She swept the letters and the tin up, along with her still-warm cup of coffee, and raced out of the flat and downstairs to the bookshop to address the portrait of Frieda on the wall. The one she hadn’t finished yet. Couldn’t finish.
That didn’t stop her talking to it. ‘Look!’ She held the letters up for Frieda to see. ‘I don’t know if you meant for me to find these, Mum, but you didn’t destroy them so…’ She hauled in a breath and tried to contain her excitement. ‘They couldn’t have come at a better time. I can save the bookshop with these.’
For the first time she found she could smile back at the laughing eyes in Frieda’s portrait.
She set her mug on the floor, opened the tin and started reading the letters out loud to her mother. ‘I would’ve only been eleven when you received this one.’
But, as she continued to read, her elation started to fade. ‘Oh, Mum…’ She finished reading the third letter, folded it and slipped it back into its envelope. She settled herself on the floor beneath her mother’s portrait. ‘He must’ve loved you so very much.’
Her triumph turned to pity then, and compassion. Very slowly she eased the tin’s lid back into place, pulled it up to her chest and hugged it.
That was how Connor found her half an hour later.
‘Am I interrupting anything?’
‘No.’ She eased the tin back down to her lap.
‘I saw the light on and it reminded me that I hadn’t returned your key.’
She studied his face as he settled on the floor beside her. She snorted her disbelief at his excuse. ‘Richard’s spoken to you, hasn’t he? Isn’t there such a thing as a professional code of privacy in this town?’
‘All he said was that you might need a friend this evening, nothing else.’
‘Oh.’
‘You haven’t finished Frieda’s portrait yet.’
She couldn’t. She didn’t know why, but she just couldn’t. ‘I’ve been busy.’
She had a feeling he saw through the lie.
‘Want to tell me what’s going on?’
‘Why not?’ She didn’t bother playing dumb. ‘It’ll be common knowledge around town soon enough.’ She leant her head against the wall. ‘My mother borrowed fifty thousand dollars from Gordon Sears. He’s calling the debt in.’
‘Fifty thousand dollars!’ Connor shot forward. ‘Are you serious?’
She nodded. ‘And no,’ she added, answering the next question in his eyes, ‘I don’t have access to that kind of money. But I do have an appointment with the bank manager first thing tomorrow.’
She dragged a hand down her face. She didn’t want to think what would happen if the bank refused her the loan.
Sympathy and concern blazed from Connor’s eyes. It bathed her in a warmth she hadn’t expected. If felt nice having him sit here on the floor beside her like this—comforting. Perhaps Richard was right and she did need a friend. Maybe, given enough time—and with a concerted effort on her part to ignore the attraction that simmered through her whenever she saw him—she and Connor could be friends.
‘Thank you for stopping by and making sure I was okay. I do appreciate it.’ Perhaps they were friends already?
‘You’re welcome.’
She met his eyes. Their gold sparks flashed and glittered and tension coiled through her—that tight, gut-busting yearning she needed to find a way to control. Finally, as if he too could no longer bear it, his gaze dropped to the tin in her lap and she could breathe again.
He nodded towards it. ‘What have you got there?’
Without a word, she passed the tin across to him, watched the expressions that chased themselves across his face as he opened it and read the top letter.
‘Bloody hell, Jaz! Do you know what this means?’ He held the letter up in his long work-roughened fingers, leaning forward in his excitement. ‘This is your bargaining chip. Show these to Gordon Sears and he will definitely come to some agreement with you about paying back the loan. They’re pure gold!’
‘Yes.’
He stilled, studied her face. ‘You’re not going to use them, are you?’
‘No.’
‘But…’
She sympathised with the way the air left his lungs, the way he sagged back against the wall to stare at her as if he couldn’t possibly have heard her properly.
‘I’m not going to use these letters to blackmail Mr Sears.’ She couldn’t use them.
She tried to haul her mind back from thoughts of dragging Connor’s mouth down to hers and kissing him until neither one of them could think straight. Which would be a whole lot easier to do if the scent of autumn hadn’t settled all around her, making her yearn for the impossible.
‘Why not?’
She took a letter from the tin. ‘My beloved Frieda,’ she read. ‘All my love…forever yours.’ She dropped it back into the tin. The action sent his scent swirling around her all the more. She breathed it in. She couldn’t do anything else. ‘To use that as blackmail would be to desecrate something very beautiful. I won’t do it.’
She gestured to the unfinished portrait above them. ‘My mother wouldn’t want me to do it.’ She wanted to make Frieda proud of her, not ashamed.
Connor stared at her for a long time and those beautiful broad shoulders of his bowed as if a sudden weight had dropped onto them. His mouth tightened, the lines around it and his eyes became deeper and more pronounced. His skin lost its colour. His autumn eyes turned as bleak as winter.
Her heart thudded in sudden fear. ‘Connor?’
‘You didn’t cheat on me eight years ago, did you, Jaz? I got it wrong. I got it all wrong.’
Her skin went cold, then hot. She hunched her knees up towards her chest and wrapped her arms around them. ‘No, I didn’t cheat on you.’
She hadn’t thought he could go any paler. She’d been wrong. She wanted to reach out a hand and offer him some kind of comfort but she was too afraid to. She’d always known it would rock him to his foundations if he ever discovered the truth. She recognised the regret, the guilt, the sorrow that stretched through his eyes. Recognised too the self-condemnation, the belief in the inadequacy of any apology he tried to offer now.
She should’ve stayed eight years ago. She should’ve stayed and fought for him.
She couldn’t change the past but…
‘What time is it?’
He glanced at his watch, stared at it for an eternity, then shook himself. ‘It’s only half past six.’
‘Is your car out the back?’
He nodded.
‘C’mon then.’ She rose. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’
He followed her outside, waited for her to lock the bookshop, then led her to his car. ‘Where to?’ he asked, starting the engine.
‘Sam Hancock’s.’
He swung to face her but he didn’t say anything. Did he think she meant to punish him? He set his shoulders, his mouth a grim line and she could almost see a mantle of resolve settle over him as he started the car. He intended to endure whatever she threw at him.
Oh, Connor. I don’t want to hurt you any more. I want you to understand and find peace, that’s all.
They didn’t speak as he drove the short distance to Sam’s house. Nor did they speak as she led the way to the front door. Sam had told her on Saturday night that he was here for the next week.
‘Hi, Sam,’ she said when he answered the door. ‘You told me the other night that I was welcome to come around and view my handiwork if I wanted. Is now a convenient time?’
‘Absolutely.’ With a smile, he ushered them into the house and led them through to the main bedroom, gestured to the life-size painting on the wall. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Yell if you need anything.’
Jaz murmured her thanks but barely managed to drag her gaze away from Connor as he studied the picture she’d painted of Lenore Hancock eight years ago. ‘This is Sam’s mother,’ she said because she had to say something.
‘Yes.’ He moved cl
oser to it to study it more carefully.
‘This is where I first understood the power of my talent.’
He turned to meet her gaze and she shrugged. ‘I hadn’t fully comprehended the effect something like this could have. It frightened me.’
He gestured to the wall too, but he didn’t glance back at the picture. His eyes remained glued to her face. ‘How did this come about?’
‘Sam’s dad developed dementia and started walking the streets at all times of the day and night searching for Lenore. She’d died a couple of years before him, you see.’
‘So you drew her on the wall for him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because Sam and his sister asked me to keep it a secret.’
His hands clenched. ‘Even from me?’
She wanted to reach out and wipe the anguish from his eyes. ‘Sam and his sister didn’t want to put their father into a nursing home, but they both had to work and the nurse who came for a few hours every day was finding him harder and harder to deal with. The fewer people who knew, the fewer people who could interfere.’
She pulled in a breath. She owed him the whole truth. ‘What I felt for you, Connor…it scared me too. Some days I thought you would swallow me whole. I needed to find my own place in the world that was separate from yours.’ And she’d found it in the worst way possible. ‘Though it never occurred to me that you could misconstrue…’
He stepped back, his lips pressed together so tightly they almost turned blue. Her stomach turned to ash. Could he even begin to understand her insecurity back then?
He swung away to stare at the picture again. ‘Did it work? Did they have to put Mr Hancock into a nursing home?’
‘It worked better than any of us had dreamed.’ She bit her lip, remembering the evening they’d unveiled the finished portrait to Mr Hancock. ‘When he saw the picture, he pulled up a chair and started talking to her. I’ll never forget his first words. He said—Lenore, I’ve been looking for you everywhere, love. And now I’ve found you.’ It had damn near broken her heart. She’d had to back out of the room and race outside.
Connor swung around as if he sensed that emotion close to the surface in her now. ‘That’s the same night I found you with Sam, isn’t it?’
She hesitated, then nodded.
‘Mr Hancock’s reaction, it freaked you out, didn’t it? It wore you out the same way that tattoo you did for Jeff wore you out.’
‘Yes.’ The word whispered out of her.
‘And Sam was trying to comfort you.’
Her throat closed over. She managed a nod.
‘When you said—I loathe this thing and I love it too, but whatever I do I can’t give it up—you were talking about your ability to draw people so well, so accurately, and not about your relationship with Sam.’
Her head snapped up. ‘Is that what you thought?’ She stared at him in shock.
‘I should have believed in you.’
Yes, he should’ve. ‘I should have stayed and made you listen.’
Eight years ago, she’d been too afraid to stay and fight for him.
‘God, Jaz, I’m sorry!’ He reached out one hand towards her, but he let it drop before it could touch her. ‘Is it too late to apologise?’
She smiled then. ‘It’s never too late to apologise.’ She had to believe that.
‘Then I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions eight years ago. I’m sorry I accused you of cheating on me. I’m sorry for hurting you.’
A weight lifted from her. ‘Thank you.’
He reached for her then and she knew he meant to fold her in his arms and kiss her.
She wanted that. She wanted that more than she’d ever wanted anything.
She took a step back. Her heart burned. Her eyes burned. ‘It’s not too late for apologies, but it is too late for hope. We can’t turn time back. I’m sorry, Connor, but it’s too late for us.’
He stilled. He dragged a hand back through his hair, his mouth grim. ‘Do you really believe that?’
The words rasped out of his throat, raw, and Jaz wanted to close her eyes and rest her head against his shoulder. She stiffened her spine and forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Yes, I do.’ Because it was true.
His mouth became even grimmer. ‘Does this mean we can’t be friends?’ she whispered. She could at least have that much, couldn’t she?
The mouth didn’t soften. The gold highlights in his eyes didn’t sparkle. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘Yes.’ For the life of her, though, she couldn’t manage a smile.
‘Friends it is.’
He didn’t smile either. ‘C’mon.’ He took her arm. ‘I’ll take you home.’
CHAPTER TEN
CONNOR showed up the next day for her appointment at the bank.
‘What on earth…’ she started.
‘Friends?’ he cut in, his mouth as grim as it had been last night.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Then trust me.’
Something about his grimness made her nod and back down. She didn’t need a knight in shining armour, but it was nice knowing Connor was on her side all the same.
She got the loan. Connor told the bank manager he’d take his business—his not inconsiderable business—elsewhere if they refused her the loan. He’d have even gone guarantor for her but she put her foot down at that. The terms of the loan would stretch her resources, the bookshop would need to make a profit—and soon—all plans for an art gallery had to go on hold…But she got the loan.
‘Anything else I can help with?’ Connor asked once they were standing out on the footpath again.
‘Well, now, let me see…’ She smiled. She wanted to see the golden highlights in his eyes sparkling. She wanted to see him smile back. ‘I don’t have anyone lined up to man the sausage sizzle on Saturday.’
This Saturday. The Saturday of the book fair.
The book fair that now had to do well.
Very well.
‘Done. I’ll be there.’
He turned and strode away. No sparkling. No smiling.
She spent the rest of the week trying to lose herself in the preparations for the book fair. She double-checked that the authors and poets lined up for the Saturday afternoon readings were still available. She double-checked that the fairy she’d hired to read stories to the children hadn’t come down with the flu, and that the pirates she’d hired to face-paint said children hadn’t walked the plank and disappeared.
She double-checked that the enormous barbecue she’d hired would still arrive first thing Saturday morning, and that the butcher had her order for the umpteen dozen sausages she’d estimated they’d need for the sausage sizzle.
She would not let anything go wrong.
She couldn’t afford to.
She didn’t double-check that Connor would still man the sausage sizzle, though.
That didn’t mean she could get him out of her mind.
Alone in her flat each night, she ached to ring him.
To say what?
Just to find out if he’s okay.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Get over yourself. Connor has not spent the last eight years living in the past…or fleeing from it. Of course he’s okay.
His men finished work on the bookshop in double-quick time…and Connor was so okay he didn’t even bother coming around to check up on it.
Gritting her teeth, she wrote a cheque and posted it.
She tried to sleep but, as usual, insomnia plagued her.
By closing time on Friday afternoon, she was so wound up she didn’t know if she wanted to bounce off walls or collapse into a heap.
‘You’re driving your staff insane, you know that?’ Mrs Lavender observed.
‘I’m not meaning to.’ Jaz twisted her hands together and glanced out of the window. She was always glancing out of the window. What for? Was she hoping for a sight of Connor? She dragged her gaze back.
Mrs Lavender’s eyes n
arrowed. ‘What happened to the woman who strode down the street with purpose and determination?’
‘I’m still that same woman.’
‘Are you? It seems to me you spend more time hand-wringing and…and mooning, these days.’
Jaz exhaled sharply. ‘I’ll wear the hand-wringing, but not the mooning!’
She wasn’t mooning.
Was she?
She gulped. Had she let her feelings for Connor undermine her purpose?
A pulse behind her eyes hammered in time with the heart that beat against her ribs. She could not let anyone, not even Connor—especially not Connor—distract her from making her mother’s dream a reality.
She nodded slowly. The hammering eased. ‘You’re right.’ She glanced out of the window, not looking for Connor, but towards Mr Sears’s bakery. As if on cue, Connor drove past with Melly in the car. Jaz refused to follow the car’s progress. She didn’t speak again until the car was lost from her line of sight.
‘There’s something I need to do,’ she said with sudden decision. She didn’t want to put it off any longer.
‘I’ll close the shop for you.’
‘Thank you.’
Jaz raced upstairs, grabbed the tin of letters. Then she set off across the road to Mr Sears’s ‘baked-fresh-daily’ country bakery.
She didn’t enter the shop with a booming, Howdy, Mr S. She waited quietly to one side until he’d served the two customers in front of her, and only when they were alone did she approach the counter.
‘I found something that belongs to you.’ She handed him the tin, then stepped back.
Mr Sears frowned, glowered…lifted the lid of the tin…and his face went grey. The skin around his eyes, his mouth, bagged. Some force in his shoulders left him. Jaz wondered if she should race around the counter and lead him to a chair.
‘What do you want?’ The words rasped out of him, old-sounding and wooden. With both hands clasped around the tin, he leant his arms against the counter. Not to get closer to her, but to support himself.
‘Peace,’ she whispered.
He met her gaze then. He nodded. Finally he said, ‘How much?’
It took her a moment to decipher his meaning. Her head snapped back when she did. He thought she wanted money?
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