by Joan Kilby
“I also want to ask you to our engagement party,” Ida added a little stiffly. “It’s a week Saturday. Just an informal barbecue here at Will’s place. I hope you can come.”
“Uh…” Ida had sprung the invitation on her; she couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough. “Thanks,” she said weakly. “I’d love to. That is, if Will doesn’t mind.”
“Gosh, no. But for some reason he thought I should ask you.” She shrugged. “Men. Go figure.”
Maeve quelled the sudden leaping of her heart. The occasion was Will’s engagement party, not a date. “What are you wearing for your wedding?” Maeve asked.
“Something loose,” Ida said with a grin. “My clothes are already getting tight.”
“I can’t tell,” Maeve said truthfully. “How do you feel?”
“Like a million bucks,” Ida said, but her smile flickered and her focus suddenly seemed far away. Quickly, she turned to the fridge. “Do you take milk and sugar?”
“Just milk, thanks.” Was something wrong with the baby? With Will? Dared she ask? “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” Ida assured her. She smiled, though to Maeve the smile looked forced. “In fact, I’ve just had some pleasant news. A friend of mine from San Diego called to say he’d be in town next week.” She hesitated, looking as though she wanted to say more, then didn’t.
“That’s great.” So why did Ida’s expression suggest otherwise? Maeve watched the woman pour boiling water over the instant coffee and stir. “Are you nervous about having the baby?”
Ida handed over a cup of coffee. “You mean the birth? Not especially. Will and I are attending prenatal classes.”
“But what about—” Afterward. Maeve bit her tongue. Just because her child had died at eleven months didn’t mean Ida’s would perish young. She couldn’t spoil Ida’s joy and anticipation with her grief. “Is Will excited about the wedding?”
Ida rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Will’s crazy about the baby, but he’s not exactly the romantic type.”
“I guess he’s preoccupied with his business at the moment.”
“Hmmm, maybe,” Ida said skeptically. “I mean, yes, he is, but that’s not the reason. Anyway, all that hearts-and-flowers stuff doesn’t matter. Will is such a great guy, I can live without romance.” Although she smiled, her wistful tone suggested regret.
“Maybe he just needs a gentle reminder of how much you would appreciate thoughtful gestures, like bringing you flowers or taking you someplace special.”
Ida’s hazel eyes filled with a sorrow Maeve didn’t understand. “He’s taking me to the footy game for my birthday in a couple of weeks.”
“Are you one of those rabid fans who wear team colors to the games and hang team scarves from the windows of your house during the Grand Final?”
“No.” Ida laughed. “I’m not even sure who’s playing.”
“Well, all I know is, this Saturday it’s the Bombers versus the Magpies. My father talks about practically nothing else.”
“Maybe on my birthday we should send Will to the footy with your dad, while you and I go out for a night on the town,” Ida proposed.
“Sounds good to me, but you and Will really ought to make it a romantic occasion,” Maeve insisted.
Ida’s tight smile didn’t reach her eyes. She drained her cup and rinsed it under the tap.
“I’d better get going,” she said.
Maeve went out with her and locked the door. A bride-to-be deserved a little romance, she thought, as Ida drove off. Maeve couldn’t prevent her attraction to Will, but maybe she could atone for it by doing her damnedest to see Ida got what she deserved. No matter how much Maeve herself would feel hurt.
“I HAVE GOOD NEWS and bad news,” Art announced, when she arrived home that night. Clad in the frilly pink apron, he had a glass of beer in one hand and a chef’s knife in the other. “Which do you want first?”
She took in his broad grin and the pair of sirloin steaks resting on the open butcher’s paper on the bench top. “Looks like we’re celebrating. Give me the good news.”
“You know that job interview I had at A. B. Electronics last week?”
Maeve went to the fridge for a mineral water. “Yes?”
“They called today and offered me the job of foreman.”
“Dad, that’s fantastic! Congratulations.” She put down her bottle of water and threw her arms around his neck. “Your worries are over.”
His grin faded. “Don’t forget the bad news.”
“How bad can it be?” she asked, picking at the sliced carrots on the chopping board. “Will could close down ten factories without affecting you now.” Will would still be affected, though, she thought unhappily. Then Maeve reminded herself she had no right to care about Will. That was Ida’s job.
“They want me to start right away. One week from now at the latest.”
“So?” she said, wanting to sound tougher than she felt.
Art sat at the table and cradled the tall glass between his hands. “I can’t leave Will in the lurch. He’s got orders to fill. For the foreman to quit right now would be bad for morale.”
Maeve sat opposite him. “I understand how you feel, but you’ve got to look out for yourself. Will wouldn’t operate the factory at a loss just to provide jobs for his employees, no matter how badly he feels about letting them go. Don’t you be blinded by loyalty and work yourself into a state of unemployment.”
Art rubbed his thumbs over his glass. “I don’t know…”
Maeve let out an exasperated sigh. “Will wouldn’t have recommended you for the interview if he hadn’t taken into account that you might get the job and leave.”
“True, but—”
“He wants you to have something to go to when Aussie Electronics shuts its doors. He wants you to do well.” By God, she truly believed that.
“Maybe you’re right,” Art said doubtfully. “I’ll have to think on it.”
“Don’t think,” she ordered. “Call up right now and say you’ll accept. Will is a fair man. He’ll understand.”
“Can’t,” Art said flatly. “It’s after 6:00 p.m. They’re shut.”
Maeve shook her head at her father. “In that case, fire up the barbie. Let’s grill those steaks.”
ON SATURDAY MORNING the surf was flat, so Will set to work on Maeve’s solar panel. He wondered if she would show up to garden, and found himself listening for the sound of her ute. Mid-morning, he heard the drone of the utility truck as it came up the drive.
He’d planned to wait until she unloaded her tools and plants before greeting her but found himself hovering eagerly in the doorway of the bungalow. When she appeared around the side of the house, wheeling a barrow full of gardening tools, he blinked. Instead of her usual cargo pants, she wore khaki cargo shorts, revealing long legs, shapely with muscle. Today her crop top was dark purple, and the smooth full curves of her breasts accentuated the taut midriff below.
“Come and see your solar panel,” Will called.
Her face lit instantly. Then, just as quickly, her expression turned guarded. By the time she’d walked over, her mouth had curled down at the corners and her finely shaped brows had settled into a small but definite frown. Will was immediately determined to make the frown disappear.
“I heard your TV was found in the Salvation Army drop-off bin,” he said. In fact, Art had told him the police had located the TV and sound system in a pawn shop in Frankston, up the highway toward Melbourne.
“Ha-ha, very funny.” Her lips lifted ever so slightly.
Will leaned on the doorjamb. “They say the reception is so bad even the needy don’t want it.”
“Who says?” she challenged him. But the line disappeared from between her eyebrows, and the corners of her mouth curved up to their normal resting position.
He wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than a full-blown smile. “Apparently, the next time burglars come to your house they’re going to bring you a brand-new television se
t.”
“Stop it.” Her lips curled merrily and a sparkle gleamed in her dark eyes as she pretended to hit him.
“That’s the face I want to see,” he said, dodging her blow.
He led the way to the workbench. “This new regulator—” he pointed out the black box attached to the solar panel “—combined with a bigger battery—” he indicated the one he’d taken from Stores at the factory “—should result in a threefold increase in both the charge rate and the storage capacity. It’s not finished yet, but at least I’ve figured out what has to be done.”
“Will, you’re a genius.” Her face shone. “How can I ever thank you?”
“No need. I enjoyed working on it.” Her excitement and delight were sufficient recompense. “But that’s not all.”
“What else could there possibly be?”
“The extra energy from the boosted solar panel can easily run more than one experimental system. You can heat the water to the lowest test temperature, then run feeder lines from the main water heater equipped with P.I.D.’s—potential integrated derivatives—and heat sensors to raise the temperature of the outflowing water. You can run three different test temperatures at a time.”
Maeve didn’t speak.
“If that’s not enough, I can increase the number of sensors,” he added. She hadn’t asked for this embellishment, but when she’d described her project design, a thermoregulater had seemed an obvious requirement.
“It’s perfect. Exactly what I needed.” Her gaze remained fixed on the solar regulator.
“What’s wrong?” Cautiously, he guided her chin toward him. Her dark eyes were luminous with unspoken gratitude. And something else? He dropped his hand, curling his fingers into his palm. He should not be touching her.
“Nothing’s wrong. Thank you.” Abruptly, she turned to go.
Will followed, hands thrust in his shorts pockets. He’d never experienced this degree of infatuation. Perhaps this growing desire, this craving, to see her, to touch her, to make her laugh, came purely from not being able to have her. Yes, that was it: forbidden fruit tasted sweetest.
Maeve paused in the doorway. “I hear Ida’s birthday is coming up.”
“That’s right,” he said. “We’re going to the footy game. The Magpies are playing Essendon.”
“Footy? Is that your idea of a romantic night out?” Her voice held an accusing edge. “You’ve gone to so much trouble over a solar panel. Surely you can dream up a more elaborate celebration for your fiancée’s birthday.”
“I reckon I know what she likes better than you,” he said shortly, frustrated by the tension between Maeve and him.
“I reckon you don’t.” Maeve stalked to her wheelbarrow. “She’s a woman, for goodness’ sake. Even if she does like footy, it’s not what she wants to do on her birthday.”
“Well, what would you suggest?” he demanded.
“Candlelight, flowers, dinner out. Or better yet, make her dinner yourself. You can cook, can’t you?”
“I haven’t starved in fifteen years of living on my own,” he snapped. “Sure, I could do all that, but Ida and I… Well, we…” His voice seemed to lose power under Maeve’s scrutiny. There was nothing he could say that she would want to hear.
She shook her head. Then she bent her knees and gripped the handles of her loaded wheelbarrow. “Thanks for what you did on the solar panel,” she said. “I’d better get to work.”
Maeve trudged across the lawn to the terrace, dumped her load of tools, then went back to the ute for the flats of seedlings. She spent the morning filling the hollows of the rock wall with frothy white alyssum and trailing blue lobelia—white surf and cascading blue water. The alyssum and lobelia would form part of the perimeter of the moonlight garden. She would have liked to work even farther from the bungalow—and Will—but she had dozens of plants to put in the ground.
Kneeling on a foam pad, she dug the trowel into the loamy soil. He was fighting his attraction to her, just as she was fighting hers. She didn’t know what to think about that. If his feelings for her were real, that meant he’d made the wrong choice regarding Ida. But he would never leave Ida, not when they were going to have a baby. Nor would Maeve forgive herself if she took him away from Ida.
And yet, what if she never met another man who made her feel the way Will did? As though every morning were the first day of spring. As though laughter waited behind every flowering bush. As though a love like she’d never experienced before was only a kiss away.
The sound of a woman’s voice made her glance up.
Ida waved at Maeve from the deck. “Join us for a cold drink?”
Maeve lifted a hand in greeting and forced a smile. “Thanks, but I’ve got to plant these before the sun gets too hot.”
“Later, then.”
Maeve nodded noncommittally and went back to her work. How could she look Ida in the face after what she’d been thinking about Will? And not just today. Lately, fantasizing about Will had become her method of coping with her feelings. The trouble with fantasies was, afterward she felt emptier than ever.
Ida’s and Will’s voices carried across the short distance from the deck. Maeve tried not to listen, but she couldn’t help overhearing their conversation. They were talking about the baby—trying out names; engaging in laughing disputes over schools; speculating about the ways in which their lives would change, how they would conduct themselves as a family. Maeve fought not to hear the quiet joy in Will’s voice when he spoke of his son or daughter, but his tone rang out more clearly than words. He loved children. He couldn’t wait for this baby.
A teardrop fell on her wrist. With numb detachment she observed particles of dirt floating in the tiny pool. Whatever she and Will might feel for each other, it would never be enough for him.
CHAPTER NINE
ON TUESDAY, Maeve parked on St. Kilda Boulevard and set out for the fifteen-minute walk into the center of Melbourne to meet Graham for lunch. Huge old plane trees shaded the street and the sidewalks with their broad, leafy limbs. A green-and-gold tram rumbled by. She could have hopped aboard, but walking relaxed her. Part of her looked forward to seeing Graham; their marriage hadn’t been all bad. Part of her dreaded the encounter; one way or another, he was bound to try to pressure her into what he wanted.
Just past the art gallery she left the shade behind. Street vendors plied their crafts, but she ignored them and pushed on, past the tall spire of the Arts Centre toward the Swanston Street Bridge, which would take her across the Yarra River and into the heart of the city. On the bridge, tourists jostled for camera space.
Ouch. Her high heels were pinching her toes. How on earth did some women wear shoes like this every day? She stopped in one of the alcoves along the bridge and leaned against the stone wall to slip off her shoe and wriggle her cramped toes.
She was just cramming her foot back into the shoe, when she glanced across the bridge—and blinked in surprise. Through the stream of traffic, she could see Ida striding briskly toward the city center.
“Ida!” she called. Ida didn’t hear. Maeve was about to call again, then stopped when she saw Ida smile and lift a hand in greeting to someone coming toward her.
The man was shorter than Will, with reddish-blond hair, a square jaw and an even white smile. Ida hesitated a few feet away. Then the man opened his arms and Ida fell into his embrace. Maybe he was her brother, Maeve told herself unconvincingly. Or a long-lost cousin. No, she thought a second later. No one kissed a relative like that.
Maeve dropped back into the stone alcove, stunned. Was this the secret she’d sensed Ida was hiding? A lover? Ida was the mother of Will’s child. How dared she have an affair with another man? In broad daylight! Maeve looked again, but Ida and the man had disappeared into the throng heading into the city.
Maeve glanced at her watch. Gosh, she was late. She slung her purse over her shoulder and hurried across the bridge, her mind whirling with what she’d just witnessed. Maybe Ida had a perfectly innocent
explanation for her behavior, although Maeve’s gut feeling was that the situation was exactly what it seemed.
When she got to the Grand Hyatt, Graham was lounging in a deep leather chair in the lobby, watching a crew of Singapore Airline flight attendants check in. He looked the same, or almost. His waist had thickened slightly, and his blond hair was a little thinner on top and longer on the sides, but his tan was as deep and his clothes as casually elegant as ever. In his polo shirt, chinos and sockless Topsiders, he appeared ready to cast off, not to dine at one of the best hotels in Melbourne.
Yet as usual, he didn’t look underdressed—but she felt overdressed. Like a secretary sprucing up for a date with the boss.
“Well, Graham, I see you’ve come arrayed in your usual sartorial splendor.” Her silk blouse was stuck to her skin and her toes were still hurting.
“And you’re your usual sarcastic self. Nice to see you, Maeve.” He rose slowly, taking his time about unbending, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then he glanced at his watch.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said tightly. Resentment slipped over her shoulders, as familiar as an old sweater. When she was with Graham she seemed to be forever apologizing. “Look, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
Graham lost the languid attitude instantly and reached for her hand. With his most charming smile, he implored, “Stay, please. It’s great to see you.”
“Oh, all right. I’m starving, anyway.” She managed a genuine smile. “If we’re busy putting food in our mouths, we can surely refrain from biting each other’s heads off.”
Graham slid his arm around her waist. “I’m betting we can be nice longer than that.”
“So when are you sailing to Fiji?” Maeve asked a short time later as they circled the appetizer table. She added a slice of smoked salmon to her selection of fresh herbed goat’s cheese and roasted mushrooms.