The Last McAdam

by Holly Ford

  For god’s sake. Not only was she going on a date, which was monumental enough in itself, but tonight had the potential to be the date. The one she’d been fantasising about for years, the one that altered her life, and Mark’s. The one they told their kids about. How I Met Your Father. Or alternatively, How I Broke My Heart and Buggered Up My Career. One way or another, it could change everything. She ought to be bouncing off the roof lining with excitement, or panic, or both. Instead, all she seemed to be able to feel was boredom with the road and a nagging desire to turn the HiLux around.

  Descending the hill into Queenstown, her adrenalin spiked at last as the buildings closed in around her, the streets between them teeming. Compared to life on the station, the press of humanity in the little town seemed like Flinders Street Station in rush hour.

  Locating The Reef further around the lakeshore, she hid the ute away in the hotel’s car park as best she could. She really should have washed it. Tess clip-clopped towards the grand entrance, hoping the doorman hadn’t seen what she’d arrived in. Whether he had or not, he swept the soaring glass door open for her with impeccable politeness.

  ‘Ms Drummond, welcome.’ The girl on the desk checked her screen. ‘Mr Holland has already checked in. He asked us to let you know that he’ll be in the Lake Bar from six, if you’d like to join him.’

  Six? Tess looked at her watch. Well, shopping was definitely out. She barely had time for a shower.

  Discreetly relieved of her bag, she rode the lift to the third floor alone. The doors opened on a wide, moodily lit corridor, also empty. Walking it, she wondered what this look was called. Industrial plush? Like the lobby, there was a lot of velvet, a lot of art on the walls, quite a lot of concrete.

  Tess slipped the key card into the door of her room. The theme continued inside. Between the heavy velvet drapes pooling on the polished concrete floor, her windows looked over the park to the mountains. Walking out onto the terrace, she could just make out, through a dip in the low hills of the gardens, the shimmer of the lake’s main arm. She wondered what Mark’s view was like. How far away his room was. Going back inside, she picked up the velvet-framed menu beside the martini glasses on the bureau. She was invited to help herself to the complimentary in-room bar? Bloody hell, just how much was this place?

  In the sleek, steely bathroom, she washed off the dust of Broken Creek, trying not to steam off her scabs. The last thing she wanted was to ooze through those snowy white gloves. Having dried herself off, she plugged the hairdryer in and ran it over the grazes just to make sure. Now she was nervous. Maybe Mark had the right idea in hitting the bar early.

  Not wanting to leave him sitting there by himself, Tess got on with her makeup and into her dress. As she unclipped her hair, her mind tumbled back to Nate doing the same. The change in his eyes as he’d held her. Reaching back, she combed her fingers through her hair slowly, watching the effect in the mirror as she spread the thick, sun-bleached waves over her bare shoulders. Should she?

  The memory of Nate’s sleepy breathing against her neck ran over her skin, his eyes opening into that smile, his hand smoothing her hair away from his face. Abruptly, she swept her hair back again, twisting it up into her well-practised knot. If ever she needed an updo it was tonight.

  Willing herself not to think of him again, Tess slipped her feet through the delicate straps of the shoes that, once upon a time, Nate had also had cause to remove. His mother’s gloves were waiting for her on the bed. Working the white satin up to her biceps, she hooked the three tiny pearl buttons at each wrist and breathed a sigh of relief. Voilà. Scabs gone. Just like that, her look had morphed from Calamity Jane to Audrey Hepburn. With a final, satisfactory check of the rear view, she dropped her key card into her clutch and headed out the door.

  Downstairs in the Lake Bar, Mark rose from his leather club chair to greet her. Sashaying towards him in her precarious heels, Tess found herself struggling to keep a straight face. Her in this dress, him in that tailcoat, champagne and candles, dusk settling over the lake – it was all so impossibly romantic.

  ‘You look lovely,’ he said.

  ‘So do you.’ It was true. White tie and tails suited him. With his upright, military grace, he looked aristocratic and very dashing, like the wise monarch of some European tax haven.

  ‘The last time I wore one of these things’ – sweeping his tails out of the way, Mark sat down again – ‘was at my wedding.’ With a little shake of his head, he looked at her. ‘Sorry.’

  Sorry? What did that mean? Tess’s nerves churned. ‘What for?’ she asked gently.

  ‘I don’t want to be depressing.’

  ‘You’re not.’ Reaching over, she put her hand on his arm, conscious of the starkness of white on black, the satin over her fingers.

  ‘I want tonight to be all about—’ Mark paused. ‘Good things.’ Slowly, he looked up into her eyes. ‘A new chapter.’

  Oh, that look was not business as usual … As the last shred of possibility that the evening might be some sort of Carnarvon perk disappeared, Tess felt like the ground to either side of a tightrope had sheered away. God, they were really doing this. She and Mark. The risk, the strangeness, was making her dizzy.

  A waiter leaned in to lift the champagne from the ice bucket, his presence across the table reminding her to remove her hand from Mark’s sleeve.

  ‘Madam?’ The waiter held the lip of the bottle to the first glass.

  ‘You can order something else if you want,’ Mark said. ‘I got that just for me.’

  Tess laughed. ‘Yes, please,’ she told the waiter. For god’s sake, how long was he going to take to pour? Picking up the flute at last, she resisted the urge to down it.

  Over the crisp black line of Mark’s shoulder, white curtains were billowing gently in the breeze, the fairy lights on the terrace outside twinkling. Tess looked around the room. Apart from the subtle plunk of champagne corks, the elegant furnishings were soaking up most of the noise, but the bar was busy. Almost all of the men were in tail coats and snowy bow ties, the women in full-length gowns. Overhead, the sound system was playing a tasteful selection of swing tunes. Nate was right, this date was in 1946. When the clock had ticked around to seven o’clock and the champagne had gone, it seemed only natural for Mark to offer her his arm.

  Leaning into him a little as she picked her way across the carpet, Tess was starting to feel better. In spite of the weirdness, in spite of the fancy dress, he was still the same man she knew, her mentor, her friend. Still Mark. And she loved him. Had done for years.

  Delivering her to their table in the ballroom, he handed her into her chair with a jokey little bow that, given his outfit, actually turned out to look rather regal. As he took his seat beside her, Tess felt an enormous swell of pride.

  Dinner was easy. The head of Carnarvon’s New Zealand law firm, seated to her right, was charming, funny, and, along with the rest of the guests at his table, too polite to ask any questions about her relationship to Mark, or Mark’s missing wife. He was also generous with the wine.

  By the time the fundraising auctions were over and the orchestra had started up, Tess was really enjoying herself. Hoping that wasn’t about to change, she accepted Mark’s hand and followed him onto the crowded dance floor. Better to dance badly, she reminded herself, than not dance at all. And given that almost everybody else in the room was already up, less noticeable too.

  Actually, it wasn’t that bad. Mark did know how to lead after all, and he could dance, a bit – better than she could, anyway, and enough to prevent them making complete fools of themselves. Catching herself wondering if he’d learned that for his wedding too, Tess made an effort to stay in the moment.

  After a few more hours had flown by and the tables had thinned, it didn’t matter anymore. The Empire Dance Orchestra had packed up their trombones and surrendered the podium to a guy with a turntable, and those couples still left on the floor had fallen back into the sort of dancing anybody could do. As if by agreem
ent, when they danced at all, she and Mark were standing further apart, their new relationship too fragile to expose to the watching eyes.

  When the lights came up, they were sitting at the table alone, Tess’s gloved fingertips resting gently in Mark’s upturned palm. The room around them was all but empty. His bow tie was unknotted, the top button of his wing-tip collar undone, and he looked even better than before.

  ‘Well.’ He glanced up at the overhead lights. ‘I guess that’s our cue to go.’

  In the lift, he slotted his card into the panel. ‘What floor?’

  ‘Third.’ Tess studied the handrail. ‘Three-oh-three.’

  ‘I’m in three-twelve,’ he said matter-of-factly, his eyes on the doors. ‘Just across the hall.’

  Together, they walked down the long corridor, past doorways bristling with do-not-disturb signs, champagne buckets and room service trays. Reaching their rooms, they stopped, hesitating in the middle of the carpet between her door and his.

  ‘Feel like a nightcap?’ Mark’s voice was casual, assured. ‘It seems a shame to waste a free bar.’

  ‘Sure.’ Tess followed him in, waiting behind him for the room’s moody lights to come up as he slotted in his key. The room had been turned down, white sheets glowing in the low light of the wall lamps, a delicate chocolate truffle beside each pillow. Peeling his jacket off, Mark threw it on top of the bed and wandered over to the drinks cabinet.

  ‘What do we feel like?’ Having removed his cufflinks, he tossed them down on the bureau and rolled up his sleeves.

  Tess settled herself on the little velvet sofa at the foot of the bed, conscious that keeping her gloves on was starting to get weird.

  ‘Another cognac?’ Mark peered into the cabinet. ‘Or there’s red wine, whisky, vodka, gin …’ He opened the fridge compartment. ‘Are we sick of champagne?’

  ‘Whisky for me, please.’

  Handing her the glass, he frowned suddenly. ‘What happened to your legs?’

  Shit. Um, about a hundred and three health and safety violations. ‘I came off a horse.’ She rearranged her skirt.

  ‘You are being careful’ – Mark sat down beside her – ‘on that place, aren’t you? I know it’s a big job. But nothing’s worth getting hurt over.’

  Yes, it was. Tess took a sip of her drink. When she looked up from putting the glass on the table, he was watching her silently. Thinking he was about to say something else, she turned her body towards him, looking expectantly into his face.

  Oh god, here it came. He was going to kiss her. Mark. She was about to kiss Mark.

  His lips parted hers gently, his fingertips brushing the side of her neck. It was nice. It was perfectly fine, nothing wrong with it. It was …

  It was like opening up the shoes you’d bought on the internet and finding they weren’t quite what you’d expected. Bowing her head, Tess put her glove to his chest.

  Mark drew back. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ She patted his shirt. ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. It’s late. I should go get some sleep.’

  ‘Of course.’ As she rose, Mark stood up too. ‘I hope you don’t think …’ He pressed his hand to the bridge of his nose. ‘God, Tess, I hope you don’t think this …’

  ‘I don’t think anything.’ Reaching up, Tess kissed his cheek. ‘See you at breakfast?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, of course.’

  One hand on the door, she looked back. ‘Thank you. I had a really good time tonight.’

  Mark hesitated. Tess waited for him to say ‘of course’ again.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Me too.’

  Fourteen

  In The Reef’s lobby restaurant, Tess watched the sunlight sparkle on the swell of the lake as she waited for her coffee. It was early – particularly for a Sunday morning – and the other tables were quiet. Mark walked out of the lift ten minutes after her text.

  ‘Sorry.’ He pulled out a chair. ‘I was in the shower.’ He looked around. ‘Are they bringing coffee?’

  ‘I’ve ordered you one.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  There was an awkward pause. Having checked out the sugar bowl, Mark turned to examining his cutlery. ‘So,’ he said at last, just a touch too jovially, ‘how hammered were we last night?’

  ‘I know,’ Tess smiled. ‘I don’t remember a single thing after the band left.’

  He gave her a long look of gratitude. ‘I think I forgot who I was for a while there.’

  ‘I think maybe we both did.’

  ‘I just hope,’ Mark said slowly, ‘I didn’t do anything too stupid.’ He glanced up as the waitress set their coffees on the table.

  ‘You didn’t,’ Tess said. ‘You didn’t do anything stupid at all.’ Desperate to make him feel better, she shot him a grin. ‘Not that I saw, anyway.’

  As his shoulders began to relax, she looked at her phone. ‘What time’s your flight?’

  ‘I need to leave in about half an hour.’

  ‘Perfect. I can drive you to the airport.’

  •

  Four hours later, turning onto the Broken Creek road, Tess felt a lurch of excitement it seemed unwise to examine. She was pleased to be home, that was all. At the top of the saddle, she scanned the stretch of valley below, unwilling to admit what she was looking for. Impossible to tell from this distance, anyway, where anybody was. Whether a flash of a windscreen, the crawl of a tractor, was Harry, or Nate.

  ‘Hello, love.’ In the homestead, Stan’s head turned as she walked into the kitchen. ‘Fancy a cup of tea?’

  ‘That’d be lovely.’ Tess put her bag down. ‘Thanks.’

  When he’d rinsed out the pot and drifted off again, she headed on down the hall, the deep quiet of the house broken only by the clomp of her heels. Stopping halfway, she took them off. In the bedroom, she hung up her dress, unpacking slowly, setting everything back in its place. It was another few hours, the day fading to a close, before her unspoken question was answered, and Nate rolled up at the back door.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, giving her a particularly stellar grin. Immediately, Tess felt her hackles rise. ‘How’d it go?’

  ‘Great,’ she told him, briskly.

  ‘Did you’ – Nate’s gaze wandered to Stan, who had turned his attention back to whatever it was he was stirring on the stove – ‘have a good night?’

  ‘I did,’ she said. ‘You?’

  ‘Harry and I watched Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.’ He raised his eyebrows, his smile undimmed. ‘So yeah, it was pretty wild.’

  ‘Have you talked to Mitch?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Nate leaned back against the edge of the bench. ‘They’re kicking him out tomorrow. That’s what I came to tell you – I’m going to need the day off. I’m supposed to pick him up before midday.’

  ‘What,’ Tess frowned, ‘they’re just going to send him home with you?’

  ‘Apparently the helicopter transfer was only one way.’

  She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I meant, shouldn’t he be in an ambulance or something?’

  ‘They said he’s fine to sit in a car.’

  ‘But’ – she shuddered a little at the thought of the long, winding road – ‘not the Mazda.’

  Nate gave her a wry look. ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘I’ll drive you over, give you a hand.’ Her truck would be a hell of a lot more comfortable for Mitch than his. Safer too. ‘We’ll take the HiLux.’

  He nodded, looking relieved. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Okay.’

  •

  Lounging in the passenger seat as they drove out the next morning, Nate looked his usual relaxed self, but Tess had an idea there was something on his mind. For the first hour or so she kept quiet, giving whatever it was a chance to come out, but the silence in the cab continued to widen. As it began to rival the stretch of the horizon ahead, her patience snapped.

  ‘Mind if I turn some music on?’ She hit the button without waiting for a reply.

  ‘Sure.’ />
  She sneaked a glance at him. His elbow was resting beside the window, his eyes on the dry brown spread of the landscape going by.

  Three songs into her playlist, he spoke again. ‘So, you and your boss.’

  ‘Mark,’ Tess reminded him.

  ‘It all worked out how you wanted it to?’

  ‘Yes, it did,’ she said. ‘In a way.’

  A few more marker posts went by.

  ‘A way?’

  ‘You know,’ she said, ignoring the red flags waving in her brain, ‘how sometimes you think you really want something, but it turns out you don’t?

  She sensed amusement on the other side of the cab. ‘You didn’t run away again, did you?’

  Tess blinked. Oh god. She had. Was there something wrong with her? Should she be seeking some kind of therapy?

  ‘Did you at least leave a note this time?’

  ‘I said goodnight,’ she said primly. ‘It was all very mature—’

  ‘Well, it would be.’

  Tess ignored him. ‘—and civilised.’

  Eyes on the road ahead, she chewed the inside of her lip. Had it been so long she’d forgotten how to be with a guy, was that the problem?

  ‘Look,’ Nate said, more gently, ‘either something’s right or it isn’t.’

  Yes. Exactly. Tess raised her chin. ‘You feel it,’ she agreed, ‘or you don’t.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Beside her, Nate’s hand moved, brushing something from the knee of his jeans.

  Sometimes you felt it so badly you could barely stay on the road.

  ‘But things are okay, anyway, with you guys? You and Mark?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure he’s not going to fire me, if that’s what you’re hoping for.’

  ‘No,’ Nate said, ‘it isn’t.’ There was a long pause. ‘I was worried about you, that’s all.’

  ‘Well’ – as the grappling hook of her better judgement bit in, Tess made an effort to haul the conversation back to safe ground – ‘you shouldn’t be.’

  He gave a small laugh. ‘I know.’

  •

  They walked into the hospital ward to find Mitch already up and dressed, his bag waiting on the bed, his upper body obscured by the woman bending over his chair. As the woman straightened, Tess felt an unpleasant surge of recognition.