The Summer of Secrets

by Barbara Hannay

  Dad’s even going to try to organise horseriding lessons for me. I’m not actually all that keen on horses, but he thinks I’ll love it, so I thanked him heaps and I’m reading Diary of a Horse Mad Girl.

  Gran’s taking me shopping for new jeans and a sweater. She says it can get cold up in the mountains, even in summer. I’m hoping I can get a hoodie. Problem is, Gran has very old-fashioned views about clothes.

  Shopping for bras with her was SO embarrassing. OMG. To begin with she didn’t even think I needed one, but when I told her I was the only girl in my class without one, she took me to Target. There were so many pretty ones in all kinds of styles and colours, but she would only let me buy two boring white bra camis. :(

  Anyway … Dad says he might even have time to take me on a trip to the Barrier Reef. There’s a glass-bottomed boat for looking at the coral and fish and you can go snorkelling, too. This is shaping up to be the Best Holiday of Bree Latimer’s life!!

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Regional Gallery was last the place Finn wanted to be on a Saturday night, surrounded by art fanciers, and waiting for the mayor to finish her speech. It wasn’t that he couldn’t appreciate the local talent in the wide range of artworks on display, but he’d covered more than his fair share of such gatherings.

  Before the mayor had stepped up to the microphone, he’d guessed exactly what she was going to say and he’d been right. He’ also known that the wine in disposable plastic would be barely drinkable, and the cheese platters totally predictable. Not that he was snobbish about food and wine, but he wanted to be at home with a beer and a pizza with extra chilli. In front of the TV, watching the footie.

  Standing well to the back of the crowd, with his camera looped over one shoulder, Finn covered his mouth with his hand to hide his yawn, and planned his exit strategy. As soon as he’d photographed the mayor and the requisite number of art lovers grouped in front of their favourite paintings and sculptures, he’d grab the necessary names, pay his respects to the gallery and art-society movers and shakers, and slip away. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d told a white lie about needing to cover another function.

  A round of applause signalled that the mayor had finished. Now Adele Pennington stepped up to the mike to give an overview of the art society’s achievements for the past six months. Finn took out his phone. He would record her speech rather than taking notes.

  As he flipped to the recording app, a new arrival caught his attention. In the doorway, a young woman appeared in a figure-hugging, short black dress that showed off miles of leg. She was wearing sheer black stockings, high heels, and a sleeveless dress with a low neckline, revealing smooth pale skin and a hint of perfect cleavage.

  She was quite a stunner, but in a weird way, she reminded him of —

  Finn blinked. Looked again.

  Chloe? Surely not?

  Staring like a gormless teenager, no doubt with his jaw somewhere around his knees, Finn realised the woman was turning, looking his way. It was Chloe, all right. She saw him, smiled and waved.

  Whack.

  This was Chloe Brown as Finn had never seen her before. At work, those long, shapely legs were always hidden by trousers and sensible shoes, and the blouses she wore had sleeves and collars. Tonight she’d done something with her hair, as well. It was swept up, leaving her pale neck bare, and glamorous earrings glittered. No doubt make-up also played a part in this transformation. Chloe’s eyes, her cheekbones, her lips all drew Finn’s fascinated attention.

  Another burst of applause marked the end of Adele Pennington’s speech. Thank God he’d remembered to hit the record button. As Finn pocketed his phone, Chloe made her way across the gallery, weaving between chattering groups.

  ‘Good evening, boss.’ She was smiling as she reached him.

  Finn cleared his throat. ‘Hey there. I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d be here, either,’ she said. ‘I could have covered this show for you.’

  He shrugged. ‘I gave you the weekend off.’

  ‘Very generous of you, too.’ Chloe smiled again and looked around her. ‘I was interested in checking out the local art scene.’

  ‘Yeah. Course.’ Close up, she was even more arresting. Finn was way too conscious of the alluring curve of her bare neck, the smoothness of her skin, the sooty shadows on her eyelids that made her eyes even more attractive than usual. When she turned, he saw a small blue butterfly tattooed at her nape and he found it, instantly, the most fascinating piece of artwork in the room.

  ‘Are you okay, Finn?’ Chloe asked with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Absolutely.’ With an effort, he gathered his scattered wits and was instantly ashamed of himself. He was a grieving widower, not a young stud on the make. He cleared his throat. ‘Let me introduce you to some of the folk here.’

  ‘Thanks. That’d be great.’ Chloe grinned. She seemed to be doing a lot of smiling. ‘I assume this crowd is from the Burralea elite?’

  ‘Some of them.’ Finn almost placed a hand on her elbow, to steer her forward, but thought better of it. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You need wine and cheese.’

  As it turned out, Finn didn’t slip away to watch the footie as he’d planned. After all, Chloe hardly knew anyone at this event and it was easy enough for him to make introductions. He learned that she’d studied art at high school and had a lingering interest in painting, which meant she was able to make insightful comments about the work on display. She also asked intelligent questions of the artists and Finn, trailing nearby, was able to collect info for his story that he would otherwise have missed.

  ‘If I’d known you were an art lover, I’d have definitely allocated this job to you,’ he admitted.

  Chloe didn’t point out that he could easily have quizzed her about her interests. She smiled forgivingly and murmured something about next time.

  The crowd was thinning, people were leaving, and Finn told himself he should leave, too. But Chloe’s glass was empty, so he fetched her another of the little plastic disposables. When he got back to her, she was being chatted up by a fellow with a Ned Kelly beard and the shoulders of a footballer. The fellow must have told her a joke and Chloe was laughing and looking utterly relaxed and, quite possibly, enchanted.

  ‘Here’s your wine,’ Finn said to her.

  She was still laughing as she turned. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said. ‘Finn, do you know Angus? Angus Richards?’

  ‘No. How do you do?’

  ‘Angus, this is my boss, Finn Latimer, the editor of the Bugle.’

  Finn’s hand was gripped in a vice-like handshake and after that, he was privy to Angus Richards’ long-winded story about his family’s blueberry farm west of Tolga and his sister’s award-winning, best-selling, wheel-thrown pottery.

  Finn supposed he should have excused himself and left Chloe and Angus to become congenially acquainted, but if Chloe was looking for male companionship, she could do way better than this bearded bore. A perverse stubbornness glued Finn’s feet to the floor.

  Eventually, the bearded Angus was called away by his sister the potter. He told Chloe that it was awesome to have met her and he hoped to see her around sometime. Chloe farewelled him with an extra warm, sparkling-eyed smile.

  By now there were very few people left in the gallery.

  ‘Would you like a lift home?’ Finn asked her.

  Chloe smiled again. She hadn’t really stopped smiling since she’d arrived. ‘That’s gallant of you, Finn, but it’s a lovely night and I don’t have very far to walk.’

  ‘In those heels?’ He couldn’t believe he’d asked this. Why hadn’t he simply said goodnight?

  ‘Well —’ Surprise shone in her brown eyes and she studied him for an uncomfortably long time, as if she was trying to read him. Finn couldn’t blame her for being confused. He was having a hard enough time trying to understand his own behaviour.

  He shrugged, hoping to look casual. ‘I’m using the company car
and your place is on my way.’

  Another smile. ‘Then I’d appreciate a lift.’

  The journey was brief, hardly more than two short blocks, and Finn kept his eyes strictly on the road and not on the girl beside him and the sheer filmy stockings covering her thighs.

  When he pulled up outside the Progress Association’s building, he didn’t get out to open the door for her.

  ‘Well, that was fun,’ she said.

  ‘Glad you enjoyed it.’

  She should have jumped out then and he shouldn’t have said anything more, but she didn’t rush away and he found himself adding in a carefully nonchalant voice, ‘By the way, there’s a barbecue on tomorrow night, out at Seth Drummond’s place. He’s a mate of mine, has stud cattle. The farm’s quite interesting and you’d really like his wife, Alice. Thought you might like to meet a few more people.’

  ‘Oh.’ In the car’s darkened interior, Finn couldn’t see Chloe’s face, but she sounded surprised. A longish pause followed and he wished he could snatch back the invitation. There were lines to be drawn between work and recreation. What the hell had he been thinking?

  ‘That sounds really nice,’ she said at last. ‘But Greta and Mike Fairlie have already invited me to a barbecue at their red claw farm.’

  ‘Right. Sure. That’s fine. No worries.’ Finn spoke too quickly. What kind of dickhead was he? ‘You’ll enjoy that,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I will.’

  ‘Goodnight then.’

  ‘Goodnight, Finn.’ Chloe opened the passenger door and the courtesy light came on, highlighting the blue butterfly on her neck, the soft, smooth skin of her arms and the short skirt creeping up her stocking-covered thighs. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  He nodded. ‘See you Monday.’

  She closed the door and the light went out. She stepped onto the footpath and lifted a hand to wave as he took off. His place was a little way out of town and as he turned the next corner, he could see her through the rear-view mirror. In the yellow glow of a streetlight, she was still standing on the footpath, watching him. He drove through the night grim-faced, cursing his stupidity.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Rolf’s invitation came late in the afternoon. He had roasted a piece of beef in the fire pit and there was way too much for one. ‘Why don’t you come over?’ he asked.

  Emily hesitated. Now that they’d slept together, there would be an expectation.

  ‘It’s just a meal, Emily.’

  But there would also be firelight and wine and conversation … and look how that had ended last time.

  And yet, Emily couldn’t deny she’d been dreadfully lonely since Alex had left. His continued lack of communication had been eating at her. The few evenings she’d spent at her book club or playing mahjong with her friends had not been enough to make up for the solitary nights spent at home, struggling to lose herself in a book or a TV program, with only her miserable thoughts for company.

  ‘I’ll pick you up in the canoe,’ Rolf offered. ‘And I can take you home afterwards.’

  Afterwards …

  He had diplomatically made a point of saying it was just a meal. ‘You don’t need to collect me, Rolf. I can row.’

  ‘I don’t like the idea of you rowing home alone in the dark.’

  If she was honest, she wouldn’t really enjoy that either. ‘Perhaps I should drive then,’ Emily said. It didn’t really take very long to get to Rolf’s place by car. She and Alex had done that so many times.

  And of course, by then, she had committed herself, hadn’t she?

  They sat outside on logs Rolf had sawn and sanded into comfortable seats, enjoying a bottle from his excellent wine cellar. A glowing bed of hot coals heated the camp oven that held their dinner and an almost full moon was on the rise. Huge and lemon at first, it climbed the dusky sky and then turned silver and splendid with the arrival of night.

  The beef was perfectly cooked and Rolf had prepared baked parmesan potatoes and steamed greens to accompany it. They ate the delicious meal on the paved terrace in front of the house where a view of the lake allowed them to watch the moon’s path across the still water.

  So very pleasant, it should have been relaxing, but Emily’s brain was too busy. Would they, wouldn’t they? What did Rolf expect? What did she want …?

  She tried to keep the conversation light. ‘These potatoes are divine,’ she said. ‘Did you find the recipe on the internet?’

  Rolf shook his head. ‘They’re a tip I picked up from my chef son, David.’

  She should have remembered about David. The youngest of Rolf’s three sons, he was currently working in a restaurant in London’s West End and apparently doing very well.

  ‘How are your boys?’ she asked. Rolf had stopped talking about his sons when Robbie died, which was considerate of him, but the silence shouldn’t last forever.

  ‘They’re fine, thanks.’ Rolf shot her a quick, searching glance and she smiled to show that she was okay with this conversation.

  Perhaps satisfied, Rolf added, ‘Nate seems to get himself promoted every five minutes.’

  ‘He’s into green energy or something, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, renewable energy trading. He works as a consultant, mainly with small businesses now. I can’t quite keep up with it.’

  ‘And what about Christopher?’

  Rolf smiled broadly. ‘Chris is still with the same engineering firm, and he finally seems to have settled down with a steady girlfriend.’

  Emily managed to hold on to her own smile. Don’t think about Robbie. ‘That’s great news. Have you met her?’

  ‘Yes, she’s lovely. A nurse. Perfect for Chris.’

  ‘How wonderful.’ To her relief, her voice didn’t crack as she said this, but Rolf’s answering smile was almost apologetic, as if he felt guilty for having three sons who were all alive and happy. But Emily knew that Rolf’s life wasn’t perfect. He’d been through an acrimonious divorce, and his former wife, Lisa, who had never forgiven him for giving up his business as a builder to become a writer, managed to annoy him on a regular basis.

  ‘So how’s your new novel progressing?’ Emily asked next, determined to steer clear of the dangerous topics that might render her weeping in Rolf’s arms. Besides, she loved hearing about his spy novels. She and Alex had read them all and enjoyed them immensely.

  Her ploy worked. Rolf was happy to talk about his ingenious new plot and his plans to head over to Washington in a month or two for more research. Then he told her about an art-house movie he knew she would enjoy that was available from the local video store. Over coffee, Rolf also told her how to make the parmesan potatoes and Emily told him about the Bugle’s new female journalist, Chloe Brown.

  ‘I’ve always thought it could be good to have a recipe column in the Bugle,’ she said. ‘I must mention it to Chloe. She might be interested. She could probably tie it in with the stories about local produce she’s been writing.’

  With their coffee finished and the moon now hiding behind the trees on the opposite promontory, she helped Rolf to clear the table and carry things into the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t worry about stacking the dishwasher,’ he told her.

  She wanted to keep busy. This was the difficult part, working out how to say goodnight without any awkwardness.

  It didn’t help that Rolf had taken up a casual pose with his solid arms folded over his chest and his hips resting against the kitchen bench. Emily couldn’t read his mood. What was he expecting? Hoping for? She stood in the middle of the kitchen, twisting the rings on her left finger. The ruby engagement ring and the simple gold wedding band with Alex’s and her initials engraved on the inside.

  Quickly, she dropped her hands. The debris of their delightful meal reminded her of the recent morning at her place when she’d woken to find the unwashed dishes littering her kitchen.

  It wasn’t the mess that had bothered her then – she’d never been an especially fussy housewife
– it was what the deserted dishes had signified. She’d taken Rolf to her bed. She’d committed adultery.

  And now, tonight, she wasn’t weeping and needy. But how terrible was it to have used this man, this friend, just once, and then to tell him he was no longer needed?

  ‘Emily, stop stressing.’ Rolf’s gaze was gentle, almost reproachful.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘And don’t apologise.’

  ‘But I feel bad. I feel as if – maybe – I led you to —’ She cringed. She was making such a hash of this.

  He was still leaning against the bench with his arms crossed. ‘You didn’t lead me anywhere I didn’t want to go.’

  Emily’s cheeks flamed. If she was completely honest, she’d known that Rolf wanted her. So she really had taken advantage of him, which was unforgivable. But now —

  ‘And now you’re having regrets,’ he said. ‘It’s perfectly understandable. I get it.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Of course.’ Rolf’s expression was so brimming with tender understanding it stole her breath. ‘Don’t forget how long I’ve known you, Emily. How long I’ve known both you and Alex.’

  At the mention of Alex, Emily’s guilt flared, hotter than ever, and she was very much afraid she was going to cry. But she couldn’t give in to tears again.

  She took a deep breath and held it before letting it out slowly. It helped to calm her, but she couldn’t quite meet Rolf’s gaze.

  ‘Go home,’ he said now. ‘It’s been a lovely evening and I’ve enjoyed your company immensely. I always do.’

  Stepping away from the bench, he now stood, perhaps two feet from Emily, with his arms by his sides. He was wearing a crisp blue and white–striped shirt and old faded jeans, and she could remember how comforting it had been to slip into his arms, to rest her head against his solid chest.