Wild About Harry (Hearts of the Outback Book 5)

by Susanne Bellamy

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Animosity bristled from Mavis Finlayson as she stared at Harry from her commanding position on the main sofa. She pinned him with her glacial blue gaze and ignored Bri all together. “We can dispense with your—nanny’s services while I am here, Harrison. There’s no need to throw away good money when I can look after Vicky.” If her body language hadn’t been warning enough, her use of his full name would have alerted him. Mavis disliked Bri. She was pretty and young, and living with Mavis’ granddaughter who clearly adored her nanny. And the worst sin of all in Mavis’ eyes—Bri was alive.

  Despite his efforts not to watch Bri as she served dinner, he’d bet Mavis had picked up on his attraction to her. If he weren’t careful his mother-in-law would announce plans to relocate to the Isa so she could negate any need for a nanny.

  “That’s kind of you, Mavis, but I don’t believe we should disrupt Vicky’s routine.” He was lying through his teeth about her offer and suspected she knew it. A bare hour into their stay and she’d already criticised Bri’s cooking, Vicky’s French braid, and the making of the bed in the small guest room. Hospital corners indeed!

  And that was after complaining that they always stayed in the room Bri occupied and the smaller room was really too small for comfort.

  He’d forestalled Bri’s offer to swap by the simple expedient of saying the small room was for guests, but Bri lived in the house and he wouldn’t dream of asking her to give up her private space for a couple of days—he stressed the time phrase just enough to be certain Mavis knew his expectations. Perhaps it was mean of him, but she was the reason for Vicky’s sad little face and it had angered him. Why couldn’t Mavis compliment her granddaughter’s hair and offer a smile, a hug, some affection even if she couldn’t manage love?

  Bri set down a tray with four coffee cups, milk and sugar, and some delicious little biscuits she’d whipped up earlier. “Routine is important in Vicky’s life, Mavis, but you’re welcome to drive with us on the kindy run if you like. I’m sure Vicky would enjoy your company. Would you like a biscuit? Vicky helped me make them.”

  Bri offered the plate to Tom. He smiled and took a biscuit, but before he lifted it halfway to his mouth, Mavis stopped him. “Tom, put it down. Remember what the doctor said. A man your age can’t afford to eat sugary foods. And nothing spicy like that dinner your nanny gave us. Just as well I’ll be doing the cooking while we’re here.”

  Bri bit her lower lip as she offered the plate to Harry, and he was unsure whether she was embarrassed or trying to bite back a response. That was the trouble with Mavis; she backed people into a corner and bludgeoned them with her negativity until they snapped. Then she would deliver her ‘don’t be so easily offended-I’m trying to help you’ speech. He took two biscuits and ostentatiously patted his stomach. “That meal was delicious, Bri. We are incredibly lucky to have you.”

  “Don’t exaggerate, Harrison. Nanny-ing is unskilled labour, best suited to young women with no prospects. Like Bri.”

  “Bri isn’t a nanny by career choice. She’s doing us a favour by helping out while Felicity is recovering from an accident. Incidentally, Bri is a well-known photographer. And Felicity—that’s Vicky’s regular nanny—has a diploma in nanny-ing.” Deliberately, he copied Mavis’ language, the cadence and tone clashing with the reasonableness of his words.

  Mavis sniffed and turned her head. “So you’ve employed a woman who doesn’t even have the most basic credentials to take responsibility for my grandchild? I can see why the child reacted badly to my comment about that ridiculous hairstyle. You need to stop babying her. Tom, I think we should consider moving—”

  Harry could feel his muscles tensing. The Mavis-migraine took hold, setting down roots in his brain that not even a liberal application of good brandy would shift. The child—my grandchild. That my was the most demonstrative Mavis ever got towards Vicky, and then only when she wanted to stake her claim.

  He raised his hand, pleased to see he could control the urge to smack it down hard on the table and make her jump. “I’m going to stop you there, Mavis. Bri is the best thing that’s happened to Vicky in a long while. True she doesn’t have a piece of paper saying she’s completed a course of study, but I knew that when I hired her. And Bri’s instincts about Vicky have been spot on. Vicky has never been happier.”

  Mavis pushed up off the sofa, expanding with indignation and righteous anger. It was like watching a puffer fish, or a small bird fluffing its feathers to appear larger, more menacing. Mavis was dangerous. Harry winced at how wrong his words sounded, but Mavis was on her feet now, advancing towards him. “How dare you discard Linda like that?”

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that, Mavis—”

  “You said Vicky wasn’t happy until this—this nanny came into her life. Sleeping with her, are you?”

  Forget the puffer fish. Mavis had turned into a snarling, snapping, raging bitch. She was out for his blood, but he’d be damned if she tried to take down Bri too. “My personal life is none of your business, and whether I’m sleeping with Bri or not is irrelevant.”

  “My grandchild will not be raised in an immoral household. We’ll apply to the court for guardianship. When they hear what you’ve subjected her to, how you’re trying to make her forget her darling mother—” If Mavis’ threats hadn’t been so real, her performance would have been a comedic gem, overplayed and ridiculous. But the redness in her face, her sudden jerky movement alarmed Harry. Was she having a heart attack?

  Guilt and anger coursed through him, dark and choking as if he’d swallowed a fish bone.

  Bri was on her feet before him, an arm around the older woman’s shoulders guiding her back to the sofa. “Sit down, Mrs. Finlayson. There is nothing to be alarmed about. I’ll overlook your comments on my character, offensive as they were, but you should know that Harry talks with Vicky every night about your daughter and shows her photos to keep Linda’s memory bright and alive. There is no chance that Vicky will grow up not knowing how much her mother loved her.”

  “You—how dare you speak of my daughter? She was—she was—”

  In a million years, Harry would never have expected to see the dam burst and tears flood Mavis’ face. Not in his presence, not when she hadn’t displayed a single jot of positive emotion or love towards Vicky. Even at Linda’s funeral, Mavis’ eyes had remained steadfastly dry, her lips pinched while grief oozed out of every pore.

  Bri reached behind her for a box of tissues and shoved it into Mavis’ hands.

  In silence, Harry crossed to the cupboard and poured a measure of brandy, carried it to Mavis and knelt in front of her. As her sobs slowed to occasional hiccups, he offered the glass. “Here you go. Try a few sips of this.”

  Mavis raised the glass and sipped, then sipped some more. She licked her lips and tossed the remaining liquor back like a pro. Harry felt sorry for her. His healing had begun when Bri agreed to look after Vicky, bringing her optimism and vitality into their lives. But Mavis had lived with her grief until—

  “I hope you don’t drink this stuff in front of the child. Now about our visit to Linda’s grave tomorrow; Vicky will come with us and remember her mother.”

  Harry sat back on his heels. For a brief moment he’d actually thought Mavis had turned a corner, releasing her bottled-up grief for the first time since her daughter died.

  More fool him.

  “I made my position clear when we spoke on the phone, Mavis. Vicky will not be going with you to the cemetery. We have, however, planned a family dinner to celebrate her life. I hope you’ll attend. Vicky has been working on a secret project with Bri for her mother’s birthday.”

  “You’re inviting me to my own daughter—my dead daughter’s birthday party?”

  “Yes. It would mean a lot to Vicky. And to me.”

  “We’ll be there.” Tom stood, straightening his shoulders and speaking for the first time since Mavis’ attack on Bri had begun. “Thank you, Harry.”


  Mavis' jaw dropped, but when her husband drew her to her feet, she clamped her lips together and stomped off, two spots of high colour flaming in her cheeks.

  Tom stopped at the foot of the stairs. “She doesn’t mean most of what comes out of her mouth. It’s her way of coping. Try to forgive her if you can. Good night.”

  Harry sat for long minutes, lost in his thoughts. Absentmindedly, he reached for a biscuit and popped it into his mouth.

  “Should you be eating such sugary treats at your age?” Bri’s tone parodied Mavis’ as Bri reached across, snaffled a biscuit and bit it in two. The scent of baked biscuits and tonight’s dinner wafted past his nose, caught in her hair. She gestured in an expansive movement that carried the remaining half biscuit in front of his mouth. “I mean, with your clogged arteries, your old arteries—” Without thinking, Harry leaned forward and ate the biscuit from her fingers.

  “Hey, no fair.”

  “Do not try to deter me from my sugar hit, unless you want to bring out the Cookie Monster in me.”

  “I’ll be sure to tuck my fingers away when you’re around.” Bri sat back in the armchair, and glanced towards the stairs.

  Harry had worried she might storm off after Mavis let fly with the insults, and he wouldn’t have blamed her. Biting his tongue had become second nature once he married Linda, but the vitriol had ramped up since Linda’s death. Nothing he did was right, and dire predictions about how Vicky would grow up left him worried and anxious about his parenting skills. But tonight, Mavis had gone beyond the pale when she’d attacked Bri. When Bri had wrapped an arm around the older woman’s shoulders, handed over the tissues and offered compassion in the face of complaints, he’d felt gratitude swamp him. If Bri hadn’t seen her way clear to helping him with Vicky, if Bri wasn’t so wonderful in everything she did—how could he thank her?

  “Thanks for what you said to Mavis—about me. I’m well aware of my shortcomings as a nanny, but her attack—she really dislikes me, doesn’t she?”

  Bri’s uncertainty surprised him. She always came across as confident, undaunted in the face of misadventure and Mavis alike. Floods, lack of accommodation, scams, nothing seemed to faze her. “She dislikes me too, Bri. That’s just how she is, but I wasn’t going to allow her to put you down.”

  Bri’s smile was brief, but it warmed him like sunshine in winter. “You play the white knight very well. I’m going to tidy the kitchen and make some phone calls. Goodnight, Harry.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “No need to—”

  “Daddy!” Vicky’s wail drew him to his feet and up the stairs three at a time.

  Please no, please don’t let the nightmares return.

  Heart pounding with fear, he raced into his daughter’s room. Vicky clutched her pillow to her chest and Mavis stood in the middle of the floor wielding a pair of scissors. Scattered at her feet in a multitude of pieces lay the birthday poster Vicky had laboured over for two days with Bri.

  As Mavis’ gaze met his, she raised the last piece of cardboard high, cut through a photo of Linda and him, and separated them photographically as well as physically. She opened her left hand and let the pieces flutter to the carpet. “My daughter will be remembered properly, with respect and prayer, not this childish nonsense.”

  “Get out.” Anger zapped through Harry, building, burning, but he didn’t yell. His head pounded, his hands clenched, but he directed his loathing in a single fierce glare at his mother-in-law. He stepped into the room, vaguely aware of Tom trailing him and relieving Mavis of the scissors before leading her out. She brushed past him and he closed the door behind them then scooped Vicky into his arms.

  “Daddy, she—cut Mummy’s—birthday present.” Vicky pushed her face into his shoulder and sobbed as though her world had ended.

  A gentle tap sounded and Bri poked her head around the door. Her gaze fell on the disastrous mess. “What happened?”

  “Mavis. She’s lost her mind. I’m going to take Vicky into my room for the rest of the night. I don’t think she should be left alone. And tomorrow, no matter what, don’t let Vicky out of your sight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bri moved a pile of Harry’s folders off his desk and set them on the floor, then began sorting the pile of cuttings that was Vicky’s poster into two piles: pieces of photos and bits of Vicky’s multi-coloured lettering. Mavis had to be mad to have attacked her granddaughter’s tribute like this. Mean or mad—they weren’t the same thing, but Bri wasn’t sure which applied. Anger still simmered within her, but Bri would make this one part of Linda’s birthday right for Vicky.

  She clicked into her laptop and found the photos she’d taken of Vicky working on the poster. There was enough detail of the poster in one shot that she felt fairly confident she could recreate it. Looking at the messy pile of paper, it would probably take her until dawn.

  Once she had separated photos from writing, Bri sorted bits of photo into colour sets, like a jigsaw. She opened out a spare sheet of thin cardboard and weighted the corners, then set to work piecing each photo together in its approximate position. Next, she worked her way through Vicky’s message, moving the writing and photos around until they matched the image on her screen. Finally, she reached for the bottle of glue and laboriously lined up each piece.

  Hours of bending over the desk gave Bri a stiff neck, made more intense by the anger that flared anew with each piece she positioned and pressed in place. But finally, Vicky’s birthday poster was back in one piece. She pushed the chair back and kicked the pile of Harry’s folders, sending the top ones for a six. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back and sighed. She was so totally over sorting stuff and her eyes felt like they were hanging out of her head on stalks. “Dammit.”

  She picked up the closest folders and stacked them, working her way to the door where the contents of the top folder lay strewn across the floorboards. Pages and pages of technical data, some of it hopefully still in order. She scooped them up, dumped them on the desk and sighed. As much as she longed for bed, leaving Harry to deal with the mess of his work papers was out of the question.

  Cursing her clumsy feet, she yawned and decided a mug of tea might get her through this last bit of sorting. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, cup of tea in hand, she almost gave in to the lure of her bed. Almost. Harry had enough to contend with. He didn’t need his work life to be in a mess too. Blearily she set her cup on a lone piece of paper and set to work.

  Numbered pages made the job easy. Vaguely aware of graphs and charts and tables above the numbers, she concentrated on the numbers without really seeing the contents above. When the last page was in place, she lifted the mug of tea and sipped. As she lowered the mug, she realised that there was one page left—the cover page. She picked it up and set it neatly on top of the pile, smoothing a crease with her hand.

  Viability study – Craeborn

  That was the name of the property where Harry’s friends, Alex and Lizzy and little Dan, lived. It was no more than idle curiosity about the work Harry was doing for them, but Bri moved her hand lower down the page. Stark black letters marched in a neat line below the title.

  Proposal for new mine

  Harry and the Carters were involved in setting up a mine?

  Bri’s tiredness drained away, replaced by a new source of anger, one that churned in her gut and clawed at her heart. All this time, knowing Bri was anti-mining, knowing what big companies were doing, had done to her grandfather, Harry had been working on a deal to set up yet one more mine in the north west of the state? As if more mines were needed.

  He’d made her like him too. The Harry she’d come to know and like was so different from stuffy Harrison of the highway rescue. Had all that niceness, the banter, the dancing—those kisses—and that one special night when Harry had made love to her—were they all part of a seduction to throw her off her guard. Misdirection in the name of mining?

  Her stomach rebelled, threatening to expel the te
a she’d drunk. Breathing through her mouth, she willed herself not to give in to the sick feeling. Harry had played her. Knowing about her anti-mining project, he had gained her sympathy and her trust. Had any of the laughter and the closeness been real? Was he really a Harrison character after all?

  She closed the folder and set it carefully on top of the others, leaving Vicky’s poster displayed in the centre of the desk. No matter how much she hated Harry right now, she loved Vicky. Vicky deserved love and happiness. But Harry—he’d assured her he was nothing to do with mine management and yet his drawing away for a secretive discussion with Alex Carter replayed in her mind. He’d lied to her.

  Bri crept upstairs, packed her bags, called for a taxi and slipped quietly down the stairs and out the front door.

  Out of Harry’s life. Her only regret was not saying goodbye to the child who had stolen her heart.

  ##

  The toast popped and Harry lifted it out of the toaster. His eyes felt gritty, but he hadn’t been able to sleep until the wee hours. Anger, outrage, disbelief—he didn’t know which was strongest, but of one thing he was certain; Mavis had stayed under his roof for the last time. But as much as he would like to keep her away from Vicky, it would be wrong to cut her off completely. Somehow he had to work out new ground rules that kept Vicky safe and happy. Bri’s suggestion had been a good place to start.

  He checked the time and looked up the stairs. Usually Bri was in the kitchen before him, wielding an egg-flip or buttering toast and chatting with Vicky. This morning, Vicky was subdued. She scooped a tiny amount of cereal onto the tip of her spoon and licked it then dropped the spoon into the bowl. Milk spattered over the bench, but he couldn’t be cross with her. Not today. Not after last night.

  He wiped up the spill without mentioning it and tapped her chin to get her attention. “Come on, Pumpkin, let’s pop into my office and get that lovely photo of Mummy off the wall. We can pick the flowers you wanted and put them around her frame if you like.”