by Joan Kilby
The front door was open, but at the last moment Maeve walked around to the side of the house, through the kissing gate. She hoped Will liked the gate. Given his impending matrimony, it had seemed a good idea. Now she was so self-conscious about explaining its purpose that she had yet to mention it to him.
She scanned the gathering, seeking his blue eyes and sun-streaked hair. But he was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Ida. The gift Maeve had brought weighed her down, and she edged through the crowd on the patio to carry it inside.
“Maeve, is that you?” called a balding man with a muscular build, dressed in a skintight black T-shirt. “Ginger, look who’s here.”
“Hi, Alex. Ginger,” Maeve said, relieved to see some familiar faces. “How’s your garden faring in this heat?”
“Fabulously, thanks to your watering system.” Ginger pushed her elaborately messy strawberry-blond hair out of her eyes. “I love what you’re doing to Will’s place.”
“I’m not finished yet, but thanks. Do you know where Will and Ida are? I want to give them this—”
“In the house, I think, getting the food out,” Alex said. “Try the crab dip. Ginger made it.”
“Thanks, I will. Talk to you later.”
She turned back toward the house—and suddenly found herself nose to chest with Will. The music and the laughter faded into background noise.
“Glad you could come,” he said. “Can I take that for you?”
“It’s for you and Ida.” She was aware only of his eyes, warm and blue, smiling down at her.
“Thanks.” He hefted it in his hands. “Heavy.”
“It’s a vase,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.”
“You have something against flowers in pickle jars?” He took her hand and led her through the crowd. “I’ll put this on the dining room table and then introduce you around.”
“Where’s Ida?” Maeve was aware of the gently possessive pressure of his fingers wrapped around hers. This was a party, she told herself. Attitudes and behavior were naturally more relaxed. She shouldn’t be so tense.
“Outside somewhere, I think.” Will set the gift-wrapped vase on the table and whisked two glasses of champagne off a passing waitress’s tray. “Thanks, Elysse,” he said, with a wink for the pretty young girl carrying the tray.
“Good idea, having the party catered,” Maeve remarked, more to make conversation than because she had an opinion on the subject.
“Ida and my mother prepared most of the food. The girl who brought us the champagne is my niece. She and her friends from technical college are serving. They not only get paid, but also get credits for their hospitality course.”
Maeve sipped her champagne. “Good deal.”
“Come on, let’s go back outside. I should check the barbie.”
They retraced their steps to the deck, their progress impeded by the milling guests, who all wanted a word with Will.
“…Congratulations, you old bastard.”
“…Good to see you’re finally tying the knot, Will.”
“…Look forward to the wedding.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” Will shook hands, hugged women, chatted and smiled and nodded.
Maeve followed silently in his wake. All these people were gathered for the express purpose of celebrating Will and Ida’s engagement. They really were getting married. Maeve glanced around for the red-haired man she’d seen Ida kissing on the Swanston Street Bridge. Was he a mutual friend of theirs? Maybe even one of Will’s mates? The thought made her stomach hurt.
She didn’t see the man, but she did spot Ida, holding court in a circle of lawn chairs beside the pool. Her cheeks were flushed and she was laughing uproariously, as though she were on top of the world. A spasm of jealous anger arrowed through Maeve with a ferocity that left her breathless. How dared Ida treat Will so casually? Didn’t she know how many women would love to have what she seemed to take for granted?
“Hello, Maeve.”
She turned, and there was Phyllis, cigarette in one hand and champagne glass in the other. She wore a flowing turquoise muslin dress and heeled sandals. Her blond hair was nicely waved. “Phyllis. Lovely to see you again.”
“This is my daughter Julie, Will’s little sister,” she said, indicating a pretty dark-haired woman with a baby in her arms. “And her husband, Mike, and their children. Will’s other sister is here, too, somewhere. His brother in Sydney couldn’t get away from work—”
“Maeve isn’t that interested in my family,” Will cut in. Over both Maeve’s and Phyllis’s protests, he eased Maeve away.
“Just what don’t you want me to find out about you?” she teased.
“What I saw behind the woodshed when I was three years old. Seriously,” he added, “I just wanted to rescue you.”
“I didn’t need rescuing,” she replied indignantly. “I like your mother.”
“Hey, Will.” A man with short black hair came up and slapped Will on the back, but his appreciative gray eyes rested on Maeve. “Who is this lovely lady? You’ve been holding out on me, mate.”
“This is Maeve—”
“Ah, the Amazon who’s landscaping your garden—”
“Maeve, this is Paul, my accountant,” Will finished.
“Ah, the evil money man who’s shutting down the factory,” she said with a wry smile. Although she knew the sentiment was unworthy of her, a tiny part of her was pleased that Will should witness another man being attracted to her.
“Maeve’s father is Art Hodgins, our foreman,” Will explained.
Paul laid a hand over his heart with a disarming smile. “Forces beyond my control. Honest.”
“Don’t believe a word he says,” Will said.
“Listen, Will,” Paul said. “The agent in Jakarta has located a suitable factory. I’ve laid the groundwork for meetings with the Indonesian government, so whenever you’re ready to fly over and check it out, just give me a shout. We can set it up quickly.”
“Sure,” Will replied, but without enthusiasm.
Someone called Will to the telephone and he was drawn away, leaving Maeve with Paul. Paul smiled and tucked her arm into the crook of his. “Come and show me your handiwork. I’m desperately in need of a landscape gardener myself.”
Maeve didn’t believe Paul, but he lied in such a blatant and charming manner that she couldn’t take offense. She happily showed him around the grounds, and for once got to enjoy one of her gardens without a shovel in her hand.
They paused at the cliff edge to admire the view of the bay.
“What did you mean, calling me an Amazon?” she asked.
“That’s Will’s term for you,” Paul said, watching her. “He’s quite taken with you.”
“He can’t be,” she hastened to correct him. “Unless you mean as a gardener. He and Ida—”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, he and Ida aren’t exactly a blaze of passion.”
Maeve’s breath caught. How many times had she thought the same thing? “But they’re in love, right?”
“Presumably, or they wouldn’t be getting married,” he said with a shrug. He cast her an appraising glance. “Maybe you’re a little taken with him yourself.”
She laughed. “Gosh, no. Half the time I’m on his case for putting my father out of work. He’s a nice guy, but—”
“He’s the best.” Paul’s tone admitted no argument.
Maeve dropped the defensive mode. “He is, isn’t he.” Then, to change the subject, she added quickly, “Have you seen the cubby I’m making for him? I mean, for the baby.” She strode on, her heart palpitating. How obvious were her feelings if a virtual stranger picked up on them so easily? What were her feelings? Nothing more than infatuation, surely. Yet where did infatuation end and love begin?
She stopped in front of the brick cubby. Already the jasmine vines had grown several inches since she’d planted them and new shoots trailed over the tilled earth. She picked up the stragg
lers and twined them through the latticework.
“Frankly, I’m a bit worried about him,” Paul said, coming up beside her.
She brushed the dirt off her hands. “What do you mean?”
“You’d think he was having his right arm amputated, the way he’s agonizing over his business. He’s trying to play fair, and not everyone at the factory cares about what’s fair. A couple of men he should have fired long ago are causing trouble. As for Ida, they’ve been friends for years and there was never any talk of marriage before this. I don’t know, it all seems a bit odd. I’m one of his best mates, but he’s not telling me a thing.”
“He’s thrilled about the baby,” Maeve said. “You can see it in his face.”
“Yeah,” Paul admitted. “No question he wants a family. And I’m probably wrong about his relationship with Ida being fishy. Will’s never been the type to act head over heels in love. I suppose that’s just his style.”
Phyllis had said much the same thing. As they walked slowly back toward the house, Maeve tried to think of a tactful way to phrase her question. In the end her words were blunt. “Is Ida the type to be faithful?”
“Like a cocker spaniel.” Paul barely got the words out before he faked a smack to his cheek. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound nasty. It’s just that the scars on her face don’t allow her many options.”
“She’s smart, she’s got style and she’s a really nice person. Why wouldn’t men find her attractive?”
“Hey, don’t get me wrong. I like Ida a lot. She just hasn’t had much luck with men.”
Maeve plucked a leaf from a gum tree and twirled it in her fingers. From what she’d seen, Ida had been pretty lucky with two men. “Until now,” she corrected with a lift of her eyebrows.
“Until now,” Paul agreed. They approached the pool area, crowded with noisy party guests. Paul stopped and turned to Maeve. “Will you have dinner with me sometime?”
“Thanks, Paul. But I don’t think so…”
“Are your affections otherwise engaged?”
“No.” She glanced away from his knowing smile. “I’m just…very busy with work.”
“You garden at night?” he enquired with amusement.
“Please, just accept that I can’t.”
He reached for her hand. “You mean, won’t.”
She let her hand lie in his, idly noting how Paul’s touch had no effect on her. “Can’t. Won’t. It comes to the same thing. I’m flattered, Paul, but you and I wouldn’t work.”
With an exaggerated sigh he released her hand. “At least, give me your business card so I can call you about my garden.”
“Okay.” She pulled a card from the small beaded purse strung over her shoulder and handed it to him.
He pocketed it with a smile. “Let’s go get a drink. I’m parched.” As they approached the increasingly raucous crowd, he leaned closer and observed, “Ever notice how the noise level rises in direct proportion to the amount of alcohol consumed?”
From the deck, Will watched Maeve and Paul’s progress around his property with growing concern. Will had witnessed Paul on the prowl enough times to be sure his friend was hitting on Maeve. His antennae went up when he saw Paul take Maeve’s hand, and when she didn’t tug away immediately, Will ground his teeth. Although not precisely a womanizer, Paul had inordinate success in bedding women.
The thought of Paul and Maeve together made Will choke on his drink. Telling himself that Maeve could take care of herself did no good. As her employer and host, Will felt compelled to walk down to meet them, insert himself between them and escort Maeve back to the safety of the group.
Behind Maeve’s back, Paul’s eyes twinkled. I got her number, he mouthed at Will.
“She has an ex-husband who wants her back,” Will cautioned, even though he knew Paul would be unfazed by a rival.
Will turned to Maeve. “I should have warned you. My friend here is a right larrikin. Under no circumstances should you give him your phone number.”
Maeve smiled demurely. “He only wants advice on his garden.”
“He lives in an apartment!” Will turned back to Paul, but the accountant was already retreating with a wide grin and a parting wave.
Maeve burst into laughter. “Will, you look like an outraged father. Are you getting in practice early?”
A father to Maeve was the last thing Will saw himself as. However, the thought raised the question of what relationship he did want, so he thrust it aside. “Did I tell you I finished the solar panel? I’ll drop it off early next week.”
“Fantastic,” she said. “Can I have a look at it?”
Just seeing her eyes light up was worth the long hours he had been ill able to afford to spend away from his factory. “Come on. It’s still in the bungalow.”
They strolled in that direction. But before Will could unlock the bungalow door, Alex and Ginger called him over to the odd little gate in the new fence.
“What is this?” Ginger asked, waving the hand holding her wineglass. Wine sloshed onto the grass. She, like Alex, had had a trifle too much to drink. “It’s just too darling for words.”
“It’s a kissing gate,” Maeve explained. “I thought it would be appropriate, since the wedding ceremony will take place in the garden.”
“Kissing gate?” Ginger repeated. “I don’t get it.”
“Demonstration!” Alex commanded. “We need a demonstration.”
Will thrust his hands in his pockets.
“C’mon, Maeve, darl’, show us how this works,” Ginger urged.
“You enter, then swing the gate to the opposite side of the semicircle.” A rosy flush climbed Maeve’s cheeks. “In the old days in England, a man courting his sweetheart would capture her in the circle of the gate and steal a kiss.”
“Show us.” Alex lifted the latch and ushered her through the gate, into the circle, with a flourish. “You be the girl. I’ll be the boy.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Ginger protested, laughing. “You’re a married man, Alex White. Will, get over here.”
Will froze, even as a rush of adrenaline set his heart racing. While he hesitated, more people came to see what the commotion was about and started egging them on. Maeve waited, looking troubled and uncertain.
“Come on, Will,” Alex said. “You’ve never been backward about coming forward.” He took Will’s arm and half dragged him to the gate. “Pucker up, Maeve.”
“Let’s get Ida to help Will demonstrate,” Maeve suggested.
“Aw, Ida’s busy showing off her ring,” Ginger said. “She won’t mind. Jus’ a little kiss.”
The assembled guests began to chant. “Kiss… kiss…kiss…”
Will suddenly found it hard to breathe. Even though kissing Maeve would mean absolutely nothing. Her lips would taste of summer nights, but they would not spark a fire in his blood. Her skin might feel as satiny as a gardenia petal, but touching her would not set his soul ablaze.
One kiss would not lead to another.
“Kiss…kiss…kiss…”
Maeve now looked profoundly uncomfortable.
“Quiet, you pack of mongrels,” Will said. “The steaks are nearly ready. Why don’t you head over to the barbie.”
His friends tried to protest, but seeing that Will was adamant a kiss wasn’t going to happen, they drifted off, grumbling good-naturedly.
Will walked over to Maeve. “Sorry about that.”
He opened the gate, intending to let her come back through. Instead, he found himself stepping inside the semicircle with her.
“Thank you,” she said. Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes grew dark.
Afterward, Will wasn’t certain whether he bent to her or she lifted her face to him. All he knew was that a hush fell around them, and he grazed her mouth with his. Suddenly, he was in a garden paradise; soft, lush, warm, scented. Longing overwhelmed him. He needed all his strength not to gather her into his arms. His eyes opened, and met Maeve’s luminous gaze. The unspoken vibr
ated between them.
In a daze, Maeve released her breath. The sun seemed brighter, the sky a sharper blue, the flowers more vivid. Will seemed larger than life, yet the longing and despair in his eyes, the curve of his lip, his bent head and strong jaw, moved her almost to tears. She loved him.
Without speaking, Will lifted the latch and opened the gate, releasing her. She moved past, yearning, but not daring, to brush against his body.
Movement in a group of guests near the house drew her gaze. She turned, and stared into a pair of stark hazel eyes.
Ida had witnessed the kiss.
For one awful moment Maeve thought Ida would burst into tears or angrily demand to know why her fiancé was kissing another woman. A frozen heartbeat later, Ida looked away. She must have made some joking comment, because the woman beside her laughed.
Without glancing at Will again, Maeve hurried off—and lost herself in the crowd. The kiss had meant something to Will; she’d seen it in his eyes. She hugged to herself the knowledge that he returned her feelings, even if he could never tell her.
But as she moved toward the patio, her elation slowly deflated like a balloon the day after a party. In a little over a month he would marry Ida in this very garden.
She scooped a tumbler of scotch from the tray of a passing waiter and wandered through the sliding glass doors into the empty kitchen. “Cheers,” she muttered, raising a bittersweet toast to the vase of flowers she’d culled from her own garden.
“What are we drinking to?”
Maeve spun around, to see Ida standing in the doorway.
“What shall we drink to?” Ida repeated, coming into the room. Her eyes glittered and her cheeks were flushed. “Love?”
Maeve’s gaze never left Ida’s face. “Okay,” she said cautiously, raising her glass again. “To love.”
“Are you in love, Maeve?” Ida said, circling behind her to finger a deep-blue iris petal.
“I, uh…” She gulped her scotch. The hard liquor burned her throat and stomach. “Are you?”
Ida’s gaze shot to Maeve. “What do you mean?”
Maeve had imagined confronting Ida in a fury of righteous indignation. Yet now that they were face-to-face, she felt nothing but a sick despair that a woman she could have liked as a friend would hurt someone Maeve loved. Will deserved better than a fiancée who ran around on him.