by Jennie Jones
‘But Luke’s your best bet,’ Mary said.
Rachel lifted her mouth in a smile. She’d better relent and try to end it somehow. ‘I’m not looking for a boyfriend, or even a date.’
‘It’s not good to keep to yourself all the time. Moving on might seem the toughest option, but usually it’s the best one.’
‘That’s what I’m doing. I promise.’ She turned back to the mail bags before Mary noticed that the smile on her face had disappeared, much the same way Rosalind had.
Peter left her when she was twenty years old—twelve months into the marriage from hell. For years, she didn’t hear a word about him, although she’d received regular visits from the police. Have you seen him? Are you aware of his movements? Has he contacted you?
But she hadn’t known anything about where he was or what he was doing, and didn’t care so long as she never set eyes on him again. Just after she turned twenty-five the police knocked on her door once again, to advise her that he was in prison for car theft, and to ask if she knew anything about a woman they were looking for. A woman who’d disappeared.
She hadn’t been able to tell them anything, but since she now knew where Peter was, she filed for divorce. She found a lawyer but with her living in Victoria and Peter in a Northern Territory prison, it was complicated. And then Peter had stalled signing the divorce papers. But in the end he’d had no choice.
She’d gone back to using her maiden name after the divorce was finalised. She hadn’t changed her name to Rebecca until she’d had no choice. Then she’d disappeared. Until she heard from the registry in Perth, all her current documents said she was Rebecca Smithfield with an address she hadn’t lived at for over a year.
Nobody from her past knew where she was. Not a soul. It was a strange kind of loneliness.
If only time would move faster. She wanted so badly to be Rachel now. To be legally Rachel Meade. To look Mary in the eye and know she wasn’t lying.
* * *
There was a queue at the front reception counter later that morning as Mary had predicted.
Rachel served her customers and stamped, invoiced, receipted, and updated online records with a smile and a comment on the weather. It was the start of summer and was either hot, very hot or unbearably hot. Maybe one day she’d understand the difference, the way she now looked at wildflowers along the dry verges of the road as she drove to work, enjoying the majestic vastness and the pockets of land where the flowers still clung tenaciously as spring ended and summer took over. She was trying to do the same. Trying to puncture the humiliation and the hard-bitten shame she hadn’t fully been able to shake, and grow through it.
‘Thank you,’ she said to her customer.
‘That’s that paid for another year,’ Mrs Arnold said with a rebuke in her tone. ‘I saved hard to make this one-off payment. Five-oh-seven pm, Mary. You too, Freda,’ Mrs Arnold said to the lady behind her in the queue.
‘Rightio, Amelia,’ Mrs Frith said without looking at her friend. ‘I can only manage three months’ worth,’ she said to Rachel as she handed over her rates bill. ‘And I’m not ashamed to admit it.’
An hour later, Rachel bit into a cracker and picked up her mug of coffee. She was taking the early lunch break today, but she hadn’t wanted to go into town. It was a relief to be away from the desk though, because she couldn’t stop thinking about Luke Weston and whether or not he’d leave her alone now, and whether or not she’d hurt his feelings.
The door to reception opened and Rachel turned.
‘Here she is,’ Mary said with a broad smile.
‘Thank you, Mary,’ Senior Sergeant Weston said. ‘I won’t take long, it’s just that I might get called out again.’
‘Oh, I completely understand. It’s not a problem, Luke. Our queue vanished twenty minutes ago.’
Rachel stared between her coworker and the sergeant. What was this? She swallowed her cracker and put her mug down as Mary left, closing the door behind her.
‘This’ll only take a moment,’ Luke told her as she rose from her chair. ‘I’m sorry to do it like this but I will get called out and I didn’t want to wait.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, almost breathlessly. Thank God the people in the queue had gone. People were aware of his interest, which meant she was also of interest—for more now than just being new to town.
He stepped forwards, his face set in a serious expression. ‘I want to go back to our conversation this morning, so I get this right and don’t make a fool of myself.’
It was unlikely he’d ever make a fool of himself. Look at him—commanding and in charge, even though there was some sort of worry in his eyes.
‘Do you want me to back off?’ he asked. ‘Say yes and I’ll back off.’
Back off? But wasn’t he annoyed with her?
‘Say nothing and … well, we’ll see where it goes. How about that?’
When she didn’t answer, he continued, ‘I’m sorry about this morning. I wasn’t in the right headspace—I don’t think you were either, and I got worried I was pushing you too far. I’m not like the other men who are pestering you, I promise. I’d like to take you to dinner. But ask me to back off, and I’m gone.’
She took a breath. Gone? This was what she’d wanted but … ‘Sergeant.’ Her chest tightened. Gone?
‘Luke, it’s Luke—whether or not something happens between us, it’s Luke.’
Luke. She said his name in her head and it sounded intimate for the first time. ‘I can’t.’
‘Can’t what?’
Can’t get close to another man. Not after what Peter had done.
‘Can’t tell me to push off?’ he asked, his expression lightening, a smile warming his dark brown eyes and his whole demeanour way too disarming for a woman to think straight.
Speak up. ‘You and me—it’s not a good idea.’
‘You don’t sound sure. Why don’t we try it and see?’
She clenched her hands at her sides. ‘I have something—nothing serious—but something I prefer not to talk about.’ Oh God, this was hard.
‘Have you been hurt?’ he asked. ‘Is that it?’
‘Yes.’ She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She’d been hurt, but not in the way he was thinking.
‘Got your heart broken. Now I’m jealous.’
She gazed up at him and allowed the moment to linger. There was kindness in his eyes and she didn’t look away. What would happen if she let him into her life? How long did a new relationship have to go for before it was imperative he know about her past? She might have to run again, and she’d go if she felt she had to—she wouldn’t wait to hand in her notice or to tell Luke she was off—she’d just go.
‘I’ve got a lot of baggage,’ she said. ‘You know—boring stuff.’
‘Who hasn’t? Want to tell me?’
What an opening. If she was going to tell him something, this was the moment. ‘I’ve had a few family problems.’
‘Okay.’
‘And I’m not really sure who I am,’ she said with a shaky laugh.
‘Is that why you’re here, in Mt Maria? Are you looking for something? Or running from something?’
‘Looking.’ Why would he think she might be running?
‘Yeah?’ His eyes were still smiling but the rise of his brow told her he wasn’t convinced. ‘You’re sure about that? You look scared.’
‘I’m not scared of you.’
‘I didn’t say me.’
Damn. ‘No. Of course not you. I’m scared of doing the wrong thing. Which is why I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get together.’
‘And what would be wrong about us being together?’ he asked. ‘Have you noticed the charge in the air? Between us. Every time. Right now.’
There was always a charge in the air when she was next to him but this one was highly electrified.
‘I think we’ve got something, Rachel. Or could have. Will you think about Sunday? I’d like to take you to the barbecue.
’ He looked into her eyes for a few moments, gauging, studying—but there was a softness in them too. The light of attraction.
Her heart jumped. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Thank you.’ He stepped a little closer and the air became even more intimate. ‘You’re very attractive, but I like you for more than that.’
Could she do this? No. She had to stop it going any further. ‘Luke—’
‘Before you start talking yourself out of it, just know that we’re going to go slow. I’ll quit with the teasing. You take it easy on yourself—for whatever it is that’s bothering you.’
‘Nothing’s bothering me.’
‘Something is.’
Mary was too talkative, and too keen on Luke and Rachel becoming an item. Mary might tell him about the name change. Best if she came clean now, even though it put her in more danger because he was the police and all he had to do was check.
‘I’m changing my name.’
‘To what?’
She couldn’t believe she’d told him—or that he hadn’t even paused before questioning her. ‘To Rachel Meade.’
‘Okay. And the reason?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ She shot him a careful look. ‘Do I have to talk about it?’
‘No. Although I’d like you to. Unless you’ve done something wrong, of course. Then I’d really need to know. Have you done something wrong?’
She stepped back, forcing a laugh. ‘I thought you said you were going to go slow? You really are all cop, aren’t you?’
‘What do you know about cops?’
She stilled. ‘Not much. But I feel like I’m being interrogated.’
‘Sorry.’ He shook his head, a chagrined smile on his face. ‘I am all cop, you’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. Especially as I just told you I wouldn’t do that.’
‘It’s okay.’ She swiped her hair back from her face.
A mobile beeped in one of his pockets. He pulled it out and checked. ‘I have to go.’
He was leaving? That worried her more than his questions—he hadn’t even asked what her legal name was.
‘So maybe we’ll chat later?’ she said quickly. ‘About Sunday.’
He paused, then smiled. ‘Yeah. That’d be great.’ He indicated the door behind him. ‘I’d better go before Mary starts getting ideas about what’s going on in here.’ He opened the door. ‘I’ll catch you later,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you for talking to me.’
He made his way through reception, moving confidently. She didn’t know if it was because he was still smiling, or because his brain was still working.
‘Thank you, Mary,’ he said to Mary although Rachel missed Mary’s reply. Luke smiled, shook his head and then tipped the brim of his cap. ‘I’ll think about it, Mary. Thanks for the advice.’
What advice? Rachel’s insides heated, as though every patch of her skin had blushed. She dragged her eyes off him and collected her mug and plate, getting herself ready for the rest of the working day.
* * *
Luke strode down High Street, keeping his focus ahead and not catching anyone’s eye; walking as though he had a place he had to be.
‘Sarge,’ Jimmy said when he entered the station. ‘I’ve got a message—’
‘Not now, Jimmy.’ Luke headed past him. ‘Unless someone’s been murdered, give me five minutes.’
‘Solomon Jones is looking for you!’
‘Okay, thanks.’
He closed his office door and sat at his desk.
He would have backed off if Rachel had asked him to, and nursed his bruised heart until it didn’t hurt any more. He’d been taking a bigger step with Rachel than he had with any woman in a long time, but his intuition had served him well all his life, and after more than a decade on the force, it was a skill he’d honed. And now he knew Rachel was running from something.
Whatever the reason for the name change he’d need to discover it before he took what he’d thought might become a big beautiful relationship any further. He had to be certain she was free. And more importantly, certain he was free. His chosen profession was his life. He couldn’t take chances with it, and wouldn’t.
He brought up the database and punched in her vehicle’s plate number.
It was WA registration and the photo on her driver’s licence was of the person he knew as Rachel Meade. Shoulder-length nut-brown hair, dark green eyes. His Rachel. But the vehicle was registered to a Rebecca Smithfield with an address in Victoria.
His heart filled with concern as he stared at the BOLO notification which told him to be on the look out for Rebecca Smithfield, who was a person of interest, couldn’t be located and was wanted for questioning by the Crime Squad.
‘Oh, shit.’ He threw himself back in his chair. Why couldn’t the loveliest woman he’d ever seen have just one name like everybody else?
Four
Rachel sat at the counter, staring out the front doors of reception to the garden path where a group had gathered after emerging from a town’s beautification committee meeting. Mrs Arnold stood with her wide shoulders braced, her large straw handbag clutched in both capable hands and her brow furrowed like a field ready for planting.
‘It’s the Tidy Town competition,’ Mary said. ‘It always sparks people off. You watch—and the arguments will last all summer. We’re even planning three years ahead. Well—Amelia is.’
‘That’s a lot of planning,’ Rachel said, although her thoughts were still on Luke and their exchange. It was the guilt and the lies she’d told that was making her nervous.
‘You ought to get out more,’ Mary said suddenly. ‘Have you been out to the old mine and the museum yet? The garden beds are lovely.’
‘Not yet.’ She didn’t go out in the evenings or at weekends, she stayed in her house, tidying it up and keeping out of sight.
‘You can’t go at the moment anyway. Not while the builders are doing all those safety upgrades.’
‘How much longer will that go on?’ Rachel asked.
‘I don’t know. Mr Wiseman is making the building checks—won’t let any of us on the Tidy Town committee near the place even though we want to weed the garden beds.’
It was unusual for the CEO to get his hands dirty by personally checking on something outside of the town hall but Rachel kept that to herself—like she kept everything to herself. ‘What do you think Mrs Arnold and Mr Wiseman were arguing about this morning?’ she asked, intrigued at the small-town goings on, and attempting to change the subject.
‘Probably about the plastic flowers,’ Mary said. ‘He wants us to pay upfront for a pile of plastic trees and plants to put up and down High Street. He says it will save the shire money in the long run because we’ll never win the Tidy Town competition—which infuriated Amelia more than the idea of not getting her hands dirty with potting soil. And plant pot preparation goes on for months, so she’s quite right. What would she do between November and August if she wasn’t working for Tidy Town? We send photos, you see,’ Mary explained. ‘Mr Wiseman says the adjudicators will never see the difference between a plastic fuchsia and a real one. Shows what he knows—it’s very difficult to grow fuchsias out here in this heat.’
‘I bet it is,’ Rachel said. ‘Although there’s all sorts of beauty in and around Mt Maria.’ She’d been quick to recognise it. The area around the Laurensen house was peaceful, if a little ugly, but she was correcting that with her weekend efforts in the garden, or what would once again become a garden. And she loved looking out over the vast canvas of land surrounding her.
‘You’ve got to see beauty where you can,’ Mary said. ‘Which is why me and Freda put up with Amelia. Her heart’s in the right place, it’s just that it occasionally needs adjusting. And you really should get out more.’
‘I will.’ But she’d stuck to her plan and wanted to make sure she didn’t need to change it before she accepted being adopted into Mt Maria community.
‘We went through school toget
her, me, Amelia and Freda,’ Mary said, her chin resting in her hand as she watched the goings on outside. ‘Amelia roped us in for all sorts. After we married, she got us involved in the amateur dramatic society. Agatha Christie. Every June. Amelia is fond of a good sleuth.’
So that’s why they were called the Agatha Girls. Rachel found a smile, and brought her attention back to her colleague.
‘Who have you played?’ she asked, amusement filtering her worries, and a kind of love for the people of this town rising fast inside her.
‘A number of lesser characters,’ Mary said, ‘including three dead bodies. But I thoroughly enjoyed my time as Inspector Japp.’
‘Well, please don’t count me in for the dramatic society,’ Rachel said with another smile. ‘But I’d be delighted to help with Tidy Town.’ She moistened her lips with her tongue and clenched her hands so she didn’t lift them to her face to cover her sudden horror. She’d spoken without thinking. Something she wasn’t used to doing but she’d just opened herself up for more than she was willing to give. She’d thought earlier that she ought to make sure people saw her a little more at weekends, but regardless of doing that, she was still in hiding. Still waiting on so much before she could relax even a little bit and consider all those feelings of wanting to put down roots here. ‘But I may not be here for much more than the year,’ she said.
‘We won’t let you go that easily,’ Mary said, with a grin that put dimples in her cheeks. ‘We like good people, and you’re a good one, Rachel Meade.’
And yet she wasn’t Rachel Meade. She wasn’t anybody.
She’d been content being Rosalind Michaels again after her divorce came through. But she hadn’t known that Rosalind, ex-wife of a con, would need to become someone else. She hadn’t known Peter had changed—for the worse. But two years ago …
She stilled as the pictures formed. She kept her hands clenched, took a breath and went through the ritual. The memory came in a strange storm of crowded images and sensations. The little basement flat she’d rented in Melbourne; the man she’d cooked dinner for, believing it her right to try for a normal life and a relationship. Peter turning up on her doorstep, yelling at her; then his sudden quiet when he’d seen a man in her kitchen. His deranged craziness. The hospital. The police. The counsellors.