by Cooper, Tea
“At least it hasn’t made the firewood pile,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to control the sarcasm in her voice.
“Why would it?” His eyes softened. “You made it for me. I love it.”
She resisted the temptation to ask if it had been Madeleine’s idea to display it in the dining room. She couldn’t imagine a woman allowing a present from an ex-girlfriend to remain suspended above the bed.
“This is the sitting room.” Jake walked around the corner. Her eyes flicked from side to side as she followed him, trying to take in the understated luxury of the place. Immaculate white leather lounges, the open fire laid, ready to combat the evening chill.
Then she saw it. The breath she sucked in contained no air, her pulse thundered in her ears, and she froze, captivated by the massive canvas suspended in the air, dominating the entire room. She tried to look away, but she couldn’t. There was an almost ethereal feel to the portrait—Madonna and child. The expression on her face as she looked down at the child cradled in her arms spoke of an unimaginable serenity.
A whistle escaped her lips as the muscles in her face and neck tightened. The familiar green eyes of the child cradled in her mother’s embrace stared directly at her. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe. The pain of Jake’s betrayal was as raw as it had been ever been. It might have been yesterday. The weight of the silence hung between them, suffocating, smothering all communication. When she spoke, her voice seemed to waft in from the ocean. “It’s Madeleine.”
***
“Bugger.” Jake grunted quietly. He had forgotten the portrait was there. The bloody real estate agent had said the wall looked bare.
“She looks…great. Peaceful…calm. When did she have the baby?”
“Just before Christmas last year.” Jake could imagine Cassia’s fingers moving behind her, counting back the months. He knew the conclusion she would come to. It was obvious. But she didn’t ask.
“What did you call the baby? She has your eyes—green, like shards of broken glass.” Her words startled him, and the catch in her voice was like a punch to the solar plexus. He fought for breath, feeling winded.
“Jade.” He eased the word between his rigid lips.
“Of course. Jade. It suits her, her green eyes, green like the jade we foun…” Her words petered out. He wanted to pull her into his arms. This was killing him. He couldn’t imagine what it was doing to her. His hands curled into fists, his nails biting into the skin on his palms, resisting the temptation to hit out. He swore softly under his breath instead. “Damn! Why in God’s name did I allow it to come to this?”
“Jake, thank you for showing me the house.” Cassia’s formality twisted his gut. “Can we go and look at my timber now?”
He watched helplessly as she turned to the door. He could tell from the tense set of her shoulders she was hanging on tightly, holding on to her self-control. He knew if he could see her face, she would be grinding her teeth. It was a habit she had never managed to break.
Jake followed Cassia outside, desperate to change the subject, desperate to claw back the pleasure that had filled him when he saw her playing in the shallows on the beach. All he wanted to do was to pull her into his arms and tell her that his life was a lie. That the last eighteen months had been spent living someone else’s life. Not the life he wanted, not the life he had dreamed of, but a parody.
“You’ll be pleased to get rid of this mess.” Her voice was cold, crisp, businesslike as it cut through his thoughts. She was back in control. Good for her. He wasn’t. He’d lost control the day his brother had turned up on the doorstep and asked for his help. Since then everything had changed.
“It’s not a problem.”
“A pile of rotting timber like this isn’t going to add much to the resale value of the place.”
“It’s easy. I told them I’d get rid of it.” His words sounded harsh, and the abrupt blink of her eyes confirmed it. The pile of driftwood was important to her. She had spent hours collecting it, shaping it, dreaming up her magical sculptures.
“Good job I rang then. I’ll arrange to get it out of here as soon as possible.” She was so calm, so detached. Sweat prickled the back of his neck. This was a disaster. The air crackled with unspoken tension.
“I can bring it down to Sydney for you. I told you.”
Her blank eyes stared at him.
“Cass.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled back as if his touch would scald her.
“I have to go.” She turned, head held high, and walked away from him.
CHAPTER TWO
Jake watched Cassia as she ran lightly down the beach track, his fingers itching to smooth the disheveled curls streaming behind her. He sighed and raked his hand through his own hair instead, disappointed and confused at the way the whole visit had gone.
Her reappearance had made him impatient. It was simple—he wanted her back. Regret surged through him for what might have been. It was difficult to keep the memories at bay, memories of a past when things between them had been just right, before reality in the shape of his brother had intervened. He didn’t want to spend another moment without her, and his patience was wearing thin. From the moment Lyle had asked for his help, he knew their lives would be irrevocably changed, but it was impossible to refuse his request.
He rested against the deck rail, watching Cassia’s breakneck race across the hard sand. Her shoes dangled from the long ribbons and bounced as she ran. He kicked his foot against the stainless-steel wires; the inharmonious twangs matched her footsteps.
There was still so much to be worked out before he could even begin to tell Cassia the full story. It was a lousy thing to do to her. Lying by omission was just as bad as a straight-out lie, but he had no option; he’d had to agree when Lyle had asked him if Madeleine could stay at the Shack. The fact everyone had presumed he and Madeleine were an item, and the baby his, had been an added bonus—for Lyle, at least.
Jake leaned out over the deck, craning for one last glimpse of Cassia, and his heart skipped a beat as she turned momentarily, raising her hand in a brief farewell before finally disappearing from sight.
He was going to have to be very careful when he took Cassia’s driftwood down to her studio. She could read him like a book. Hopefully, she wouldn’t ask too many questions. God, he missed her so much. There was nothing he could do about it; his hands were tied until the court case was over.
***
Cassia ran faster than the swooping seagulls, not caring whether Jake was watching her flight. She wanted to escape the formality of the house, the chiseled sandstone, and the glass. The unspoiled openness of the beach seemed safer and less complicated. She wished she’d driven up to the house and not parked down at the beach; then, she would be in the car and not racing across the sand. Her legs trembled from the exertion, and her breath caught in rasping sobs.
She retreated to the safety of the hired car and twisted the key in the ignition. She crunched through the gears, ignoring the fifty-kilometer speed signs and the potholes, and crested the hill into the national park.
No longer able to drive safely because of the shuddering gulps of misery wracking her body, she pulled off into a rest area under a sign: Rest Area—Stop, Revive, and Survive. Survive. Yes, well, she’d done it before. This time she wasn’t so sure.
She dropped her head onto the steering wheel, berating herself for her stupidity. One year, six months, and two days since she’d left. Whatever had possessed her to go back? Why hadn’t she just agreed to Jake’s offer to bring the driftwood to Sydney? All the excuses she had made to herself: she had wanted to walk on the beach, feel the sand between her toes, and pay her respects to her father. Who was she trying to kid? All she had really wanted was an excuse to see Jake. Any place, any time.
He hadn’t reacted as she’d expected. He seemed, in his gruff kind of way, happy to see her. She tossed her ridiculous thoughts aside, determined to pull herself together. It had been a long time, and Jake was rig
ht when he had said times change.
Times change.
The words rolled around in her head like a mantra. Not only had the Shack gone, so had the Jake she once knew, but why had he changed? Whatever had possessed him to sell out? Was it Madeleine’s influence?
Cassia closed her eyes, trying to block the picture of his tanned skin and piercing green eyes. Some things may have changed, but he was still the only man who could ever breach the wall she had built around herself.
After groping around in the glove box, she dragged out an old packet of tissues and tilted the rearview mirror. Mascara had run down her cheeks. Her red-rimmed eyes looked huge, the remains of her eye makeup highlighting her misery.
All her memories were interwoven with him, and he wasn’t even hers to think about any longer. She had to stop living in the past. It had been her decision to leave and move back to Sydney, but never in her wildest dreams had she believed it would be the end of their relationship. How long had it taken him? A month, maybe two, and he’d taken up with someone else. Not just anyone, but his brother’s girlfriend.
And the portrait—she didn’t even want to think about the wretched portrait. There was only one question she had wanted to ask him when she had seen it, but her pride hadn’t allowed her.
Why not me?
They’d talked about having children, but he had been adamant. It wasn’t a world he wanted to bring children into, not until there was some sort of guarantee it would be a world worth living in. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time changing his tune once Madeleine arrived on the scene.
She slammed the glove box closed and adjusted the rearview mirror. Her tear-stained face looked back at her. Shaking her head in despair, she leaned back in the seat and stretched her legs.
She just wanted to drive, get the hell out and back to the city as fast as she could. She twisted the key in the ignition and slammed the car into gear; it shuddered, skidding on the loose gravel. That was all she needed. Knocking it down into second, she pulled back onto the dirt road.
Finally soothed by the familiar rhythm of driving, she concentrated on the pressure of her foot on the accelerator and the twist of her arms as she followed the winding contours of the freeway through the steep sandstone country. The lanes eventually narrowed as she approached the city, making room for footpaths and streetlights, the familiar security of suburbia.
She eased the car onto the Harbour Bridge, and a movement caught her eye: a huge “For Sale” sign swung in the breeze, suspended on the side of an old, terraced house tucked between the arms of the approaching road. With a flash of determination, she accelerated into the inside lane and turned into the crowded backstreets of the city.
***
Less than a week later, Cassia sat, staring at the lights of the city while the ferry pulled out of Circular Quay. As the sun set, the sails of the Opera House magically turned from white to pale pink and purple. Hugging her thin cotton cardigan around her shoulders, she put her back to the buffeting wind, determined to stay on the outer deck of the ferry and keep her eyes firmly on the city. She was running the risk of seeing Jake again, but she needed closure, something tangible, and the auction would provide that. Once the Shack was sold, that would signal the end. At least then she could move on, keeping the memory of those halcyon days like a jewel she would take out on special days and gently polish.
The sound of the ferry engine changed as the pilot rounded Kirribilli Point and aimed for the wharf at Taronga Zoo. As they docked alongside the pontoon, she stood up, and a wave of nausea swept over her. She brought her hand up to her eyes, swaying slightly on her feet, wondering if she was going to faint. Sucking in a deep breath, she forced herself to step out onto the wharf. The cliff face loomed above her, and she stepped into the cable car for the ride up to the function center. The silhouette of the giraffes as they strolled incongruously across the skyline with their mates seemed to mock her.
She left the cable car and walked into the conference room, determined to put the past behind her. Searching the room, she slipped surreptitiously into one of the seats in the back row of the auditorium. On the huge screen above the stage, a video played, lauding the achievements of the local real estate agents. A long table along the side of the room was filled with glasses, and a waiter poured champagne for anyone who wandered over. Sipping water from the bottle she kept buried deep in her handbag, Cassia concentrated on her breathing, determined to stay calm. The noise of the room slowed as the screen filled with a panoramic ocean view.
How can I recognize a piece of ocean?
There was no headland, no identifying features, but she knew it as well as she knew her own hand. The swell of the ocean, the sweep of the horizon, the view from the Shack. Her father’s final resting place.
The slideshow began and, oblivious to the agent’s voiceover, she watched the virtual tour unfurl on the screen. After her brief visit the other day, her curiosity was piqued, and she gazed in awed silence as the details of the house unfolded before her. Jake had done an amazing job. Despite the lavish appointments, the house exuded an air of intimacy and understated elegance belying its size.
“Ladies and gentlemen, an opening bid please for this luxuriously appointed…”
Cassia jumped as the auctioneer’s voice broke into her reflection and looked around the room. She had really believed Jake would be there among the black-suited realtors who hovered like wraiths around interested parties or the people glued to their phones ready to relay the details once the bidding began.
Selling out was one thing, but surely he was interested in the outcome. The Jake she knew cared more for the land, for the place in time, for the heritage of the property.
Cassia made her way to the door, deciding the time had come to walk away.
Times change.
Their time together was a thing of the past. She had been foolish to believe otherwise. It was time to stop living in the past and commit to her future.
Closure. As she pushed through the glass doors into the cool night air, she heard the auctioneer’s hammer fall, followed by a round of applause. It sounded the death knell on all she treasured.
***
Jake scratched his head thoughtfully, barely acknowledging the sale as he watched Cassia leave the auditorium. Through the plate-glass windows, he saw her make her way back down the hill to the wharf. He cursed silently. This whole situation was completely out of control. His hands were tied, and he simply didn’t know what he was going to do. He wanted the house sale finalized before he tried to explain his “betrayal,” as she had called it. He wanted to present her with a clean slate and a rational explanation, but until his brother and Madeleine were safe, his lips were sealed, and that was how it had to be.
He looked back across the auditorium and saw the real estate agent gesticulating wildly in his direction. The auction was complete, and he was one step closer. He moved quickly across the room to sign the papers.
***
Cassia shuffled her feet on the footpath, annoyed at her miscalculation of the time. A cold breeze drifted off the harbor, and the last ferry was not for another hour. She left the wharf and walked up the hill to the main road in search of a taxi—maybe she’d have more luck there.
A flash of headlights caught her off guard. She stopped, glued to the spot, staring straight at them. The familiar beaten-up four-wheel-drive vehicle pulled over to the curb. The window slid down, and Jake’s head appeared. Her stomach fell.
“You look as though you could do with a lift,” he said.
“Jake. I didn’t think you were there. I looked around, but—” Cassia stopped. She was going to have to explain her presence at the auction but didn’t want to admit to her inquisitiveness. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m just going to walk to the top of Military Road and grab a taxi. There will be plenty up there.”
“Don’t be silly. Jump in, and I’ll give you a lift home.”
“I don’t want to take you out of your way.”
; “You won’t be. Get in. I’ll drop you at your studio and then go over the bridge and onto the freeway. It won’t add much to the trip at this time of the evening.”
“Thanks.” She surrendered and climbed up into the car, not wanting to know the details of the auction, not wanting to discuss it. Old memories were surfacing, bittersweet flashbacks: sitting on the beach watching the sunrise, cooking fish over beach fires, walking quietly, hand in hand. They meant nothing. They would be long gone, forgotten by tomorrow. Jake would be back with Madeleine, and she would be back in her studio.
Jake turned to her, his grin lighting his sun-bronzed features and her heart. “We could always stop for a quick coffee or a drink at the Stockade if you like. Just for old time’s sake, you know.” She smiled back at him. He was incorrigible. She shook her head slowly, her smile making a mockery of her refusal.
“The Stockade it is, then,” he said, his dimples deepening. She resisted the urge to smooth them as the car slid into traffic and headed over the Harbour Bridge and into the backstreets of the Rocks.
Cassia checked him out surreptitiously under the flickering streetlights. For a man who hated the city, he drove with a relaxed assurance. He did look a little older, a little more rugged, and perhaps even careworn, but his inner strength and self-determination still showed in his chiseled jaw. He’d taken off his jacket, and the sleeves of his pale blue shirt were rolled up. His tanned, muscular forearms reminded her of the beach, of dragging driftwood across the sand and up the path to the Shack. He used to get so annoyed with her when he’d earmarked something for firewood, and she rescued it.
As if aware of her nostalgic musings, he quietly moved his hand and rested it on her thigh. The familiar pose of possession made every nerve jump. Reaching over tentatively, she took his hand and traced her fingers over the small scars, his fingers warm and firm beneath hers. It was like reading a familiar map.