The Secret Years

by Barbara Hannay

  It was so, so different from north Queensland, she thought, again wondering how George had adapted to her life at the bottom of the world.

  Despite being quiet and wintry just now in January, the leafless trees had a special kind of grandeur with their lacy bare branches lifted to the pale sky. Dotted here and there, clumps of yellow gorse flowers added a splash of bright colour to the scene.

  Lucy could easily believe that tourists swarmed here in the warmer months to enjoy picnics in the parklands or to explore the bluebell woods. ‘Bluebells always sound so romantic,’ she said.

  Nick laughed. ‘They don’t last long.’

  ‘Neither do a lot of romances,’ Lucy responded, almost under her breath.

  This earned her a shrewd narrow-eyed glance, and then he said, ‘Speaking of romance, take a look at this.’

  They had rounded a corner and now, below them, lay the beautiful lake and, out on a finger of land, stood a delightful, gabled cottage of weathered grey stone. ‘It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?’ Lucy had discovered this cottage on one of her earlier rambles and had fallen in love.

  The cottage and the lake were stunning against the backdrop of low grassy hills and, further on, the grey-blue sea, which rolled and crashed against the shore.

  ‘It’s the old boathouse,’ Nick said.

  ‘So that’s why it has its own landing.’ With her arms folded over her chest, Lucy said stoutly, ‘If this was mine, I wouldn’t want to share it with the public.’

  ‘That’s how my parents always felt.’

  ‘But I suppose someone had to be practical.’ She was remembering how the barman at The Seaspray Arms had sung Nick’s praises, claiming that he’d single-handedly rescued the family’s estate. ‘I imag­ine the boathouse and the lake are popular with your visitors.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve had a couple of fashion shoots down here and it’s been used quite a bit for smaller, more intimate weddings.’ Nick grinned. ‘Or the odd drunken party.’

  Perhaps it was wrong to suddenly think of her mother, but Ro had claimed to have behaved pretty badly while she was in England. ‘My mother said she didn’t like it here,’ she found herself confiding. ‘But I can’t imagine why. Have you heard much about her?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said carefully.

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Well . . . I don’t think she made a fantastic impression.’

  ‘Why do I have the feeling you’re being polite?’

  ‘You are persistent, aren’t you?’ Nick narrowed his eyes at her again, but there was still a hint of a smile. ‘Honestly, I’ve heard very little, and only from my grandmother. And she could be a crusty old thing. Very hard to please. I’m afraid she had quite a talent for snobbishness.’

  Lucy thought again about the photograph of Nick’s grandmother that she’d just seen, and the letter that she’d found in Harry’s biscuit tin. She remembered the singed corners, as if Harry had tried to burn it. Then her mother’s reaction – screwing the paper into a ball and throwing it into the rubbish bin.

  Bitch.

  Watching Shep down at the lake’s edge, sniffing in a patch of reeds, Lucy said, ‘I don’t suppose your parents will welcome me with open arms when they get back from London.’

  Nick gave another shrug. ‘Oh, you never know. Water under the bridge.’ But he didn’t sound as convincing as she would have liked.

  The sunny day and the setting were too lovely to dwell on negative thoughts, however, and as they walked on Lucy encouraged Nick to tell her about how he’d so miraculously saved this place. He made it sound easy as he ran through the extra money-earning activities that he’d set up – afternoon teas on the terrace, pop-up restaurants in the dining room, outdoor theatres, even shooting parties.

  He downplayed his part in the estate’s revitalisation, but with a few probing questions Lucy could tell he was intimate with every aspect of running Penwall Hall. From her own job in logistics, she knew this meant he was a very good administrator. Another point to add to her growing list of reasons to admire him.

  Not that she was counting.

  Or was she?

  Actually, if she was honest, her unhelpful reaction to the man was turning into a bit of a problem. Of course, she’d made sure that her conduct was as proper and appropriate as Nick’s, and they’d both been super polite and friendly, just the way second cousins were supposed to behave towards each other.

  The fly in the ointment was her body’s response. Nick’s smiles lit spot fires wherever they touched. Not that he was flirting exactly – well, he wouldn’t, would he? She was nothing more than a poor Aussie relation. It was out of the question.

  Actually, she supposed she might have found Nick less attractive if he had flirted. Sam had flirted from the moment he’d clapped eyes on her, and while that had been flattering at the time, looking back, Lucy could see how shallow his behaviour had been. She wondered how she’d ever fallen for it.

  Now, she told herself she was glad and genuinely relieved that Nick was most definitely a no-go zone. Even if they hadn’t been family, the last thing she wanted or needed was another romance. She was trying to sort out her life, not complicate it.

  Until this point, she’d felt as if she didn’t have any clear aim. Even when she’d joined the army, she’d never felt a really true calling. But ever since she’d found the letters and photos in Harry’s tin, she’d had this crazy sense that if she could understand more about the past, about her mum and Harry and George, she might get a handle on her own life, on who she was, or who she was supposed to be and what she really wanted for the future. She had important decisions to make about her career and she wanted to feel confident that she wasn’t just drifting with the tide, but making good choices for all the right reasons.

  She just wished she could turn off this attraction vibe.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen.

  She was still wrestling with these annoying internal arguments when she and Nick arrived back on the top terrace and it was time to go their separate ways.

  ‘Thanks for giving up an entire afternoon,’ she told him politely. ‘I really appreciate it.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ He looked slightly amused when she formally offered her hand, which he shook with a predictably firm grasp.

  ‘You have a beautiful home,’ Lucy said. ‘I can’t help wondering why my grandmother ever left all this.’

  ‘I assume she fell in love.’

  As Nick said this, his gaze connected with Lucy’s. For a beat they were both smiling and then the amusement in his eyes gave way to something deeper. Heat bloomed in her cheeks.

  Dismayed, she looked away quickly. ‘But Georgina moved from all this to the outback and it’s so – so lonely and the life’s so rough.’

  ‘Don’t you like your outback?’ Nick sounded surprised.

  ‘Well, yes, of course.’ Although if she was honest she’d spent very little time there, but she had to admit she understood the appeal of an outdoors lifestyle and its inherent sense of adventure. Perhaps her grandmother had been adventurous?

  It was an intriguing thought.

  ‘Have you made plans for tomorrow?’ Nick asked suddenly.

  Caught out, Lucy opened her mouth and then shut it. Any sensible holidaymaker would have made plans. ‘Not definite plans,’ she hedged. ‘I thought I might explore more of the coastline. I’d like to get down to Land’s End.’

  He nodded. ‘And if you’re at a loose end – sorry, poor joke – you could always come riding in the morning.’

  Lucy gulped. ‘Riding? On a horse?’

  Nick smiled crookedly. ‘Unless you prefer broomsticks.’

  Her laugh sounded a little nervous. ‘I’m afraid I’ve never ridden either – broomstick or horse.’

  There was no mistaking his shock. ‘Sorry, I assumed . . . I thought your family owned a cattle property. And – and you look so fit.’

  Just in time Lucy stopped herself from explaining that her fitness had arrived courtesy o
f her army training. She wouldn’t mention it now. Her memories of Nick’s distress about his brother were still too raw. ‘My grandfather did run a cattle station,’ she said. ‘But he moved into Townsville before I was born and left a manager in charge. I’ve never been out there.’

  It hurt to admit this, to remember that Harry, whom she loved so dearly, had kept a big part of his life hidden. ‘Mind you,’ she added, quickly shoving the hurt aside. ‘There was a time in my pre-teens when I drove my mum mad, begging for a horse.’

  ‘Well, the offer’s there, if you’d like to try.’

  ‘Wow.’ Surely this was a turnaround too good to ignore? She remembered seeing Nick astride his dashing dark stallion. Remembered her terror of those striking hooves. But it would be different if she was up in the saddle, and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had her share of dangerous adventures – fast-roping and parachuting out of planes. How much fun it could be, on horseback, cantering over these long sloping fields all the way to the sea. ‘You’d have to show me how.’

  His dark eyes were sparkling. ‘I don’t imagine that will be a chore.’

  Now her skin tingled alarmingly and she tried to ignore it. ‘I might be too old to learn.’

  ‘Never.’ Once again his expression betrayed open amusement. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-seven.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  And damn it, he was smiling again. He was standing there, all tall and dark and stunning, and smiling as his gaze connected with hers, letting his lovely smile reach deep inside her, stirring sparks. And longing. Forbidden longing.

  He said, ‘You’ll find it a breeze, I’m sure.’

  ‘Well, I’d love to come riding then.’ And she mentally stuck her fingers in her ears, as her better judgement clamoured a warning.

  18

  Lucy was up early next morning and waiting, somewhat nervously, on the terrace. She hadn’t asked Nick about the correct riding gear but she assumed her leather jacket, jeans and RM boots would be suitable. The weather wasn’t promising. It had rained again during the night, leaving puddles on the path and, although it wasn’t raining now, banks of grey clouds loomed on the horizon and a cold wind blew in from the sea.

  She’d pulled her hair into a practical, army-style knot, but, even so, wisps had pried themselves free and already they were blowing annoyingly in her face.

  Nick came striding around the corner, all long legs in jeans, and wearing a rusty corduroy coat over a navy sweater. ‘We’re in luck,’ he called. ‘It’s not raining.’ He glanced to the horizon and gave a shrugging smile. ‘Not yet, at any rate.’

  They dodged puddles as they went to the stables, which were built of weather-stained, mossy grey stone that no doubt had been standing there for centuries. Inside, the place smelled predictably of horses and straw, but Lucy found the aroma rather pleasant. Stooping, Nick sorted through a wooden box on the floor and selected a brush, which he gave to her. ‘Hang on to that for a moment.’

  Then she followed him down a cobbled passage.

  ‘This is Fenella,’ he announced as he stopped at a stall and rested his hand companionably on the neck of a chestnut horse with a pretty white blaze on her forehead.

  ‘Hello, Fenella.’ Lucy’s nervousness returned. Fenella was very tall and her ears were pricked, her nostrils flared and quivering.

  ‘I’ll fit her with a head-collar and bridle,’ Nick said. ‘That’ll make her secure.’ The gear was hanging on a nearby post and as he slipped the leather straps over Fenella’s head, Lucy found herself distracted by his hands, which were wonderfully large and masculine, with long, strong fingers that looked surprisingly gentle and deft. As he worked he talked quietly to Fenella, calling her a ‘dear old girl’ and ‘a good sort’.

  He secured Fenella with a rope to a corner post. ‘Now you can have a go at grooming her,’ he said. ‘You can use that brush.’

  Lucy hadn’t expected this. She looked down at the brush in her hand and felt a bit self-conscious. ‘Is there a right or wrong way to do it?’

  ‘Not really. Just go with the flow. Normally, you’d use a currycomb first, to loosen up any dirt or stray hairs, but she’s actually pretty clean, so this is mainly about giving you a chance to get to know her. It’s a good idea to become acquainted while she’s still in the stall.’

  ‘I see.’ It made sense, Lucy supposed, and as she tentatively touched the comb to Fenella’s coat the horse appeared to relax, which was reassuring. She pressed a little harder, sweeping the comb in downward motions over Fenella’s flank. ‘She seems to like it.’

  ‘Oh yes. She’d let you do that all day.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a bit like going to the hairdresser’s.’

  Nick laughed at this and it occurred to Lucy that he understood what it was like for a novice. Admiring a horse’s glowing coat and rippling muscles from a safe distance was a very different matter to getting up close and personal.

  ‘She has nice eyes.’ Already she was starting to feel more relaxed.

  ‘Yes, she’s a calm old girl. You’ll be fine.’

  And to her relief she was fine when, shortly afterwards, Nick got her to take the rope and lead the horse outside.

  ‘It’s important for her to know that you’re in charge,’ he said. ‘Just pull gently and firmly and tell her to come on.’

  Lucy supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that Nick was a very good riding instructor. He had the same handy combination of inner confidence and outer competence that she’d come to admire in some of the best soldiers, and he was also unexpectedly patient and sensitive.

  By the time he’d shown her how to mount Fenella and to sit in the saddle with her butt pressed deep and with the correct alignment of her shoulders, hips and heels, her tension had almost completely evaporated and she was really beginning to enjoy herself.

  Annoyingly, she found herself thinking that a man who was both patient and intuitive would also be a wonderful lover.

  Bloody hell. She was pathetic.

  Hopeless.

  The rain held off while Nick collected his horse, the same great stallion he’d ridden on the first morning.

  ‘We won’t go too far today,’ he said as they steered their mounts out through a gateway and into a long open field. ‘Already, you’ll be using muscles you don’t even know you have, and if you stay out for too long, you’ll end up so stiff and sore you won’t be able to walk.’

  ‘Well, I feel fine just now. But I’ll take your word for it.’

  The big surprise was the thrill of the simple things. The feel of the smooth, worn leather saddle and the swaying rhythm of the horse beneath her. It was wonderfully exciting and not at all scary. And when they reached the middle of the open field and Fenella, following Nick’s lead, broke out into a canter, the sheer joy of being astride a strong and fluid, sure-footed animal filled Lucy with a cork-from-champagne rush of happiness.

  Nick was grinning as he watched her. ‘I’d say you’re a natural.’

  ‘Really?’

  How cool.

  It was like discovering something important that had been missing from her life. Her mum had loved to reminisce about riding her horse out at Kalkadoon, and now Lucy regretted not paying more attention.

  As she and Nick cantered back and forth along the sloping fields that ran beside the thrashing sea, there was an exciting wildness in the air. Lucy could smell it, feel it, taste it. She wanted to ride all day. She would worry about the aching muscles later.

  The rain arrived, however. Just as they turned their horses for the beach, it came in a thick grey, slanting wall, rushing across the surface of the water, thundering over the sand and then drenching them in seconds.

  Nick came to a halt and, through the sheeting rain, turned to watch Lucy while she tried to remember everything he’d told her about stopping the horse. Sit deep in the saddle with your weight back. She did this and called, ‘Whoa.’ And, because she couldn’t be sure if Fenella got the message, she also pull
ed on the rein.

  Fenella stopped abruptly, and Lucy almost flew over her head.

  ‘Sorry, old girl.’ She stroked the damp rough mane as Nick steered his mount closer.

  ‘Better call it a day. We can’t send you back to Australia with pneumonia.’

  The rain was cold and despite her leather jacket, she was already shivering. ‘I was beginning to really enjoy myself.’

  He grinned. ‘I noticed.’

  There were towels in the stables and they dried off their clothes as best they could. Lucy was busily rubbing Fenella down when Nick appeared at the edge of her stall and somehow, with his damp, towel-dried hair, he looked more attractive than ever, which surely had to be illegal.

  ‘It’s just occurred to me that you’ve probably missed breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll be okay.’ Although at the mention of food, Lucy realised she was starving. ‘I’m sure Jane will be able to rustle up something.’

  ‘Let’s not bother her. What say we go out for a hefty morning tea, or an early lunch? We could go down to St Ives.’

  Lucy almost said something foolish like, You don’t have to. I know you’re busy. But how crazy would that be? She could think of nothing she would like more than to dine with Nick in a quaint Cornish restaurant overlooking the sea. She smiled at him over Fenella’s broad brown back. ‘I’d love to.’

  So it was back to the B&B for a hot shower and a change into dry clothes, a hasty blow with the hair dryer, a little lip gloss and mascara, a dab of scent to the wrists and Lucy was ready inside half an hour.

  Nick stood for a moment in silence, letting his dark gaze travel over her. His mouth tilted in a slow smile. ‘That was a quick and impressive transformation. Most girls I know would have taken twice as long.’