Her last thought was, God, I hope I don’t drool. No one in the Dove family drools. Mother would not allow it.
She was vaguely aware of someone covering her with a blanket, and then that someone removed her shoes.
‘G’night, Twinkles,’ Calum whispered.
Jennifer caught the smile behind his words. A moment later, sleep claimed her weary body.
Chapter 4
Jennifer sat bolt upright and blinked at her surroundings. Her fingers played with the tea-rose quilt cover as she tried to focus on the snippet of a thought that had woken her with a pounding heart. Holy crap, she was with a man last night. No, make that three men. Images of a living room — soft couch, hot soup, hot bloke — and falling asleep crystallised in her mind, and a flush of heat burned her cheeks.
He had covered her with a blanket. Fingertips in her hair, Jennifer rubbed her scalp hard, hoping it would stimulate her brain to remember his name. A manly essence mixed with pine hit her senses. She pulled his soft leather jacket closer around her shoulders.
‘Calum.’ She lifted the lapels: folds of gold satin lining gleamed. She buried her nose in the warm, dark hollow and inhaled. ‘Damn, no one should smell this good.’
Then she remembered more. Had she nuzzled his shirt, or was that a dream?
‘Christ, what if I was dribbling?’ Horrified, she felt around the corners of her mouth and her chin. No sign of any drool. Jennifer ran her tongue around her teeth. ‘Ugh.’ She swung her legs off the couch, found the fancy pink stilettos, and slipped them on.
A faint knock echoed somewhere. Downstairs? Listening, Jennifer tilted her head and a sharp twinge ran up her neck. She stretched her neck and hauled herself off the couch, then padded down the hall to the girlie bedroom. She pushed the drapes aside, yanked the sash window up and yelled, ‘Keep your shirt on, Sofe, I’ll be there in a sec.’
Quickly she splashed her face with cold water and swished her mouth out. She couldn’t find a towel so used her Veronica shift, leaving dark wet patches around the hem. As she hurried out of the bathroom, a dishevelled image caught her eye. She did a double take at the full-length mirrors on the massive old closet. ‘That’s not me.’ Her skin was tight and pale, her cheekbones more prominent than usual, which may have had something to do with the shadows under her green, bloodshot eyes.
More knocking on the front door, and Jennifer called out, ‘Oh crap — I’m coming, Sofe!’ She mussed her hair with her fingers and clattered down the creaking stairs. Two shadows, like a couple of long armed aliens, stood outlined on the newspaper covering the glass front door. She wondered why Sofie hadn’t come around the back through the garage.
Jennifer hurried across the tiled floor, her stilettos sounding like gunshots in the empty shop; she flinched with every step. ‘Hope you’ve got coffee!’ she yelled, sliding the bolts across to fling the door open. Early morning sun smacked her in the eyes. ‘Ooh, that’s a bitch!’ She clapped a hand over her forehead and peered at two silhouettes. ‘Get in here, Sofe!’
No response.
Oh-oh, Jennifer forced her eyes to focus.
‘Hello, dear. Didn’t mean to wake you,’ said a sympathetic, aged voice.
Jennifer stared, surprised to see two elderly women at her door. The taller woman had weathered skin that spoke of years in the hot sun and dry, cold winds. But none of the lines and wrinkles detracted from her natural elegance. Her soft grey hair curled out from under a straw hat and wisped around her face. Hazel eyes, enhanced by a lilac blouse, crinkled as her warm smile widened.
A younger, stockier woman, probably in her mid-fifties, stood next to her. Glossy brown hair, cut in a severe bob, suited her round face. She seemed sad and tired, her tentative smile worried.
Jennifer turned back to the taller woman, and thought, I’ve seen those hazel eyes before. She frowned trying to recollect where. Out on the street a four-wheel drive crawled past. I’ve seen that car before.
The driver poked his head out the window and waved.
I’ve seen that face before…Calum! Hot hunk — big trouble — killer smile.
‘Who —?’ Jennifer asked, blinking at the elderly woman.
‘Connie McGregor,’ the woman said, extending her hand, her voice direct and friendly. Strong bony fingers clasped Jennifer’s in a no-nonsense greeting.
Her thoughts slowly came together. ‘Oh, you’re…’ she found herself looking and pointing at the empty street.
‘I’m Calum’s grandmother, dear.’ She looked at Jennifer with a perceptive eye. ‘His leather jacket suits you.’
‘We…’ Jennifer began. ‘I should return it. But he’s…’ she looked down the street, ‘gone.’
Connie’s smile deepened. ‘Not to worry, dear. I’d like you to meet Shirley Jarvis, your uncle’s housekeeper.’
Mrs Jarvis had a firm grip. Her bright, grey eyes sparkled from a round, rosy-cheeked freckled face. ‘Bob Feldman was a pleasure to work for.’
‘We are so sorry about your uncle.’ Tears glistened in Connie’s bright eyes. The depth of her emotions made her voice thick and unsteady. ‘You’ve come a long way to be here for him. Bob was a wonderful man.’
Jennifer rubbed her face, hoping her brain would catch up with time zones, a drastic change in climate and cultural differences of a magnitude she hadn’t experienced since arriving in London.
‘We’ve caught you at an awkward time,’ Connie continued. ‘We just came by to give you this.’ She handed over a large basket.
The mouth-watering aromas of freshly baked bread and warm scones drifted into Jennifer’s nose. Among the food was a jar of vegemite, a tub of butter, a pot of strawberry jam, a jug of cream, and a thermos.
‘This smells so good, thank you. I never imagined…’
‘Compliments of the Country Women’s Association; we like to help the immediate family cope with their bereavement.’ Connie’s chin began to crinkle and her eyes glistened again. She turned away and fumbled for a handkerchief hiding somewhere down her blouse.
Shirley put a comforting arm around Connie’s shoulder. ‘We’d better be off. We’re arranging flowers at the chapel.’
‘We heard Father Thomas is looking after things — but a chapel?’ Jennifer asked, surprised.
‘Oh dear girl, I know your uncle was strongly against all religions, but Bob being Bob, threw himself into fund raising. As a result, he spent time with all the clergy in town. But Father Thomas and your uncle became great friends. They’d have rip-roaring debates about all sorts of things, but always with a laugh. Didn’t they, Shirley?’
Shirley smiled. ‘They were great friends.’
Connie chuckled. ‘Bob once said no one was going to stomp around in his head and make him feel guilty for the harmless things he did. I hope that’s helped you understand why it will be at St Mary’s, dear?’
The harmless things he did? Was that the same as his comment to us that he meant no harm?
Jennifer patted Connie’s arm. ‘What about a suit for Uncle Bob? He was a dapper dresser. There must be some lovely ones in his room.’
Connie fluttered her hand in an animated fashion. ‘Oh no-no-no, his clothes are taken care of. But thank you anyway, dear.’
‘Can I help with the flowers? Perhaps I could take them to the chapel for you?’
‘I understand your need to be involved and I don’t want to disappoint you, but as it is, we have so many willing hands, the hall will be like a chook pen with a fox let loose. A lot of clucking and flapping arms.’
The image that formed in her mind made Jennifer laugh. ‘What about after the service? I’ve had no time to prepare anything.’
‘Your uncle took care of the catering some time ago. There’ll be plates of sandwiches, little pies, cakes, lamingtons, coffee, and tea set up in the town hall.’ Connie took a deep breath and dabbed her eyes again.
Jennifer’s heart went out to them. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. Would you both like to come in for a glass of col
d water?’ she said, moving back from the doorway with a sharp clack-clack of stiletto slip-ons.
Shirley peered down at Jennifer’s feet. All colour drained from her face.
Connie clutched Shirley’s arm. ‘N-no thanks, dear, we won’t bother you,’ she said breathlessly.
Jennifer reached for Connie’s hand. ‘Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?’
‘I’m fine, dear, thank you.’ Connie smiled and dragged her gaze away from the stilettos. She patted Jennifer’s hand. ‘Will you be saying a few words at the service?’
Jennifer sneaked a peek at her feet. The pink stilettos were frivolous, but otherwise there was nothing about them that should cause a reaction. She met Connie’s steady gaze. ‘A few words? I had planned to. Perhaps my sister Sofie will as well. My parents won’t be coming. At least, they bloody better not,’ Jennifer said lightly, but irritation flared.
Connie gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m so glad you understand about Bob’s wish regarding his siblings. You were his family; he adored all of you. We must go. Enjoy your breakfast, dear.’
‘Yes, we must run,’ Shirley said, flustered.
Jennifer glanced down at the jacket around her shoulders. ‘Wait, you’ll probably see Calum before I do, would you mind taking it? And please tell him thank you from me.’ She put the basket down and muttered, ‘Hope Veronica doesn’t mind me borrowing her clothes, but I was wet through last night and my suitcase was in the car.’
Connie’s eyes sparkled. ‘Of course she wouldn’t.’
‘Veronica and Uncle Bob must have been close. No doubt she’ll be at the funeral. We’ve never met. Would you mind introducing us? We should pass on our condolences.’
The two women seemed taken aback. Jennifer regarded them closely. ‘Is everything all right?’
Ignoring the Veronica question, Connie reached forward to pull the jacket back over Jennifer’s shoulders; drawing it together at the front, she prattled on. ‘You know what men are like, best not confuse matters. Calum left his card in the basket. He said to call him when you’re ready and he’ll drop by for his jacket.’
‘Okay.’ She could do that. The flutter of anticipation at seeing Calum again wasn’t a problem. No siree. ‘Thank you both, it’s very much appreciated, Connie, Shirley,’ Jennifer smiled. ‘I’ll ring Calum later this morning.’
‘Lovely, dear. We’ll see you at St Mary’s.’
Jennifer watched them as they walked arm in arm down the footpath, and the old classic movie Arsenic and Old Lace came to mind. Connie wore a sensible straw hat, pale lilac slacks, and darker lilac blouse and Shirley wore a beige T-shirt and serviceable baggy brown cotton slacks. They both looked genteel — on the surface, but something was going on, and Jennifer didn’t have a clue what it might be.
With a clack-clack of stilettos, Jennifer moved back to close the door. She peered at her feet one more time, shrugged and made her way to the upstairs kitchen. She set the basket down on the scrubbed pine table and gazed around the room. Memories flooded back of times when she and her sister had huddled around the black combustion stove while their uncle flipped pancakes for them. He hadn’t changed any of the décor. The stove still sat in the cream tiled alcove with its green border and chimney above. All dated, but not tatty. The cupboards, with sturdy brass hinges, hadn’t been updated either, except for a coat of paint. Through the tall windows, she could see the neglected courtyard below. She looked up and beyond the outskirts of town; grapevine-covered hills stretched into the distance until they reached the dark-green foothills of the blue-tinged mountains.
What a view. No wonder her uncle had loved living here.
Jennifer sniffed the air. She could almost smell apple pie and cinnamon, herbs and spices imbedded in the old timbers and paintwork. She unhooked a mug hanging from a bench-top stand and peered into it, making sure there weren’t any spiders; swallowing one down with coffee was not her thing.
Jennifer pulled a chair out and sat at the old table. Drawing the basket closer, she grabbed the thermos and opened it. Real coffee. She poured herself a cup, enjoying the quietness, and wondered when Sofie and Claudia would turn up. Perhaps she should ring.
She glanced at her watch, still on London time. She’d never been good at maths, but tried to work it out anyway. ‘It must be around seven-thirty.’ Her forehead hit the kitchen table. ‘I can forget about ringing Sofie. I’ll be here talking to myself for hours.’
She finished her coffee and walked back to her room to unpack her clothes and hang them in the massive, antique mirrored closet that for some reason gave her the creeps. ‘Silly goose,’ she muttered. What if her uncle’s clothes were in this closet — would seeing them bring her undone?
He had been a powerful ally, and a shoulder to lean on when her family tried to howl her down for wanting to move to London to study haute cuisine. He’d given her the confidence to go for it, and was so proud of her when she did. Now her champion was gone.
‘I have to fight my own battles now,’ she told the closet.
Steeling herself, she threw open the doors. Her uncle’s winter clothes hung under plastic covers as if they’d just come back from the drycleaners. She shoved them aside to make room for her things. Strange scents wafted out — drycleaning fluid, cedar wood and something she couldn’t put her finger on. Lavender? She hung all her clothes in and shut the door. With a backward glance, she strode out of the room and into the kitchen to have breakfast.
Jennifer poked about in the cupboards and found an old flip-down-sides toaster. She cut two slices of the bread from Connie’s basket of goodies, popped them into the toaster, and switched it on. No sooner had she turned her back than crackling noises erupted. Jennifer cringed. A pungent smell of burning bread and electrics filled the room. When she dared to look over her shoulder, she saw blue smoke billowing out of the socket.
‘Shit-shit-shit!’ Jennifer searched the room for a broom, anything to extend her reach and flip the switch off from a safe distance. ‘Help!’ came out as a pathetic squeak. Yanking drawers open, she found a wooden spoon and a pair of red, polka-dot oven mitts. She ran to the toaster. Leaning back, Jennifer held the spoon end under the archaic brass switch and flicked it off. But what if that wasn’t good enough? She grabbed the cord and yanked it out of the socket, causing a small explosion. Sparks flew out of the socket. Jennifer squealed. The toaster was on fire. The room quickly filled with acrid blue smoke. ‘Bloody hell!’ Jennifer wrestled with one of the tall sash windows, tugging at it until it opened. Cool air wafted in. She turned back to the toaster and smacked it with the polka dotted mitts, again and again. This had no effect. She needed something to smother the flames. She saw an old tea towel hanging on the oven door. She grabbed it, and threw it over the burning toaster. Holding the lot at arm’s length, she chucked it out the window. As the wind caught the towel, it ignited, releasing tiny embers that drifted away until they became ash. ‘Shit!’ Jennifer cursed, wiping perspiration from her forehead with a mitt as the toaster clattered onto the flagstones below. Filled with burning holes, the tea towel floated after it. She watched as it smouldered out of harm’s way, a wisp of blue smoke trailing up.
Jennifer slumped down on a chair to catch her breath. With her hands still wedged in the oven-mitts, she plonked her elbows on the table, and rested her head in her hands. Big mistake. ‘Phew!’ She wrinkled her nose. The acrid stench of blackened fabric and melted stuffing was horrible. Without looking, she chucked the gloves into the sink.
‘I need more caffeine,’ she told herself. ‘Once I have caffeine, everything will be all right.’ She poured another coffee, gulped down a mouthful. Shit! She’d nearly burnt the place down. Jennifer let out a long, drawn-out sigh of relief and reached for the basket. She removed the scones, cream and jam. ‘Who needs a toaster when you’ve got the Country Women’s Association?’ she quipped, and glanced up to see a cloud of blue smoke floating above her head, before it trailed out the window. Good. She’d be able to stand
up soon and breathe without passing out from toxic fumes.
As her nerves slowly eased, she heard sirens blare in the distance.
Was the day about to become even more interesting?
Chapter 5
Jennifer glared at the blackened socket. What could that be — ambulance? Police? She could never work out which was which. ‘Fire!’ The truck was coming closer with every second. The siren was deafening. Thankfully the noise wound down like a dying beast as the truck stopped in the back lane. Jennifer watched in fascination as its flashing red light reflected around the walls of her uncle’s kitchen.
Hands on the table, she pushed her chair back and moved to the window. ‘It’s got to be next door.’ She leant out to see who the unfortunate neighbour was; perhaps she could help. Immediately, she knew that was an irrational thought.
The morning was going to get a whole lot crazier.
Half a dozen firemen, all wearing protective gear, paused to manhandle an enormous hose through the gate. Their boots clomped over the flagstones in her uncle’s courtyard. Two more firemen arrived, carrying large, bright red extinguishers, nozzles at the ready. They aimed them at her smouldering toaster — and shot it. The toaster disappeared under a pile of white foam.
The man holding an enormous fireman’s hose aimed it up at her window. ‘Oh my God!’ Jennifer leant out as far as she dared and frantically waved ceasefire style. The rest of her made ready to duck in case he decided to blast her with the hose — which had a brass nozzle the size of a cannon.
‘No-no!’ she shouted. ‘It’s all right — there’s no fire!’
As if they hadn’t heard a word she’d said, one of them yelled up, ‘Don’t panic, lady — we’re here!’ Seconds later, a fireman with an extendable ladder appeared. He lunged forward, aiming for the window. It landed with a thump against the wall directly under the window ledge.
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