by Leah Ashton
‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that,’ she said. ‘But yes. Ivy Molyneux would never be that reckless.’
There was that word again. Reckless.
This time it triggered a remembered snatch of conversation, the echo of her mother’s voice from a time for ever ago: How could you, Ivy? How could you be so reckless?
‘But you were,’ Angus said. ‘We both were. I was there.’
His low words snapped Ivy’s attention back from a better-forgotten memory. And something flickered in his eyes. Despite all this, despite this situation, despite this conversation, she recognised it.
Heat. Not like in Bali, but still there. Despite everything.
She knew her already warm cheeks were now scarlet, but all she could do was ignore that. And, as she should’ve at the wedding, ignore this thing between them.
Or at least try to.
‘I know,’ she said, very softly. ‘That’s what I’m trying to fix.’
The shocking warmth of his hand covering hers drew her attention downwards again, and she realised belatedly she must’ve been wringing her hands.
She’d trained herself out of all her fidgeting and step counting years ago, but right now this unexpected regression managed barely a blip amongst everything else that whirled inside her.
As in Bali, his touch impacted everything. She knew her heart had accelerated, and her whole body now seemed focused on where their fingers overlapped. Completely inappropriate warmth pooled low in her belly, and for long seconds Ivy wished like anything that this were a very real date.
But then Angus spoke.
‘I get what you’re trying to do, Ivy,’ he said.
Instantly hope began to blossom inside her, delicate and beautiful. But then his fingers tightened gently on hers, and Ivy knew.
‘My answer is still no.’
And for the second time today awful, unwelcome tears filled her vision.
Ivy never cried.
But then, Ivy never did a lot of things she’d been doing lately.
* * *
She snatched her hands away from beneath his, and for the briefest moment Angus reconsidered his decision.
He’d never be this close again to the fortune she’d offered him. Would he regret it some day? Was living a lie for twelve months really all that bad given such a massive payday?
And a second consideration snuck into his subconscious.
Or maybe he should just do this for Ivy?
Angus straightened in his chair, subtly putting further distance between them.
No. He wouldn’t regret passing on the money. His parents had taught him the value of hard work and, in every aspect of his life, he’d never been one to take shortcuts.
And for Ivy?
No. That was a slippery slope he did not want to get on. When he was deployed, he never allowed himself to clutter his mind with those he left behind. It was why he would never marry, and it was why he had never meant to have children. It wasn’t fair to anyone to be shoved aside in that manner. But it was what he did. It was, quite simply, who he was.
So no, he wasn’t going to do this for Ivy.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t feel like eating,’ Ivy said, breaking the silence. She pushed her chair backwards a little quickly, and steadied it with one hand as she stood.
Angus followed her lead and pulled himself to his feet, more than keen to get out of the bar. Around them, other couples and small groups appeared to be enjoying their meals. A man reached out to stroke the cheek of his date. Four well-dressed young women suddenly cackled with laughter and clinked their wine glasses together.
Everyone else’s lives appeared to be carrying on beautifully, and normally, and yet Angus’s life had just irrevocably changed for ever.
It still didn’t seem possible. Didn’t seem real.
Ivy was already negotiating all the happy diners, and Angus needed to take several large strides to catch up with her. Automatically, he reached out and rested his hand in the small of her back.
At his touch, she went still, her chin shooting up as she met his gaze.
She’d done a poor job hiding the sheen to her eyes back at the table, and she was far less successful now. Again her gaze was more than wobbly, and he was reminded that he wasn’t alone in his shock and disbelief.
He felt he should say something. Something reassuring and supportive.
But he didn’t have any experience in this kind of thing. Hell, his ex-girlfriends had made it clear he was a complete failure at even the most simple of relationships—let alone what to say to the woman who had just announced she was carrying his child.
So he said nothing at all, and Ivy’s gaze just kept on wobbling.
‘Ivy!’
Against his palm, Angus felt Ivy tense.
At the bar, only a few metres away, sat a seriously glamorous blonde. Her hair tumbled in generous waves over one shoulder, and beside her was a significantly less glamorous man.
Ivy appeared struck dumb, and didn’t move a millimetre as the pair approached them.
‘It’s been months!’ the blonde exclaimed. ‘How are you?’
‘I—uh—’ Ivy began, and then went silent, simply sending him a panicky glance. Her body was moving now. She was trembling.
Immediately Angus slid his hand from her back to her waist, and tugged her gently against him. Even now, when he shouldn’t, he noticed how naturally she fitted against him. And how soft and warm her body felt.
‘I’m Angus Barlow,’ he said to the couple, offering his free hand.
Then for the next three minutes he scrounged every last ounce of charm he possessed to conduct the most trivial of conversations, while Ivy managed the occasional nod and single-word response. And then he politely excused them, and escorted Ivy outside as quickly as their legs would carry them.
Outside, the night was cool against his skin. His arm was still around Ivy, and in the cold it seemed illogical to remove it, given the flimsiness of her dress.
He was still walking briskly, keen to put as much space between himself and the bar, when Ivy came to an abrupt stop and disentangled herself from him.
‘Where are you going?’ she said.
Angus paused. His car was parked in the opposite direction.
‘I have no idea,’ he said.
And amongst all that had happened tonight, those four little words were suddenly hilarious, and he burst into a harsh bark of laughter.
A moment later, Ivy joined in, and they both stood together on the footpath, cackling away just like those women having dinner.
When they both fell silent, Ivy looked up at him again.
No wobbles this time, just direct, real Ivy.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
FOUR
Ivy listened half-heartedly to her sisters’ enthusiastic gossip. They sat across from her, their finished breakfast plates pushed aside. To her left sat Ivy’s mother, nursing a mug full of cappuccino.
Around them, Sunday morning at the exclusive beachside café was a buzz of activity. Ivy found herself picking up random snippets of conversation: the waiter two tables to her right repeating an order; an older man complaining at the lateness of his grandson; and from somewhere behind her a high-pitched: Really? followed by raucous laughter.
Their table abutted a wall of bi-fold windows, their louvred glass panes opened to welcome the salty breeze. Beneath them, keen sunbathers lay on brightly coloured towels in an irregular patchwork. It was an unusually warm October day, and Cottesloe Beach was, it seemed, the place to be.
It had worked out perfectly, really. Her family—just Mila, April and her mother—had dinner every second Sunday. But this weekend she’d suggested breakfast instead, so here they were.
The weat
her would be perfect for it! she’d said.
And everyone agreed.
As lies went, it was very much the whitest of them, but it still sat so uncomfortably. All to avoid refusing a glass of wine.
She was so close to her sisters, as different as they were. Mila, with her chocolate-brown curls and brilliant smile, was the baby, and the family artist. Never much interested in study, she’d barely finished high school before beginning a string of courses at TAFE—jewellery design, dress making, and a few others that Ivy had long forgotten. But then she’d started—and this time finished—a pottery course, and that was it. Mila had found her calling. Now she had her own studio, with a shop front for her work out the front, and space for her to teach out the back. Quiet, but opinionated and wise, Mila could always be counted on to see through the crap in any situation.
Then there was April. Beautiful, clever but flighty, she’d been the real rebel. She’d partied through uni, and still partied now. She’d completed her Environmental Science degree—chosen for its not so subtle dig at the way her family had made their fortune—but, apart from a few internships, hadn’t settled into full-time work. April brought sunshine wherever she went—always the first to smile and the first with a kind word.
And there she was. Ivy. The eldest by three years, she’d followed the script exactly as her mother had hoped: a diligent student throughout school. A top student at university, all the way through to her masters. Then straight to work for the family company, working her way up, just as her mother had, with, of course, a healthy dose of expected nepotism.
But Ivy knew she deserved her position at Molyneux Mining. She’d worked her butt off to get there.
So, yes. In contrast to her arty sister, and her partying sister, there she was: studious, perfect daughter Ivy. Mila and April even gave her well-deserved needling for it.
But, of course, it had never been entirely true.
Ivy knew that. Her mother knew that. But no one else did.
Her mother had fixed her mistakes of more than a decade ago.
Unfortunately, Ivy was no closer to fixing her latest mistake.
She just needed time.
She would tell them about her pregnancy. Soon.
Just not today.
‘Earth to Ivy?’ April was grinning at her, fun sparkling in her gaze. ‘You still with us?’
Ivy blinked, and forced a smile. ‘Sorry. Just thinking about an email I have to write when I get home for the Bullah Bullah Downs project.’
In unison, her sisters groaned.
‘I was just saying that I saw Holly at the shops yesterday,’ April said, with a grin. ‘She had some very interesting news.’
Ivy went perfectly still, pasting on a faux smile. She had the fleeting, horrifying thought that somehow she’d forgotten blurting out the news of her pregnancy to Holly as she’d exited the bar on Thursday night.
‘Apparently,’ April continued, ‘you were with a rather hot guy?’
So Evan hadn’t told April she’d asked for Angus’s number. She could barely remember the vague, somehow work-related excuse she’d given her brother in law, but apparently it had been plausible.
‘Oh, he was a blind date,’ Ivy said, with a dismissive smile. ‘He was nice enough, but it was a bit of a disaster, really.’ That was true, in a way. ‘No spark, you know?’
Definitely a lie.
The conversation moved on, her mum and sisters familiar enough with her occasional forays into dating to accept what she’d said.
But Ivy remained silent, quietly furious with herself.
She couldn’t have news of her pregnancy leaked until she was one hundred per cent prepared, and gossipy speculation about her and Angus would not help that cause.
She needed to be more careful.
And more importantly, she really needed to fix this.
Soon.
* * *
‘Gus! How are you, mate?’
Angus finished the last two repetitions of the set, then swivelled on the seat of the leg press to grab his towel. Cam Dunstall wore his own towel hung over his shoulders, but he clearly hadn’t begun his workout as he was the only person in the crowded barracks gym not coated in a layer of sweat.
‘Good,’ Angus said automatically.
Cam’s attention darted to his still-bandaged right wrist. ‘Going okay?’
Angus smiled at his friend’s obvious concern. They both knew if his wrist was busted, so was his SAS career. He wasn’t much use if he couldn’t use a firearm.
‘Nah, it’s no big deal,’ he said, truthfully. ‘I met with the specialist today. He’s happy with my progress. He sees no reason why I shouldn’t be back on deck within the month.’
Cam’s smile was broad and relieved. ‘Awesome news, mate. Hey, you missed out on some fun last week—middle of the night hanging out of a Black Hawk chopper. Good times.’
Cam then went into great detail about the training exercise, while Angus mopped his face and arms of sweat. He’d finished today’s workout. In fact he’d been here for the couple of hours since his doctor’s appointment.
The good news about his wrist was not unexpected. To be honest, his hand felt very near to normal now—if the doctor had let him he’d already be back at work.
So his workout was supposed to be the highlight of his day. It was Monday, four days since Ivy had dropped her bombshell.
On Friday he’d gone for a run instead, needing to be outside.
Then on the weekend he’d stayed at home, deciding that cutting back two huge branches from the towering blue gum in what was once his mother’s back garden was the best use of his time. But even two days wielding a chainsaw hadn’t helped.
And today hadn’t helped either.
He still didn’t feel normal. The exercise high he craved eluded him.
It wasn’t fair.
That made him smile. Out of all that had happened, the incredible bad luck that had plonked him and Ivy in this situation—that was what was unfair?
‘Mate?’ Cam was looking at him strangely. ‘I was just asking if you’d heard that Patrick has been moved. To training.’
Ah. A smile was certainly not appropriate here. That was no promotion.
‘He’s still not right, then?’ Angus asked, knowing that was probably the wrong way to phrase his question, but at a loss to come up with something better.
‘Yeah. That post-traumatic crap. Like Tom, I guess.’
Like Tom.
Guilt lowered Angus’s gaze momentarily. How long since he’d called him? They’d come through SAS selection together seven years ago. Tom—strong, confident, supportive, brave Tom. His closest mate. The best soldier he knew.
Or at least, he had been.
‘Some of the boys are going out for a beer tonight. Want to come?’
Cam was clearly keen to move the conversation on.
Angus got that.
But he shook his head. No. Ivy had texted him earlier, and he was meeting her for a coffee.
Not that he told Cam that, but the other man jumped to the approximately right conclusion anyway, giving him crap about choosing a girl over his mates.
So Angus laughed and let the words roll off him, wishing like hell they were true.
* * *
‘Thanks for meeting me.’
Angus raised an eyebrow as he slid into the fifties-style café booth. ‘This isn’t a business meeting, Ivy.’
She shook her head. ‘No, of course not.’
It was just easier for her to think of it like that. She’d even prepared for this meeting, in a way. Mentally determining an agenda of items to cover, so that this could be over as efficiently as possible.
She was sure Angus would appreciate that, too.
Quic
k, efficient and over quickly. A good plan.
‘So, I’ve got a couple of points I’d like to discuss, and I’ll start with the most important. Do you intend to be a part of our child’s life, and if so, to what extent?’
Angus didn’t even blink at her directness. ‘I intend to be the best father I can be,’ he said. ‘Which means I want to be a huge part of their life.’
Ivy nodded sharply. It was the answer she’d expected, although she couldn’t exactly say why. She was pleased, though. She’d never been close to her own father. ‘Excellent. Okay, so the next point is—’
‘Hold it there.’ Angus glanced at the coffee she’d downed in the few minutes she’d been waiting for him. ‘Now the big question is out of the way, how about I go get us both a coffee, and some cake, and we relax a bit?’
‘Relax?’
He grinned. ‘Honey, the way I see it we just agreed to another eighteen-odd years to talk about this baby. Why rush things now?’
And with that he stood, and headed for the counter.
Ivy just watched him in somewhat stunned silence as he made his order, and returned to the table with a number on a chrome stick, which he placed between them.
‘I just asked for whatever you had again, plus a selection of cakes as I have no idea what you like. Okay?’
Ivy nodded numbly.
‘Great!’ he said. ‘So, tell me something about yourself.’
‘Pardon me?’
He shrugged. ‘You heard me.’
Ivy bristled. ‘Look, it’s great that you’re all so fine and relaxed and cool with this, but I don’t think you understand how—’
‘Ivy,’ he said, so firmly that her words froze on her tongue. ‘I promise you that I understand exactly what is going on here. It’s all I’ve thought about for four days. I dreamt about it, even, although I can’t say I’ve spent much time sleeping. I am exhausted, and stressed out of my mind. And frankly, I’m over it. I’m over feeling like that, but I can’t do anything about it. Neither can you.’
Ivy’s gaze travelled across his face, for the first time noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes and the spidery lines of red in his stare.
He’d just described her weekend, and beneath a thick layer of concealer she even had the matching blackened eyes.