by Janine Grey
‘Oh, but I —’
‘Is that clear?’ he repeated. His voice had the cutting edge of an icepick.
‘I . . . Well . . . I’ll just go then. It never was my kind of place anyway.’ She turned and flounced towards the door, head held high, not even bothering to collect her order.
As Fin and Eliza retook their seats, a couple of diners looked nervously towards Fin, as though they might be next in his sights. But the wait staff quickly topped up their wine and, slowly, the volume in the restaurant rose towards its previous level. A moment later, their waiter delivered their pizza and a complimentary salad.
‘We no like a bully here,’ he sniffed. ‘If she come back, we tell her, “Go away.”’
Eliza managed a smile. ‘Thank you. This looks great.’
When the waiter had departed, Fin served them both in silence.
‘I suppose you’re wondering what all that was about?’ she asked eventually.
Fin chewed a mouthful of pizza and shrugged. ‘I know as much as I need to. She’s a bitch with a bone to pick and she saw her chance.’
She nodded. ‘Thanks for not asking. My dignity’s taken enough of a hit for one evening.’
‘It could’ve been worse. You might have been slugging it out right now outside, with everyone in a circle cheering you on.’
She gave a choked laugh, his words having the effect he’d intended. ‘You sound like you like the idea.’
He flicked her a look. ‘Woman-on-woman wrestling. What’s not to like?’
‘That’s such a guy thing to say.’
‘Well, can I say another guy thing?’
She frowned. ‘What?’
‘If you don’t eat something, I’m going to end up demolishing both pizzas and have problems fitting down the mine shaft.’
Eliza went suddenly still. Then she lifted a slice of pizza to her mouth and bit determinedly into it.
‘What?’ Fin said. ‘That look that just crossed your face.’ He realised he was becoming attuned to her myriad changes of expression. The composure he’d seen initially was in fact an illusion. Her eyes were like a lake with a thousand things happening beneath the serene surface.
‘Nothing. It’s just delicious.’
He leant his arms on the table. ‘I don’t believe you. I want to know what went through your mind just then.’
Eliza put down the remains of her pizza. ‘There’s something I should tell you before you meet with your great-uncle, although I’m sure he’ll fill you in.’
‘What’s that?’ Right now, Fin would rather talk about the fascinating Miss Mayberry but she seemed determined to keep things professional.
‘He, um, provided funding to help your father set up as an opal miner, before they lost touch.’
Fin drew back, startled. He hadn’t been expecting that. The mine belonged to the McLeods, not some stranger in Sydney. ‘Well, he’d better not want his money back after all this time.’
‘I’m sure he doesn’t, but he is something of an expert in gems. He used to trade in them. I suspect he’s a very interesting man.’
She looked so sincere, Fin felt fresh attraction flare. ‘Oh yeah?’ He caught her free hand in his, let their fingers entwine. ‘And what’s your definition of an interesting man?’
‘Fin . . .’
He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. ‘Indulge me.’
‘Um, okay. But this is just academic, you understand?’
‘Completely.’
‘Well, he’d have to have strength of character. He’d also have a driving passion of some sort – for his work or something else.’ A shadow crossed her face.
‘Is that all?’
Her eyes met his and he saw the conflict in them – the wanting and the wariness. ‘And he’d have to live in the real world. I couldn’t be with anyone who lived in a fool’s paradise.’
Bullseye on number two, number one was in dispute, and he wasn’t even on the dartboard with number three. When she tugged her hand away, Fin let it go and they finished their meal in virtual silence.
‘Call it a night?’ he asked eventually when the lack of conversation, heightened by mutual awareness, stretched uncomfortably between them.
She nodded and signalled the waiter for their bill. When it came, Fin snatched it up.
‘No, Fin. I’ll get it. Your great-uncle is my client.’
‘No.’ He might be poor but he had his pride, and he wanted to make something clear. ‘This wasn’t all business. Not for me.’
‘All right.’ She flushed a little. ‘Thank you. I’ll get the tip.’
He led the way out into the night. Light rain was falling and he helped Eliza shrug into her jacket. The streetlights reflected in the widening puddles.
‘You’re getting wet,’ she said. ‘You should – Where are you staying, Fin?’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t even think to ask.’
‘I’ll head into the city, find a room.’
‘Without a booking?’
‘People walk in off the street all the time.’
‘But what will they think?’
‘That I don’t want to sleep on a park bench tonight?’ he laughed.
‘Sorry.’ She sighed. ‘I guess I’m the kind of person who books in advance. Well in advance.’
‘I’m more of a “just do it” kind of guy.’ The rain was pouring harder now, drenching his shoulders. ‘You should get out of this weather.’
But neither of them moved for endless seconds. A long strand of hair partially obscured her face and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but a pulse jerked in her throat and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. His body reacted as though it had been the direct beneficiary.
‘I guess you could, you know, have the couch at my place,’ she murmured finally. ‘I live just around the corner.’
Fin’s heart thundered in his chest, his mouth went dry. Then he sighed. He could do uncomplicated but he suspected that at heart Miss Mayberry was permanence and picket fences. Perfect domesticity. Damn it! The last time he’d had an inconvenient attack of conscience, he hadn’t exactly come out a winner. You’d think he would have learnt his lesson, but evidently not.
He leant forward until his forehead almost touched hers. ‘If you take me home, we both know that neither of us is going to be on that couch,’ he whispered. ‘But it would be one night only. I’m not offering anything more.’
Her face was turned up to him now and he could see in her eyes sense and sensuality at war. His mouth drifted down until it captured hers with the lightest touch, before releasing it.
‘I can see the answer on your face. I’ll call you tomorrow about the meeting with Mr Weaver,’ he said, and went to hail a cab.
*
When the phone woke her from a deep sleep, Eliza stuck a hand out from under the sheet and groped blindly for it, sending a pile of unread books crashing to the floor. It was where they belonged, every worthy, unread one of them.
‘What?’ she yawned into her mobile.
‘Morning.’ The deep baritone at the other end was a little raspy, a lot of sexy.
‘Hi . . . Hi!’
‘Should I call back in a bit? You don’t sound quite awake.’
What do you expect after I tossed and turned half the night?
She pasted a smile on her face. ‘Can I blame jet lag?’
‘I’m blaming sexual frustration,’ he said, his voice edging even lower.
‘Don’t . . . We made our decision. Let’s move on.’
‘Miss Mayberry is back, I see.’
‘Who?’
‘The eminently sensible Miss Mayberry,’ he told her. ‘She’s always tucked in, perfectly presented . . . and she wears horn-rimmed reading glasses. I made the last bit up.’
Eliza glanced down at the tumble of books on her bedroom floor, and her dark-rimmed reading glasses. She closed her eyes and vowed he would never know about them.
‘You have strange fantasies, Mr McLeod.’
> ‘I haven’t even broken the surface,’ he murmured.
The room felt suddenly closer and a whole lot hotter. Eliza fanned her face and reminded herself she was a professional, with a job to do and a business name to restore. With supreme effort, she attempted to turn the conversation around.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should focus on business matters. Now I have your number, I’ll text you the address. Meet me there at eleven. I’ll let Mr Weaver know.’
Hanging up, she went to the bathroom to shower, wondering if she should have taken the opportunity to be more specific about Ernest Weaver’s interest in the mine. Really, though, it was between him and his great-uncle, although she suspected Fingal would be none too happy to discover he effectively had a silent partner.
After dressing, she phoned Mr Weaver to let him know the good news. A woman answered the phone and introduced herself as the housekeeper, Mrs Pruett, who told her that Mr Weaver never felt too well in the morning so it would be better to reschedule for the afternoon. They agreed on two o’clock.
Eliza sent Fin a text with the details. Five hours was plenty of time to ensure her composed Ms Mayberry persona was firmly in place. By the end of today, she would have fulfilled her obligation to both Mr Weaver and his great-nephew. What happened after that would be up to them, although she hoped they achieved some sort of reconciliation.
What was in little doubt was that Fin would be on a plane tomorrow, back to Tamworth and then on to Ruin Flat. And that she would stay in Sydney and work to keep the KinSearchers name in business, make a life for herself.
The work might suit her very well, despite her youthful assertions that it lacked excitement. She liked digging into the past, making connections. She’d had the idea to talk to the real estate agent who’d sold Mairi McLeod’s house, hadn’t she? And she’d talked Jerry Bragg into revealing Fin’s location? She had initiative and could think on her feet. Her first case hadn’t been the easiest, but she had achieved an outcome. Now she’d done it once she could do it again.
Feeling fired with energy and raring to keep the business moving forward, she ducked out for a quick breakfast at a local café, and rang Lincoln Bassett. He sounded delighted to hear from her.
‘I was thinking about you just the other day,’ he said.
‘I’ve been working on that case,’ she said. ‘For Ernest Weaver, the old friend of my dad’s. I located his great-nephew and they’re meeting today.’
‘Wonderful, wonderful. It’s just a shame that Angela’s no longer around to advise you but I dare say you’ll learn on the job – presuming you wish to keep the business running.’
‘Yes, that’s why I’m calling. How do I go about that?’
They talked for some time about administrative matters, and made an appointment to meet the following week. The transfer of the business into her name wouldn’t be cheap but she had a fair amount of Mr Weaver’s fee left, and no qualms about using it. Still, she would need to drum up more business soon. Hopefully, Lincoln would be able to help her with some contacts.
Just before two, Eliza parked outside Ernest Weaver’s house. She was picking up her bag from the passenger seat when someone opened the car door.
Fin McLeod’s grey eyes met hers, and her mouth went suddenly dry. He was wearing the same jeans as yesterday but with a crisp white shirt. With a hint of stubble and aviator sunglasses pushed up on his head, he looked lick-the-plate-clean edible.
Without a word, he stood back to let her out.
‘Thanks.’ She beeped the car locked.
He’s just a man.
Just a good-looking man who’s about to disappear from your life.
‘Shall we go in?’
She nodded and led the way to the front door, which opened before she could get in one knock.
‘Did you bring him, then? Where is he?’ Mr Weaver said. ‘Where’s the boy?’
‘Mr Weaver,’ she said, standing aside. ‘Meet Fingal McLeod.’
CHAPTER 7
Fin stroked his mother’s hand. Her hazel eyes turned to him with a glint of recognition. Today must be one of her better days. The doctor had said yesterday they would be few and far between.
‘Logan?’ she said softly. ‘You came.’
‘It’s Fin, Ma,’ he said. ‘I’m just back from Sydney, from seeing Ernest Weaver, Grandma Connie’s brother.’
She said nothing but Fin suspected from her expression that she remembered her mother-in-law’s name. It seemed to be how it was, these days. Old names and old times were easier to recall than the present.
‘Ernest Weaver wanted you to know how sorry he was that you lost contact. He wanted to help us, Ma, back when he found out about Logan . . . Well, that’s what he said, and I believed him. Anyway, it’s water under the bridge now.’ He didn’t tell her that Ernest had been frank about his intentions to make Fin his heir. Fin had taken to the man, grouchy though he could be, and the thought of benefitting from his death was distasteful. But he did tell her they’d spoken of the mine.
‘I didn’t know Ernest had invested in the mine, Ma. He’s handed over his stake to me – to us.’ He looked at her, trying to get through. ‘Maybe one day, if you’re feeling up to it, we could go to see him in Sydney. I reckon he’s a bit frail to travel this far.’
Fin knew his mother couldn’t travel either, not in her current condition. The doctor had told him that depression was looking increasingly like a causative factor in dementia, and Fin couldn’t deny his suspicions that Mairi had lived with it since the end of her marriage, although she’d put on a brave face while he’d been young.
Tears pricked his eyes. He felt a little helpless, particularly as the doctor didn’t seem to think there was any way back from here. The only thing Fin could think to do to reconnect her with the world was to speak of the people and life she’d known long ago.
So, he talked to her about Ernest Weaver, and what had been a positive meeting all around. The old man had been so desperate to make amends that Fin had stayed on a further two days in Sydney so that Ernest could fill in the gaps of his past. When Fin had flown out yesterday, he felt that he understood why Logan had been so driven to make a success of the mine – and so compelled to leave when he failed.
Ernest said the constant refrain from his parents to Constance had been that Rory McLeod would never amount to anything. The accusation had been levelled time after time, even after Logan was born. It was hardly surprising if young Logan had taken it to heart.
‘You’re going back, then?’
Fin looked impatiently away from his mother towards Jerry, as the older man came into the room and stood behind her chair as if to make it clear he considered himself her protector.
‘To the mine, yes.’
‘Then you’re a fool.’
Fin got to his feet, irritation vibrating through him. He held it in check as he bent to kiss his mother’s pale cheek. ‘I’ll see you next month, Ma.’
Jerry followed him out. ‘This isn’t what she would want.’
‘It really isn’t your concern, Jerry. While I appreciate your care of my mother, I’m warning you to stay out of my business.’
Fin bit back a curse as he left Jerry standing in the nursing home foyer. The last thing he wanted to do was fight with the old man. He owed him a lot. Jerry had been a constant in his life after Logan’s betrayal: always there to take his mother out, cheer on Fin at cricket, see to the million and one things that needed fixing at the shabby rental homes they’d lived in before Mairi saved enough for a place of their own.
But Fin was an adult now. When Mairi’s health began to decline, she’d signed over the house and the mine to Fin, and that was because she’d trusted him to make the right decisions. Somehow he needed to live up to her faith in him, and there was only one way to do that.
It was a long, lonely drive back to Ruin Flat. More than once he looked at his phone, fighting the overwhelming urge to phone Miss Mayberry, to hear that coolly precise voice and
flirt with her until she began to stammer. Once, not far from Helton, he even dialled her number, but ended the call before it could connect.
She was right. Why complicate things?
Anxious to make camp, he didn’t bother to stop in Helton. He’d pick up his mail another time. It was late when he reached the mine, the car’s headlights illuminating his tent and stove in the dark. It all looked as he’d left it. Not that he’d ever had any issues but the folks at Helton told him that occasionally passing hell-raisers caused trouble.
He turned to park and the headlights shone on a dark mass on the ground. Frowning, he pulled on the handbrake, got out and strolled towards the object, flicking on his torch.
A metre from it, he realised what it was and smiled. ‘What are you doing out at night, Blue? You’re supposed to be cold-blooded. Not that I don’t appreciate the welcoming party but —’
The words dried up when he realised how still she was. Normally, the friendly blue-tongue lizard would turn and lumber towards him. But today, there was no sign of life, just a smear of blood on her neck.
Sighing, he crouched down in the dirt. In a fight with a dingo, she wouldn’t stand much of a chance. He ran the torchlight over her. At least he’d have something to bury; starving dingoes didn’t usually leave much of a carcass behind.
As he went to lift Blue, the torch beam fell on her wound and Fin realised that what he was looking at wasn’t anything like the jagged rip you’d expect from dingo teeth. It was too neat.
In fact, the more Fin stared at it, the more it looked like a clean and vicious slice from a hunter’s knife.
*
Eliza stood on the tiny stretch of beachfront at Elizabeth Bay and stared out at the harbour, where stiff September breezes whipped the water into little whitecaps. The wind blew her hair across her face and Eliza pushed it back behind her ear in irritation. Around Helton, they were probably praying for a cool breeze like this.
The dreary midweek meant the beach was empty, the little café closed. Apartments and houses, and beyond them the ever-rising city, pressed in on her. She felt cornered, trapped in one life when —