Stone Castles

by Trish Morey

  The sun shone down hot and harsh, the air was still and the flies sticky. The crowd had thinned only a little for the interment but Luke somehow found the space to get near enough that his hand brushed hers as they walked to the graveside. It was the most fleeting of touches – anyone watching would think it so brief as to be accidental – but it made her skin tingle and sent warmth blooming inside. She ached for him to touch her again. ‘How’re you doing?’ he asked.

  She smiled up at him. ‘Getting there. Can we talk later?’

  ‘Sure. Sorry I was late. Truck broke down.’

  ‘Okay. Later.’

  He smiled and gave her shoulders a squeeze and she felt her insides light up. It was good having him here. He was solid. Real. And she needed both those attributes today, as she said a final farewell to Gran, and where the possibility of learning the identity of her real father shimmered in the air like the heat haze in the distance.

  It was a big day with the potential to get even bigger.

  That was why her heart was hammering so loudly in her chest.

  No other reason.

  Finally the short graveside ceremony was over, the last floral tribute thrown, the last song played, and everyone repaired to the hotel for a drink in celebration of Violet’s life. Adam Rogers worked his way through the crowd towards her.

  ‘Great eulogy,’ he said. ‘And you’re looking good, as usual, Pip.’

  She smiled. She was wearing the same blue dress she’d worn to the christening, figuring it hardly mattered if she wore it again, though after Sunday it and her shoes had needed a decent clean. ‘Thank you.’ He looked pretty good too, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. No more flirting. It wasn’t fair. She’d been using him as a human shield to protect herself from Luke, telling herself the attention was nice, but enough was enough.

  ‘So,’ he continued, ‘when are we going to get together for that drink?’

  ‘What’s that in your hand?’ she said looking at his glass. ‘A rabbit?’

  He quirked up one side of his mouth, revealing a dimple. ‘No, I meant with just the two of us. You and me.’

  ‘Look, Adam, I’m sorry. It would only be wasting your time.’

  ‘You’re not interested.’

  She gave a shake of her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Is it Luke?’

  Yes and no. Concentrate on the no.

  ‘Like I said, I’m going home in two days.’

  Adam sighed. ‘So it is Luke. Thought as much.’

  ‘What?’ She replayed the conversation over in her head. What part of ‘I’m going home in two days’ sounded like ‘it’s Luke’?

  ‘I saw the way you looked at him over at the cemetery.’ He shrugged. ‘Actually thought I had a chance with you this time too. I guess Prince Charming missed his chance with Cinderella on Sunday, eh, getting called out like that?’

  She laughed uncomfortably and shook her head. Surely he was reading too much into a few stray glances. ‘That’s really not how it is. It’s just I’m going back to New York Friday, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, give my regards to your cute flatmate when you get home. The one in the blanket and the hat.’

  ‘Carmen,’ Pip asked, having a hard time keeping up. ‘I’ll give her your number if you like. You can pass on your regards yourself.’

  ‘Yeah?’ he said, already putting his beer down and reaching for a pen to write it down on a coaster. ‘I’ll do that.’

  From the other side of the bar, Luke watched Pip and Adam. He was in a group of three or four guys he knew from his footy days – he wasn’t paying attention – and every now and then they’d say something and he’d nod or grunt but most of the time he’d say nothing and he was pretty sure they’d forgotten he was even here. Which was good, because now he could concentrate on Pip.

  Adam was still standing too close for his liking, but at least he wasn’t draping his arm around her like he had on Sunday. And she wasn’t smiling up at him like he was the best thing since sliced bread either.

  Interesting.

  Mind you, if Adam did slip his arm around her shoulders, what the hell could he do about it anyway? It wasn’t like he could march over and tell him to get his hands off. It wasn’t like they were together.

  It was just sex. Just sex. Maybe if he kept telling himself that he’d believe it.

  Yeah, right. He downed the rest of his beer. How the hell was that supposed to work?

  ‘You’re here, then,’ said Jean Cutting, shouldering into the circle so that she was next to him, a glass of moscato in one hand, a bite-sized sausage roll wearing a dollop of tomato sauce in the other.

  ‘I’m here,’ he agreed, dragging his eyes away from the scene on the other side of the bar where Adam was busy writing something down. Pip’s phone number? Her address in New York? What else could he be writing down? ‘Wouldn’t be right not to pay my respects.’

  ‘Oh yes. Dear old Vi.’ Jean took a sip of her wine and looked in the direction he’d been staring. ‘Still, must be nice to catch up with Pip. You two must have a lot of things to discuss. Old times. Good times.’ Luke looked around, expecting to see Sheila Ferguson with her shopping trolley, preparing to block his way out and make it a tag team match.

  ‘We’ve chatted some, sure.’ That was all she was getting.

  ‘You think there’s any chance Pip will stay home for good this time?’

  Finally a question where he didn’t have to beat about the bush. ‘Nope. Not a one.’

  ‘Oh, such a shame. You two used to be such good friends. We used to think –’

  ‘Where did you find that sausage roll, Mrs Cutting? I’m starving.’

  ‘Just over on the buffet, Luke,’ she said, her sausage roll pointing the way. ‘And do call me Jean.’

  It was after seven by the time everyone filtered away and they made it back to the farm, Chloe cranky and fretful after another long day out, and Tracey and Pip tired after sharing so many memories.

  Craig was wearing his apron and was busy turning fish fingers under the smoking grill for his and the boys’ dinner. He looked up with a smile when the women came in. He blinked, the smile getting tangled up in a frown when Luke followed them. He eyed them suspiciously. ‘What gives?’

  ‘The funeral was just beautiful, as it happens’ said Tracey, rolling her eyes. ‘Thanks for asking. I’ll just change Chloe and give you a hand.’

  Craig looked remorsefully at Pip. ‘Aw, sorry Pip, I should have asked that first. How’d it go?’

  ‘Beautifully,’ she said, letting him off the hook. ‘I’m glad to have it behind us. Luke’s just helping me out with something. Did Trace tell you? I’ve got a lead who my father might be.’

  He straightened. ‘Oh, maybe that’s why Trace called earlier. I was entertaining the head honcho from Adelaide and couldn’t take the call. What kind of lead?’

  ‘Ever hear of a bloke called Colin Armistead?’ Luke said. ‘I figure the Ag store must have accounts with just about everyone in the district.’

  Craig screwed up his mouth as he frowned. He gave his head a decisive shake. ‘Can’t say as I have. Why?’

  ‘All we’ve got is a note from this guy called Colin Armistead. It looks like he paid off Pip’s mum before she married Gerald. This is going back more than thirty years mind, so it could be a stretch.’

  Craig shook his head, slower this time. ‘You sure he’s from around here?’

  ‘No idea where he’s from. Pip’s been checking phone numbers this morning and I did some searching online. We’re about to go over to the B&B and compare notes.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ Craig said, as he pulled the fish fingers out a second time and gave them an assessing glance before pulling the tray free. ‘You can do that here if you like.’ He looked over to see Pip and Luke exchanging glances and hastily back-tracked. ‘Then aga
in, you might want to avoid feeding time at the zoo and compare notes over there.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Good thinking.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The walk across the yard seemed to last forever and Pip had to check herself from breaking into a run, knowing someone might happen to glance out a window or one of the kids might wander by on the way to dinner. All day she’d been aching to be alone with Luke again, but she’d done the right thing when they left the wake. She’d come home with Tracey while Luke had followed in his ute.

  So right now she was desperate for alone time.

  That’s what Adam had seen in her eyes at the cemetery, she rationalised. Lust. Pure out-and-out lust. After the session she and Luke had enjoyed yesterday, that was hardly a surprise. And after the week she’d had, who could blame her for wanting a little escape?

  ‘Did you learn anything new today?’ she asked, her breath catching as he did that thing with his swinging hand again so it brushed against hers as he walked, his fingers almost catching hers before swinging right on by. A tantalising promise of things to come. An unmistakeable hint that he was feeling this same desperate urge to rush.

  ‘I learned you deliver a mean eulogy.’

  ‘Thanks, but that wasn’t what I meant.’

  ‘And I learned how much I like that dress.’

  She blinked. ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, maybe how much I want to peel it off you.’

  She gasped, all the muscles between her thighs clenching down. Hard. ‘What about Colin Armistead?’

  ‘Nope,’ he said, catching her hand this time and raising it to his mouth to kiss. ‘He can leave his frock on.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ she said, as she unlocked the door.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, as he slammed the door behind them and pushed her up hard against it. ‘So am I.’

  And she forgot all about Colin Armistead with or without a dress as Luke’s hot mouth crashed down on hers and his seeking hands rendered every inch of her body an erogenous zone.

  ‘Do you know what it’s like,’ he gasped, lifting his mouth from hers for just one second, ‘to watch you for hours and not be allowed to touch? Do you know how hard that is?’

  And as if to prove a point, he took her hand and placed it over him.

  ‘That hard,’ he said, as he lifted the hem of her dress and cupped her butt cheeks in his hands. She groaned as he drew down her underwear. She sizzled, realising what he had in mind, liking it as his fingers sought her core, making her gasp, feeling herself already teetering on the edge.

  ‘So hot,’ he said as he unzipped himself. ‘So slick.’

  He lifted her high and she curled her legs around his waist so that he was nudging at her core. He held her there as they kissed, until she was wild with need, wild with wanting, before giving in and permitting her the long, evocative slide down.

  ‘Oh god,’ he said, his voice ground out between his teeth. ‘This is going to be fast.’

  ‘I want fast.’

  He gave it to her.

  The wooden door at her back rattled and bumped on its catch as his hard body pumped into hers, the sound of their breathing choppy and frantic. As aroused as he was, he filled her and refilled her, taking her higher and higher with every thrust until there was nowhere to go, it seemed, but everywhere, in a rush of stars and a cry of exultation that she couldn’t tell whether had come from him or her.

  She was breathless by the time he let her down, breathless and boneless and utterly spent.

  Utterly satisfied.

  And it occurred to her that it was almost a shame she had to leave in two days’ time.

  They were sitting naked together in the big old iron bed, Luke with his arm around her shoulders and nothing new to report after a morning spent collecting grain and fixing broken down trucks, Pip going through the list of calls she’d made with Tracey.

  The room was lit by two scented candles, softly flickering, and a solitary lamp, a lace shade throwing patterns of light and shadow around the walls. There was just enough light to read.

  ‘This is the most positive lead to date,’ she said, after recounting the endless calls and the dead ends and left messages. ‘Although I don’t know if it’s actually going to help. Marlene Armistead in Fremantle, who sounds like she’s in her eighties. Her husband’s name was Colin. He died a few years back. I’ve got a feeling he might be that same Colin you found the death notice for.’

  ‘Oh.’ His voice was flat.

  ‘She couldn’t talk because her carer had just arrived to take her out for the day, but she’s asked me to call her tomorrow, around twelve, her time. And I’m not sure if it’s anything, or if she’s just lonely and wants to talk to somebody, but she mentioned they’d lived in Adelaide for a few years before Colin retired.’

  He nodded, eyebrows raised. ‘Okay.’

  ‘And that,’ she said, tapping her pen on her notepad, ‘is the best lead I’ve got so far.’

  ‘Right. So you’ll give her a call?’

  ‘Sure. I mean, it might be nothing, but I have to try. ‘

  He looked like he was about to say something but stopped. ‘What?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t go getting your hopes up too high, Pip. There are no guarantees. There’s a chance you’re never going to find an answer.’

  ‘I know.’ She sighed against his shoulder. It was so comfortable leaning against Luke, the steady beat of his heart solid and sure—like Luke himself.

  One more night, that’s all they had left. It would have to be enough.

  And then she remembered . . .

  Oh, and Luke?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Trace is planning a picnic lunch on Moonta beach for my last day tomorrow.’ Her teeth found her lip. ‘Would you be able to come?’

  Warning sirens went off in his head. ‘A picnic.’

  ‘Sure, it’ll be fun.’

  ‘What? Like a date or something?’

  ‘No! Like old friends getting together for a goodbye lunch. It’s not like we’d be there as a couple.’

  ‘Oh I get it. It’ll be like here, where we’re in bed together, only not as a couple.’ He couldn’t help it. There was no stopping the hint of bitterness from creeping into his voice.

  ‘It’s only a picnic, Luke.’

  ‘Yeah, like this is only sex.’

  ‘Exactly. So will you come?’

  Of course she was going to ignore the irony. He ran a hand through his hair and over a whiskery jaw. He’d once imagined spending the rest of his life with Pip, and here they were in a romantic little B&B with its pink walls and lace cushions with candles flickering like it was some kind of tryst. She was the woman who had dumped him, who had walked away and cut him off completely, left him for a new life on the other side of the world. What the hell was he doing here?

  Having sex, the answer came back. Great sex. That’s what he was doing.

  ‘Why not?’ he said, because if he could manage just sex, he sure as hell could manage only a picnic. Not that he understood any of it.

  Except that she was leaving again. Just when he was getting to like having her around again. When he’d just started feeling like she might belong in his world again. Don’t go there.

  ‘Of course, I’ll come.’

  For all the pain he knew was coming, he wasn’t about to bring it on any earlier. Friday would come soon enough. But he’d cope. The same way he always had. And he’d have a little storehouse of Pip memories to play back if he got lonely. Might as well add a few more to the playlist.

  Pip set her notebook and pen down on the side table, and snuggled in close. He kind of wished she wouldn’t do that, because it made it harder to remember this was just sex. But he liked it too much to object. ‘Fancy saving some more water?’ she said, and he looked down at her. ‘There’s a
spa in the bathroom. A big one.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Interested?’

  ‘I haven’t had a bath for ages.’

  She crinkled her nose. ‘I didn’t like to say.’ And she laughed when he flipped her over his lap to smack her bare bottom.

  ‘You’ll pay for that.’

  She squealed and squirmed and he got a hard-on right there. ‘Oh, and there was me going to offer to wash you.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘If you wanted.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll let you off with a warning this time, then,’ he said, as she scooted off to run the bath.

  When the bath was half full, he grabbed her wrist and caught her with the bath gel in her hand ready to pour under the stream of steaming water. ‘No bubbles,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you hidden under the foam. I want to see you.’

  I want to be able to remember every single little thing about you.

  She washed him, like she’d promised, and when it was his turn to soap her skin he slid his hands over every curve, every indentation, committing every sweet part of her to memory. And only when they were mad with the touch and taste of each other, only when they were at fever pitch and she was whimpering with need, did he seat her over him and slowly, achingly, draw her down.

  It was dark, the water cooling, by the time they emerged from the big spa, and they wrapped themselves in white fluffy robes from the wardrobe and turned off the lights and lay on the small patch of grass between the rose bushes, and watched the night-time display of the endlessly shifting cosmos.

  ‘We don’t have stars in New York City,’ she said softly in the darkness, her head on his shoulder, gazing upwards. An owl hooted somewhere close by and the old windmill squeaked as a lick of wind coaxed it into motion. ‘We have stars on the ceilings of stretch limousines and we have stars above the beds in posh hotels to remind us that they’re up there somewhere, but we don’t have stars. At least, nothing you can see. Nothing like this.’

  ‘Maybe it’s true what they say,’ he said, drawing her closer.

  ‘What do they say?’

  She felt his lips kiss her hair. ‘You can’t have everything.’