappointed. There was no crispy crackling like her mum made and the apple sauce was runny.
Olive was full of questions about tailing and more admonishments for not letting her know Natalie was away. “How long will she be away for?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Milt said.
Laura risked a glance at her dad. He sounded fed-up.
“Have you spoken to her?” she asked.
“Not lately.”
He’d said that the last time she’d asked him. He startled her by lunging forward and peering across the table to the far wall.
“Hell, what’s the date? It’s nearly the end of the financial year and the BAS will need to be done soon.”
Laura glanced in the direction of the calendar, too far away to read.
“I can do it,” Bree mumbled.
“It’s not even the end of the month yet,” Kate said. “But I can help so it’s up-to-date when Mum comes home.”
Bree’s look was sceptical.
“Account-keeping is my job, you know. I can do BAS.”
“I think it’s a bit selfish of Natalie really.” Olive started to stack plates and Laura felt the collective breath held by the rest of her family. Olive went on, oblivious. “It’s not like her.”
“No, it’s not.” Milt stood and almost snatched the stack of dirty plates from his mother’s hands. “She usually puts everyone else first before doing something for herself.”
Laura glanced at her sisters, who were looking at their dad as if he’d just revealed a dark family secret.
“Yes, well.” Olive stood and rested her hands stiffly on the back of her chair. “That’s a mother’s lot in life. Now we should get these dishes done. Isn’t there a home football match on the television tonight?”
Kate and Bree both leaped to their feet but Milt surprised them all as he dumped his load of dishes on the bench. “It’s only a few pots, I’ll do them.”
Olive opened and closed her mouth then gave a sharp nod of her head. “Thank you, Milton. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Bree and Kate helped clear the rest of the table and pack the dishwasher. With everyone busy Laura snuck her phone from her pocket and opened up Facebook. Her mother didn’t use it but Aunty Brenda did. She was often posting photos of her granddaughter or family get-togethers. Maybe she’d posted something about Natalie’s visit. Laura had been so focused on everything else in her life she hadn’t thought to check. Five minutes later she’d given up all pretence of hiding what she was doing and was staring at the pictures on the screen in front of her.
“No phones at the table,” Bree teased as she did a final wipedown.
Laura looked up, ignoring her. “Dad, have you spoken to Mum at all since she left?”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him. His shoulders drooped. “We’ve been texting.”
“But her text said she was going to Brisbane?”
“Yes, why?”
“I’ve just checked out Aunty Brenda’s Facebook page and she’s travelling with her family – in Thailand.”
Four puzzled expressions looked back at her then they all started to speak at once. Finally it was her dad whose voice rose to the top.
“Quiet!” He moved up beside her and held out his hand. “Show me.”
Laura lifted the phone and showed him pictures of Brenda at the beach, by a pool, riding an elephant. “Her post from last Sunday was from Brisbane airport.”
“Mum wouldn’t have flown up there as a surprise, would she?” Kate asked. “And not contacted Aunty Brenda first?”
“Surely not,” Olive said.
“Maybe she offered to house-sit?” Bree said.
Olive’s hands went to her hips and she glared at her son. “Are you truly telling me your wife has been gone a week and you have no idea where she is?”
A deep blush coloured Milt’s ruddy cheeks. He dug his own phone from his shirt pocket and strode from the room. Laura’s sisters stared from her to each other.
“Well,” Olive said. “That’s a fine affair of the state. I think I need a strong cup of tea.”
Twenty
Natalie glanced around the dimly lit restaurant as she settled in the chair the waiter had pulled out for her. There were several places to eat at the hotel and for her last night she’d chosen a smaller restaurant with Italian-themed dining but before she’d asked for a table she’d done a reconnaissance. There’d been no sign of Bazz. He’d rattled her by turning up at her door but here, in the company of other people in the restaurant, she could almost laugh about it. Fancy someone asking her out. It was just a little bit flattering. She pictured Bazz’s moustache wobbling over his lip, recalled the oily tone of his voice, and knew he was definitely not her type.
She picked up the menu then took in her surroundings again. The restaurant wasn’t as popular this evening as she’d noticed in passing on previous nights but it was possibly her last chance for some fine dining for a while. Across from her sat a pair of young lovers with eyes only for each other and to her right sat a man, perhaps several years younger than her. He was alone and reading a newspaper. Further away there were a couple of tables of four and that was it.
She ordered then spent time flicking through a couple of the tour brochures she’d brought with her. She’d found a few options for cheaper accommodation closer to town overlooking Roebuck Bay and planned to spend the next day transferring and settling in and booking tours to fill in the week. And after that…well, who knew?
The barramundi salsa verde was delicious with the fennel, rocket and orange salad and she was pondering the recipe when the waiter brought her a fresh glass of wine and removed her plate. She declined the offer of the sweets menu and had just raised the wine to her lips when she noticed the flare of a flame from the corner of her eye. She turned, gasped as she realised the newspaper the man had been reading had brushed a candle and was starting to burn. He noticed just as she did and began to pat at it with his hand. On instinct Natalie tossed her glass of wine over it, soaking the paper, the cloth and part of his shirt.
She put her fingers to her lips. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
A set of amused dark-brown eyes studied her. “It was my fault. Shouldn’t read the newspaper at the table.”
She smiled. “Not one with a candle on it anyway.”
The waiter returned and helped clean up.
“Please bring the lady another glass of wine,” the man said.
“Oh no.” Natalie shook her head.
“I insist.”
The waiter hovered.
“All right, thank you,” she said.
The man got up from his table and reached out a hand. “I’m Gabe.”
“Natalie.” She shook his hand.
“You’re on holidays?” He sat back down.
“Isn’t everyone here?” She chuckled then felt silly. She’d noticed over dinner the staff had been chatty with him in a different manner to that they used with other guests. “Are you connected with the
place?”
“No. Tour guide. I stay here from time to time when I’m picking up or dropping off a group. They know me here.”
The waiter brought her wine and refilled the water glass Gabe had emptied before the fire.
“You planning some trips?” He glanced at the brochures she’d spread along the edge of the table.
“Yes.” She stacked them up. “I haven’t made up my mind exactly where yet. It will depend on what’s available but I’m leaving here tomorrow so my first job is to book somewhere else to stay. It’s lovely here but I need to find something a bit cheaper, especially if I’m going to be out for most of the day on tours.”
“Bookings are at a premium this time of year.”
“So I’ve discovered. I wanted to take a Dampier Peninsula tour. I’m keen to visit the pearl farm at Cygnet Bay too, but everything’s booked out for the next week and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be staying.”
He nodded, then dropped his gaze back to the table where he twisted the water glass in his hand. She had time to take in the close crop of his dark hair and the neatly trimmed dark shadow of stubble across his jaw.
He glanced up, caught her studying him. “There’s more to the peninsula than pearls.”
She reached for her wine, took a sip. “Do you take tours there?”
“Sometimes, but it’s also home for me.” He paused as if he was pondering his next words. “I’m heading home tomorrow.”
“Home.” Natalie thought about the detailed map she’d studied of the peninsula. It was a large expanse. “Which part do you come from?”
“It’s a small community up the top of the peninsula.” He paused again. “If you want to see the real peninsula I could give you a ride.”
“To Cygnet Bay?”
“No, my country. My people are Bard.”
Natalie shifted in her seat. Was Gabe another Bazz? She hadn’t got that feeling about him.
“It’s a special place. Much better than here. Although the accommodation’s not as luxurious.”
“Are there pearls?”
He shook his head. “No need for pearls. Not far to Cygnet Bay though if you really want them.”
The Model Wife Page 25