by Diana Fraser
“Camping.” He took a deep intake of breath. “Well… camping. That…”
“Will be brilliant!” finished off Tom, who could scarcely contain his excitement.
James nodded as if urging himself on to some kind of enthusiasm. “Yes. Yes, it will.”
“Hot drink before you go?” Susie smiled sweetly, enjoying James’s discomfort. She wanted James off the island, didn’t she? Well, what better way than to show him how utterly unable he would be to fit in here.
James stood up and stretched. “Thank you but no. I’d better get going. I think I’ll need a good night’s sleep.”
“To make up for the one you’re not going to get tomorrow night?”
“Exactly.”
“Yes, he will get a good night’s sleep tomorrow, Susie. We always sleep well outside. It’ll be great, James. The weather’s clear, we can look at the stars and tell stories.”
Susie made a mistake then, of looking at James. There was nothing between their gaze except memories: memories of a time when the two of them had been young and innocent and had lain side by side in the sweet grasses of the high Mackenzie Country and watched as the long dusk had given way to a night sky full of stars. They’d taken it in turns to talk about their dreams, their hopes, their stories.
“Oh…” Susie gasped and turned away abruptly, scared James would see how much the poignant memory affected her.
“We’ll be leaving early because of the tide. Will you go swimming? How about cricket? Did you play cricket when you were young?” Tom continued to bombard James with questions and Susie slipped away, unable to face James again.
She grabbed a tea towel and began drying up the dishes. She looked out the small kitchen window, pushed open to catch the warm evening breeze, and focused on the silhouette of the swaying grasses, charcoal grey against the black night sky.
“Good night then, Susie, and thanks for dinner.” James’s voice was gentle, as if he, too, hadn’t been able to easily shed the mantle of memories that stirred feelings long repressed. She didn’t turn around.
“Goodnight. Tom will see you out.”
“Till tomorrow then.”
“Yes, tomorrow.”
Tom’s chatter followed James outside and she watched them disappear over the dunes behind the back of the house, up onto the path to the winery. The path was unlit and it was dark tonight, no moon. But Tom knew it like the back of his hand.
She switched on the kettle and waited for Tom. Within minutes Tom had scampered back down the path and burst into the living room, his eyes bright and full of happiness. She handed him a cocoa.
“James is so cool, Mum.” She frowned at the sudden use of the word “mum”. He tended to revert to it when he was feeling emotional. “How come you never told me about him before? He says you guys knew each other years ago.”
“Oh, we were just friends.”
“Best friends, he said.”
“Yes well, times change.”
“But you like him, don’t you?”
“Drink your cocoa, it’s way past bed time.”
“But you do, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I do. How come you wanted him to come with us tomorrow?”
“Because I like him, too.” He took a thoughtful sip of his cocoa. “And because he looked sad.”
Sad? James? Now Tom had said that she realized he was right. She’d been so busy nursing her own anger and indignation that he should appear out of the blue and take over her life once more—and wondering what she could do to make him go before he could damage her hard-won independence—that she hadn’t really looked at him, she hadn’t really seen that look in his eyes, hadn’t seen the sadness in the depth of his blue eyes.
Susie reached across the boat and took the hamper from Tom and secured it in the back of the boat.
“Morning!” James strolled out onto the jetty.
“Only just,” replied Susie. “I’d have gone by now but Tom refused to go without you.”
“Good one, Tom.” He high-fived Tom.
She looked him up and down. “Left your city gear off then, today.”
He looked down at his shorts and t-shirt. “Lucky Jorja found some of Pete’s gear and lucky we’re about the same size.”
“Um.” She looked him up and down, wondering why the same gear on Pete never had the same effect on her. Then she noticed people had followed him with hampers. “What,” she asked, “is all this?”
“Just a few essentials.” He jumped down beside her and Tom in the boat. “I got to thinking about those cold sausage rolls and flat lemonade…”
“And you’ve bought hampers. Don’t tell me. You had them delivered from the French Patisserie in town?”
“Well, I didn’t make them up myself, that’s for sure.” He passed a bag of things to her. “And a few essentials for the night.”
She peered inside. “An inflatable mattress? Good quality sleeping bag though.” She nodded approvingly. “And…” He passed her another bundle. “A tent, Mac? Under the stars, remember.”
“It might rain. You might be glad I brought it.”
“Tom!” She shouted across. “Jump in. We’d better go while there’s still room for us.”
James inclined his head to hers as she untied the rope from its mooring. “I’ve got things to tempt you, too.” The twinkle in those blue eyes caused her stomach to tighten with desire. “Later tonight. Maybe after a nightcap of flat lemonade, I’ll let you have a little.”
“Mac,” she warned.
“It’ll make your mouth water.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
“Dark chocolate. The best.”
In an effort to prevent him from noticing the smile that slipped from under her defenses, she turned away and stowed the rope into the bottom of the boat. By the time she turned around, James had taken control of the engine at the boat’s rear. She sat behind Tom.
“You sure you want to steer? You never used to be so good with motorboats. Remember that time on the lake at home?”
He grinned as he applied the throttle and sliced through the calm water of the bay, out towards the gulf. “How could I forget? You saved me yet again. I’ve done a bit of learning since then. I keep my own boat on Tahoe so I know a bit about them.”
“Who’d have thought it? James Mackenzie being practical.”
“I’m far more practical than you know. Even to the point of needing to know exactly where it is we’re going.”
She smiled, relaxing under the strong sun and wind, and fresh salty air. “After ten minutes and two headlands, turn left.”
Once out at sea, the wind picked up and they bounced a little over the ruffled water. Tom laughed and stood up, still holding onto the side so he could feel the sea spray on his face. Susie knew that James was purposely aiming at the crest of a few waves to make sure Tom received a soaking. James didn’t seem to mind that, in so doing, he was also soaking himself. He grinned at her, apparently not concerned that his usual immaculate look was less than immaculate. He simply slicked back his wet hair and it fell in the usual charming waves off his face, tanned and relaxed. If it weren’t for me, Tom, and the shabbiness of the boat, Susie thought, anyone would think he was simply heading to Cannes for an evening with the rich and famous.
But he’s not, she thought sadistically. He’s going camping. And he’ll hate it, with, or without, an airbed.
Susie swam a leisurely breaststroke back to shore, watching James and Tom play soccer as if they did it every weekend. It could have been like this, she thought bitterly, if it hadn’t been for James’s stupid behavior.
But it was no good, no matter what stray angry thoughts popped up, just seeing him play with Tom, unraveled them, combed out the knots that had been tight inside since he’d arrived. He moved with grace, as he always had, and he laughed easily with Tom. But Tom was always good company, she thought proudly. She ran from the shallows, laughing as Tom tried to defeat James with a bit of tricky footwork bu
t he was no match for James who took command of the ball and sprinted towards the two t-shirts that represented the goal posts.
Susie’s competitive instinct kicked in and she ran towards James, whose attention faltered, took the ball and slammed it down the beach into the opposing goal. She jumped up and punched the air. “Goal!”
“Yay! Mum!”
James took a few steps back and sat down abruptly, weakened by the sight of Susie’s breasts rising out of her brief bikini as she jumped up and down with Tom. Her hair fanned up into the light, framing her. Her agile strength and understated beauty knocked the breath out of him. Game over. He’d been outmaneuvered all right.
She walked up to him, hands on hip. “Had enough?”
“For now, maybe. Ask me later.”
She narrowed her gaze in suspicion. Keeping her eye on him she called to Tom. “Tom! Come on, let’s eat.”
They walked up to the line of pohutukawas that overhung the beach, providing much-needed shade. James followed them with the hamper, watching them laugh and joke as they went. They had a closeness James couldn’t help but envy. He hadn’t had any time alone with Susie to ask her the question that was looming large in his mind. Was Tom his son? And it didn’t look like he’d get any time alone on this trip. But part of him was happy. It meant that he could enjoy the day imagining that Tom was his son, imagining a life with both Tom and Susie that was worlds away from the one James had planned. Just the thought sent a thrill of desire and happiness through him that he never wanted to disappear.
He dropped the hamper on the ground and pulled out cushions and blankets first and tossed them to Susie. She shook her head in disbelief. “You and your comfort.”
“Nothing wrong with comfort.” He plucked a bottle of wine from the same hamper, poured a couple of glasses and a lemonade for Tom and then sat back and watched Susie distribute the cutlery and serviettes. Her hair fell in tumbling skeins, sprinkled with sand, to her shoulders. Her skin was perfect, unblemished and lightly tanned. And so was her figure, with its neat curves and long, lean limbs. The black bikini was utterly sexy, whether she thought so or not. Okay, it might not be as skimpy as he’d prefer, but it covered and showcased the shape of her breasts. Breasts made for tasting. He groaned and tried to think of something else. It didn’t work so he dragged the second hamper in front of him. “Now, what would you like? Pate? Salmon? Salad?”
“Salad would be great.”
“What kind of salad? Green, rice, chicken—”
“Good God, Mac!” Laughing, she reached over and took a selection of boxes from him and began spooning them onto the three plates.
“We’ve both earned a good feed, haven’t we Tom?” Tom nodded as he munched on chicken leg. “It’s harder work than the gym.”
“More fun, though,” added Tom.
“Heaps more fun.” James exchanged grins with Tom and then turned to look at Susie and caught a wistful expression in her unguarded eyes that took his breath away.
She jumped up. “I’ll go and get some water.”
He watched as she disappeared into the bush.
“You like my mum, don’t you?”
He looked around to see Tom watching him quietly. “Sure do. Not so sure she likes me much.”
“Why? What did you do?”
How like a ten-year-old to cut straight to the heart of the matter. “I made a mistake.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“It was a big mistake.”
“Say ‘sorry’ then.”
James nodded thoughtfully. It was true, he’d never actually apologized for his behavior. Years ago she’d disappeared off the map. He’d waited, expecting her to return, leaving messages wherever he thought she might be. But she hadn’t returned to Glencoe and she hadn’t returned his messages. And now? He’d somehow avoided saying the actual words.
“You know? You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I’ll give it a try.”
“It’ll work. Mum always forgives me when I mess up, so long as I admit to it and apologize.”
“Thanks for the tip, mate.” All this talk of the past had eased his arousal and allowed him to move once more. He jumped up. “Come on, let’s go and see what she’s up to.”
They found her just inside the curtain of pohutukawas, drawing water from a pump.
“A pump? I thought this bay was uninhabited.”
“It is now. But years ago?” She pushed aside a curtain of creepers. “Fantastic, isn’t it?”
James couldn’t see what she was looking at and preferred not to shift his own view. “Breathtaking,” James murmured as he focused on her long, lean, limbs. With effort, he shifted his gaze from her chest to whatever it was that was holding her attention. He walked up beside her.
She shifted the veil of vegetation further to reveal a grand, two-storied, colonial house, whose white paint had peeled, leaving scars of silvered wood, some rotten, with creepers curling green tendrils into the nooks and crannies. “Been that way for over fifty years.”
“Wow. Who’d have thought this was hiding behind these trees?” He looked up at the intricately balconied widow’s walk along its upper story, set amidst a crescent of flowering pohutukawa trees. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”
Tom came running up behind them. “Perhaps there’s a princess inside who needs a kiss to wake her up?”
Susie groped behind a ledge and produced a key. “Trust a person of the male species to believe a kiss could set everything right. When something’s dead, it’s dead.”
James watched her walk up and take Tom’s hand before opening the door. In that moment he realized just how much, and how deeply, he’d hurt her. And, for the first time, he wondered if he could ever put it right.
CHAPTER FIVE
James followed Susie and Tom inside. He was immediately struck by the smell of mice and dust. He ducked to avoid thick strands of grey cobwebs disturbed by the opening of the door. The two-story hallway was lit from above by a large, glass dome in the roof, from which a green-tinged light fell. Remarkably no panes had been broken and the interior was dry.
“It’s Pete’s family’s old homestead. Apparently the family stopped living there in the 1950s when the road opened up from the town to Whisper Creek. It was too isolated here. It’s only accessible by water now.”
James rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s stunning.”
“It’s falling down.” Tom suddenly appeared from one of the many rooms that led off the hexagonal hall. “Mum and I shelter here sometimes if the weather’s bad.”
“So why aren’t we sleeping here tonight?”
“It’s damp, and dusty. Definitely only a place for emergencies.”
James’s gaze shifted to Susie, who stood in the centre of the hall, the green light filtering down through the ivy that covered the glass ceiling, giving her an ethereal look. He had a jolt of déjà vu, as if he’d already seen her there before. Ridiculous. He turned away in confusion.
He opened the nearest door and walked in. It was heavy, good quality, and opened into a huge reception room on an incongruous scale, given its location, lit by large windows on two sides. He walked over to the windows, drawn by the view, dust rising with each step. He looked through French windows that opened out onto a wooden verandah. The blue of the bay was spread before him, just visible through the shifting leaves and branches.
Running footsteps approached and Tom slid up to him, arriving in a cloud of dust. James coughed and pushed open the warped windows with a shove. Tom made to go outside but James stopped him, placing his hands squarely on Tom’s shoulders. “Careful. It’s probably rotten.”
James looked down at Tom and felt a surge of affection for the boy. Was he his? At the first opportunity he’d ask Susie. In the meantime he’d enjoy the possibility. But he knew, that whatever the answer he was Susie’s boy, and he’d already developed a bond with him that would only grow.
“It’s like a Rousseau painting.”
“All jungly, dark and heavy and green.”
“Yes, I guess it is. Do you like art?”
“Love it.”
“Do you want to go to art school?”
For the first time Tom didn’t answer his question directly but bit his lip and looked away. “I’ll learn on my own. Art school’s expensive.”
James looked away also, feeling the boy’s pain through his too-adult words. “Yes, it is expensive. But if you want something, there’s always a way.”
Tom looked up at James with hope bright in his eyes. “Really? Do you really think I could do it?”
“Definitely.” He squeezed Tom’s shoulders and whispered in his ear. “Particularly if you have help from someone with a plan.”
What was that feeling? That strange mixture of emotions that consumes you when you see two people—who you are, or were, close to—bond? Susie didn’t know, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She watched James dip his head to Tom and whisper something in his ear and her heart contracted at the expression on Tom’s face as he looked up into James’s—utter trust and hope.
She had to tell James the truth.
“This,” James said as he walked towards her, “is perfect.”
“Perfect, for what?”
“A luxury lodge. Nothing huge. We’d convert some of the bedrooms into en suites.”
“You can’t surely mean to convert this? Why would someone with heaps of money want to come here?”
“Because there’s nothing else like it, it’s picture perfect.” He glanced out the window. “Or will be when it’s finished. It’s got the character that people coming from bland luxury will love.”
She pressed her fingers into some rotting timber. “By character you mean rotting decay, I take it?”
“That’s easy to fix.”
“I don’t know.” She dug her finger nail in deeper. “It goes pretty deep.”