Her husband. Alex.
Unfortunately, Emily’s heart still rocked with a violent, inescapable longing whenever she thought of him. And Rolf was too fine a man to be regarded as some sort of consolation prize.
Her car keys were at the far end of the bench, next to her handbag. ‘Let me drive you,’ she said.
She had taken a step towards the keys when Rolf stopped her with a hand on her arm. ‘I’m quite happy to take the canoe.’
‘But it’s so dark and misty.’
‘I have a headlamp. I’ll be fine.’
From outside came the haunting hoot of an owl. ‘All right, then,’ she said. ‘But ring me when you’re safely home.’
He smiled again. ‘Or perhaps I could flash a Morse code signal?’
‘No use. I wouldn’t be able to read it. I couldn’t tell the difference between an SOS and an All’s well.’ But she was smiling now, too, and that was another thing about Rolf – he never failed to make her smile.
Small wonder she was tempted.
He stepped forward, slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her. His lips were warm, his kiss fearless, as if he were staking a claim, asking a final question. It was now or never.
Emily remained very still, unable to surrender. With the softest of sighs, Rolf released her.
‘Take care, beautiful one,’ he said and then he turned and left by the back door.
She heard his footsteps on the stairs, heard him say goodnight to Murphy and then the dog’s soft yelp in reply. She told herself this must never happen again. She must be totally honest with Rolf. No questions, no doubts.
From an open window she watched. The night air was cool and damp on her cheeks and she followed the narrow beam of his torch-light as it flashed and zigzagged with his movements. She heard the scrape of the canoe’s hull on the gravelly shore and the soft splash of oars that signalled his departure.
She remained at the window watching the beam of his light grow smaller and smaller. When it eventually disappeared, the loneliness she’d been fighting for weeks descended.
She was crying now, as she turned away from the window, and the worst of it was, her tears weren’t for Rolf.
Damn you, Alex.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
1973
Like so many other young Aussies, Emily spent a glorious year abroad in her early twenties, first visiting her mother’s relatives, and then working, travelling and partying in the UK and Europe. Not so surprisingly, she found the prospect of returning home a great deal less tantalising than setting sail from Sydney had been.
The other girls who shared her cabin for the return journey felt much the same way. Sally was moping over a man she’d left behind in Liverpool and Roslyn was already missing London’s theatres and art galleries.
‘Back to flies and sheep dip,’ Bev complained as their ship pulled out of Portsmouth.
Over the dinner table that first night, there were a few optimistic comments. More than one fellow claimed he couldn’t wait to get back to hot sunshine, cold beer and steak and eggs. But the overall mood was definitely more subdued than on the outward voyage.
On leaving Australia, there’d been Tahiti, Panama and Curaçao to discover, and the whole exotic spectacle of Europe. Now, it was Portsmouth, Cape Town, then Fremantle …
Back to work, in other words. And the result? The young Australian passengers set out to party harder than ever.
After the first twenty-four hours, however, Emily was bored. She didn’t particularly enjoy evenings with too much drinking, clouds of cigarette smoke and raucous laughter. The days weren’t much better, lying around by the pool, sunbathing, while fending off offers from young men to rub suntan oil into her back.
Not to mention the tediously boastful tales of adventure. Or misadventure. Cringe-worthy stories of Aussie yobbos in Earl’s Court, vomiting in taxis or stealing a policeman’s helmet.
Emily consoled herself that at least she’d found her sea legs much more quickly on this return voyage. On the third night, she slipped away from a drinking competition between Aussies and Germans and wandered alone on the deck.
It was a lovely evening with the ship ploughing through clear seas. The lighting on the deck was subdued and showed the moon shimmering on the water, and when she leaned on the railing, she could feel the comforting vibration of the ship’s motor.
She drew a deep breath, enjoying the breeze on her face and the clean, salty tang of the air. While she stood there, watching the rise and fall of the sea, a school of flying fish leaped out of a wave in a shower of silver.
Utterly entranced, Emily almost missed the footsteps behind her. When she swung round, she half expected to find one of her cabin mates come to fetch her, to urge her back to the party. But it was a man who stood a few feet away. He was wearing a penguin suit, complete with bow tie, and his white shirtfront gleamed in the moonlight.
‘I hope I didn’t startle you.’ His accent was British, rather cultured and charming, a good match for his finely cut suit.
‘I don’t startle too easily,’ Emily told him.
‘But you like to be alone.’
She hesitated, and then smiled. ‘It was just too noisy down there.’
He came to stand beside her at the railing. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘I don’t suppose so.’
Beside her, he was taller than she’d realised. He had fair, wavy hair and light-coloured eyes, which were possibly blue, and he was, in fact, extremely handsome. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed him earlier.
‘Have you been dining at the captain’s table tonight?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but I excused myself when it came to the cigars.’
So he wasn’t a smoker. Emily knew his personal habits shouldn’t matter. She wasn’t sure why she cared – unless he planned to kiss her.
He told her his name was Toby Bryce and he was travelling to his sister’s wedding in Armidale. His sister was to marry a sheep farmer, a man with considerable holdings, and the wedding was to be a very swish affair, hence his dinner suit from Savile Row.
As he spoke, the sounds from the disco below drifted upwards. A saxophone was playing ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’.
‘Would you like to go down there for a dance or two?’ Toby asked.
Emily shook her head. ‘Not now.’ She was happy to talk, to stay here on the deck with the night sky and the silver-tipped sea and this handsome stranger.
And so it began – one of those shipboard romances that grew out of boredom as much as anything. Mostly a matter of kisses stolen on shadowy decks, but on several evenings, Toby engineered to have privacy in his cabin for an hour or two. Emily felt absolutely no inclination to resist his charms.
It was a final fling, before her boring old life resumed. Her cabin mates were in total sympathy.
‘You’re a lucky one, Emily. He’s a dish.’
‘Yeah, he’s drop-dead handsome without being stuck up.’
Bev wasn’t quite so certain. ‘But he doesn’t seem to get on with the other fellows. Not even the Pommy chaps. I’m not sure that’s a good sign.’
It wasn’t too long after Bev’s stern observation that Toby arrived at breakfast with a black eye.
‘Wasn’t it rough last night?’ he said as he poured his coffee. ‘I fell out of the damn bunk.’
Not everyone at their table was as sympathetic as Emily expected. And then, mid-morning, when she was heading for the deck where she was due for a game of shuttlecock with the girls, a tall figure stepped forward, blocking her path.
Emily had seen this Australian fellow before. She couldn’t help it. He was another eye-catching chap. Tall, dark haired, dressed casually today in a navy blue shirt, faded jeans and deck shoes, he wasn’t merely blocking her way, he was also frowning at her.
‘Can I have a word?’ he said.
Emily gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘I’m in rather a hurry, actually.’
‘Spare me a mi
nute.’ His expression was serious. ‘It’s important.’ She glared at him. ‘Why?’
‘I need to talk to you about your boyfriend.’
To her dismay, her face burst into flames. How dare this man stick his nose, unasked, into her private life? ‘I’m sorry,’ she responded in her most regal tone. ‘But that’s none of your business.’
‘Well, I’m making it my business for a very good reason.’
If Toby Bryce hadn’t so recently appeared at breakfast with a black eye, Emily might have pushed past this busybody and stormed off. But Bev’s comment about Toby’s unpopularity with the other men niggled, and the black eye was an unmistakable reality. Besides, there was something about this Australian that commanded Emily’s attention. Something in his voice, something in the way he held himself that hinted at mental toughness. And honesty.
Emily straightened her shoulders. ‘All right. What do you want to tell me?’
‘It might be best if we go up on the deck. Somewhere we won’t be interrupted.’
At this, she sighed. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me your name first.’
‘Alex Hargreaves.’
‘Right, Alex.’ She didn’t offer her hand. She was feeling a little sick. What was this all about? ‘You’d better make this quick. I’m already late for shuttlecock.’
Momentarily, he looked as if he was going to smile, but his face remained deadpan as he nodded. ‘This way.’
So, Emily followed Alex Hargreaves up a companionway to the deck, to a corner near the lifeboats that was private. Here he leaned against the railing and fixed his keen, grey-eyed gaze on the sea below. Emily was forced to step closer so she could hear whatever he had to say and she was far too conscious of his height and size, of his compelling masculinity.
‘Look, this isn’t easy,’ he began. ‘And you’re not going to like it, but you need to know.’ He met her gaze directly, his grey eyes as serious as a heart attack. ‘Toby Bryce is treating you very badly. I know it’s hard to hear, but the bastard’s been bragging about his conquests on board this boat, as well as the fact that he’s got a wife and kids waiting for him in Sydney.’
Just in time, Emily gripped the railing before her knees gave way. She had never felt so humiliated, so foolish. So angry. Fighting tears, she asked, ‘Are you quite sure? About the wife?’
‘He’s shown off the photos in his wallet. I’m afraid you can ask just about any of the blokes on our deck.’
Emily had no intention of quizzing other men. At this point, she would have preferred to enter a nunnery than to communicate with any member of the male sex.
Alex had spoken of Toby’s conquests. Plural. Which must mean there were other women as foolish as she had been. Somehow, that made the situation even more unbearable.
‘Did you hit him?’ she asked. ‘Is that how he got the black eye?’
Alex shook his head. ‘Someone else, a mate who had a sister involved, took care of that. But he baulked at talking to you.’
‘You drew the short straw?’ Emily asked, bitterly.
‘I volunteered. I thought you deserved to know.’
At least Emily didn’t cry, which was one small mercy. ‘Do you plan to speak to the other women?’
Slowly, Alex shook his head. ‘I don’t really know them. But I heard your name mentioned.’
‘I suppose I should thank you,’ she said tightly. ‘But I’m not exactly grateful.’ In that moment, she hated Alex Hargreaves.
‘You’re okay?’ he asked with an admirable attempt at sincerity. How could she possibly be okay? He had just exposed her to be the silliest and weakest of females. But she said, ‘Yes, of course.’
He gave a grimly courteous nod. ‘I’ll let you get back to your shuttlecock then.’ And he walked away down the deck without looking back.
For weeks, Emily hated Alex. Yet, deep down, she was also secretly grateful. It would have been appalling to have kept up the affair all the way to Sydney and then to have watched Toby Bryce’s wife and family greet him at the dock.
And at least none of her girlfriends seemed to have twigged.
They accepted that she’d broken up with Toby. These things happened. It had never been serious.
Emily’s biggest problem was that she was now excruciatingly aware of Alex. As the voyage continued, he seemed to be suddenly, always, there in her peripheral vision, talking to others, dancing with others, flirting with others.
She wished she could ignore him, but her self-control was shot to pieces. Her gaze was constantly swinging in the tall, dark Australian’s direction, as if he were due north and she a helpless arrow on a compass. Fortunately, Alex never seemed to notice, but Emily knew the exact lines of his profile, the measure of his shoulders, the shape of his hands.
The voyage continued with the usual social activities – trivia nights and fancy-dress balls and silly horse and jockey competitions with girls on guys’ shoulders, tapping at helium balloons. There were always plenty of girls keen to be Alex’s partner. Emily was very careful to keep her distance.
It was after their stop in Cape Town, when a group of Australians held a ceremonial burning of eucalyptus leaves and felt instantly homesick, that Emily began to think differently. By then, Toby Bryce was moving in entirely different circles and her pain and humiliation were lessening. She felt moved to let Alex know she was grateful for the way he’d handled her silly mistake.
It was some time, however, before she found the courage and the right moment to approach him. Their ship was due to reach Fremantle within twenty-four hours and Emily had no idea if Alex was about to disembark. With some urgency now, she searched for him and found him sitting cross-legged on the deck, fortuitously quite alone, with his back against a bulkhead.
His hair was somewhat messy and curling at the ends and he was wearing a blinding white T-shirt and washed-out denim shorts. He was working with rope, his tanned, long fingers deftly tying a rather elaborate ornamental knot.
‘Hello.’ Emily was quite hopelessly nervous.
Alex set the knotting aside, rose easily to his feet and smiled. ‘Hi.’
She couldn’t tell if he was pleased to see her, or merely amused.
‘I thought you might be leaving the ship tomorrow,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘I won’t be disembarking till Sydney.’
‘Oh? Right.’ She swallowed. She was here now, so she should just get it over with. ‘Anyway, I – I wanted to thank you. You know – for warning me about —’
‘That dickhead Pom?’
‘Yes.’
‘No worries.’ His smile faded. ‘I didn’t want to see you badly hurt.’
‘Yes, and I’m grateful.’
Emily looked up and, when their gazes connected, lightning flashed. Or, at least, that was how it felt to her. Like a scene straight from Hollywood with an orchestra playing.
Except that it was broad daylight on a rolling deck and the only sound was the hum of the ship’s engines. Embarrassed, she gave a little shrug. ‘Well, I just wanted to make sure I thanked you.’ Then, before he could reply, she turned and fled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
After finally admitting her gratitude, Emily managed, with a supreme effort, to keep her gaze averted whenever Alex was within eyesight. Their ship docked at Fremantle and then in Melbourne, and there were numerous farewells and good wishes for the travellers and the excited migrants who were about to embark on a new life in Australia. Only Sally was left in Emily’s cabin when they sailed through the Heads into Sydney Harbour.
There was no one to greet Emily as she disembarked, but she did see Toby Bryce being embraced by a strawberry blonde, with two little girls tugging at his coat.
As soon as Emily’s luggage was unloaded, she took a taxi to the airport. She had an evening flight booked to Brisbane and from there she would fly, the next morning, to Cairns.
She felt flat, which was annoying. She wanted to feel triumphant after her travels and pleased to see Australian suns
hine and to be surrounded once more by Aussie accents. But she was too aware of the mundaneness of returning from adventure to a very ordinary life in a deathly quiet country town.
At the airport, she found a trolley and loaded it with her luggage, then joined the queue in front of the Ansett desk.
‘Well, hello.’
Emily recognised the deep voice close behind her and her heart gave an unhealthy skip as she spun around.
Alex Hargreaves, with a similarly loaded trolley, smiled at her. ‘Long time, no see.’
‘Yes.’ She was smiling too. She was stupidly pleased.
‘Where are you headed?’ he asked.
‘Brisbane.’
‘That’s a lucky coincidence. So am I. Are you on the six-thirty flight?’
‘Yes.’ By now, Emily might have been beaming, and she felt as light and fluttery as a butterfly.
‘Next!’ called the woman at the check-in desk.
Emily sent Alex a quick smile before shoving her loaded trolley forward. To her surprise, he followed, arriving at the desk alongside her.
‘We’re travelling together,’ he told the woman.
Emily swallowed a choked gasp. The woman’s eyebrows shot high, but Alex smiled so charmingly, she accepted their booking papers without a murmur.
By now Emily’s heart was drumming. In a blinding instant, she realised that she wanted, more than anything, to get to know this man, to make up for all the time she’d lost on the ship by deliberately avoiding him.
Their luggage was forwarded onto the conveyor belt and they were given their boarding passes – seats 12A and 12B – and there was another hour to fill in till they boarded. Alex took her to a bar where he ordered a cold XXXX beer and a glass of riesling. They sat at a small table with a dish of peanuts and a view of the aerodrome and the busy spectacle outside, which they ignored while they talked and talked, their faces lit by happy, sappy smiles, like two long-lost lovers reunited.
Emily asked, ‘What do you do when you’re at home?’
The Summer of Secrets Page 21