English Lord on Her Doorstep

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Of course you can’t,’ she said hurriedly. What was he thinking, that she expected him to pay back every cent his toe-rag uncle had stolen? No one could do that.

  ‘So tell me what’s happened to you,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t need to know,’ she muttered and scuffed her foot on the gravel of the driveway, and Bryn set his saw down and walked around the fallen tree until he was in front of her. Right in front.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and gripped, hard. She’d been staring down at her shoe, at the groove she was making in the gravel. She couldn’t look up.

  ‘Charlie...’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Please, will you tell me?’ he said. ‘I need to know.’

  ‘Like the police said, it’s not your business.’

  ‘It just got personal. Charlie...’

  ‘Okay, he took everything,’ she said and the desperation was back in her voice. She couldn’t stop it. ‘He came in here because this looks like a farmhouse but of course it’s only twenty acres because Grandma sold off the rest of the farm when Pa died. She did that so she could feed her waifs and strays. So she only had one cow and one calf and even Thomas had to concede she couldn’t use one of his semen straws on such small, scrawny cows. But that didn’t stop him explaining what a fantastic scheme it was. He told her what she was doing was marvellous and he wanted to help, so he’d offer her a once in a lifetime opportunity...’

  ‘Hell.’

  ‘It was hell,’ she whispered. ‘Because she still had an overdraft facility that’s been sitting there from the time this was a working farm and the bank manager at Carlsbrook is lazy and has never checked. No one even queried when she withdrew a sum that I can’t bear to...’ She shook her head. ‘No matter. It’s done.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie.’

  ‘Yeah, and it seems Grandma wasn’t the only local with stupid overdraft limits. Head office put the heat on the local bank manager and suddenly Grandma was in so much trouble. I managed to cover enough for her not to be evicted straight away but it was never going to be enough to keep her here. So she was appalled and grief stricken and then she had a heart attack.’

  She shoved back then, away from his hold, anger and grief overwhelming her. ‘And then she died,’ she managed. ‘So that’s that. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry about your uncle and I’m sorry about Grandma and the dogs and the cows and my business but I’m darned if I can see a silver lining anywhere.’

  ‘Then why don’t we make one?’

  She’d been close to tears. Very close. She could feel her whole body trembling but Bryn’s unexpected response brought her up short.

  ‘What...?’

  ‘It seems to me that we’ve both had a few tough weeks,’ he said. ‘So what should we do about it?’

  ‘I...’ She blinked. ‘I have no...there’s nothing...’

  ‘Nothing silver lining-ish?’

  ‘Lining-ish?’

  ‘I’m from the old country,’ he told her. ‘I suspect we have a far more extensive vocabulary than you colonials.’

  She didn’t doubt it. That voice... It did things to her.

  Do not go down that road.

  ‘If you’re relenting on making me walk off the property, I might grant myself a break from wood-chopping,’ he was saying. ‘But it’s no use heading back into the house and sitting over a cup of tea playing who’s the most miserable.’ His voice softened. ‘I concede, by the way. You are by a long shot. I’ve just been messed around by my uncle. You’ve lost your grandma.’

  ‘You’ve missed your plane.’

  ‘I have at that. But I’ve decided, right this minute, that it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Of course it matters. I can call a cab. There’ll be another flight tonight.’ And then she paused in horror. ‘But you didn’t turn up. They’ll charge you for another fare. Oh, my...’

  ‘I’ve already thought of that,’ he said, suddenly smug. ‘Travel insurance. I’m a man prepared, and accidents are covered, which pretty much takes care of a car squashed by a lightning strike. So that’s my flights covered. Though I’m doubting they’ll cover the car.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Not panic,’ he said firmly. ‘Because panic does nothing. Instead I’ll ring the collection agency and remind them that they did agree to me driving it back to Melbourne. Via email. They were relieved at the offer because it meant they didn’t need to send their people to retrieve it. So my people can talk to their people while I focus on the important things in life. Like silver linings.’

  ‘Your people?’ she queried.

  ‘Lawyers.’ He hesitated. ‘Where are your people?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t...’

  ‘Your mum. Your dad. Your boyfriends, girlfriends, neighbours...’

  ‘You saw one neighbour...’

  ‘For two minutes and then he was off. Leaving you with a mess and someone he thought was low life. Just how alone are you, Charlie Foster?’

  ‘I have the dogs.’

  ‘Right.’ He was surveying her thoughtfully. ‘The dogs. And chooks and cows. They need to be included in our silver lining.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean?’

  ‘Meaning what, right now, would make you happy?’

  ‘A home for the dogs?’

  ‘You don’t want to keep them?’

  ‘How can I? I have a studio in Melbourne.’ For which the rent was overdue already.

  ‘Okay, too hard for today,’ he said, still watching her face. ‘What we need is something immediate.’ He stood and gazed around, at the undulating hills, at the vast gums in the distance. It was a perfect rain-washed morning.

  ‘It’s a morning for doing,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve already been doing. You need to catch a cab.’

  ‘I could,’ he agreed. ‘Leaving you with a squashed sports car, a driveway full of dead tree and other problems so assorted I can’t begin to understand. But I’ve decided that walking away isn’t the action of a hero and I’ve always wanted to be a hero.’ Then, at the look on her face, he grinned. ‘Come on, Charlie. You’ve been had by Thomas, but for every villain there has to be a hero. Ask any decent movie-maker. I know I should have donned a cape, called on my superpowers and cleared this tree in an instant, but you’ll just have to settle for what you can get. And what you’ve got is my decision not to go home and leave you in this mess.’

  ‘There’s no need...’

  ‘There is a need,’ he said and he reached out, lifting her chin so her gaze was forced to meet his. ‘It’s Saturday and even superheroes need weekends. So how about we take the weekend as our silver lining and let the world break in again on Monday? What about it, Charlie Foster?’

  ‘I don’t...what are you suggesting?’ She was reaching the point where she was too flummoxed to answer.

  He gazed around again, and then focussed on the now massive heap of dead-leaf litter and mess he’d hauled away from the stump itself. The sun had been up for hours now and the rain-soaked mess had steamed itself dry. There was not a breath of wind. It was as if the storm last night had been a figment of their imagination.

  ‘Bonfire,’ he said in the tones of a small boy, suddenly fired with excitement. ‘This lot would burn like firecrackers. We might need to phone your local fire brigade to warn them but...there’s no rule against it, is there?’

  ‘I...no...’ At this time of the year half the locals were burning off to make undergrowth safe for the summer bushfire season.

  ‘There you go, then. And we could have baked potatoes for lunch. Or maybe make that dinner. It might take a while to burn down to hot coals.’

  ‘You want to stay for dinner?’ She was having trouble making her voice work.

  He’d been surveying the leaf litter but now he turned back to her, his eyes holding hers, warm,
reassuring—and so, so compelling. She could see why Grandma had fallen for Thomas’ charms.

  She was wiser. Of course she was. Oh, but this smile...

  ‘Let me stay,’ he told her. ‘Charlie, I want to help. I want to finish clearing this mess. I want to get the car off your land. I want to make sure Flossie’s okay and that Cordelia’s recovered from this morning’s adventures. More, I want to see if there’s any other way I can help.’

  ‘Thomas was...only your uncle,’ she managed. ‘And he’s hurt you, too. You don’t need...’

  ‘But I want to, Charlie,’ he told her. ‘So you have a man before you asking to be a superhero.’ His grin widened at that. ‘I’ll admit I might be lacking in the Lycra department, but are you a woman intending to say no?’

  That grin...that smile...

  It was too much. The strains of the last few weeks were almost overwhelming but right now...

  A superhero minus Lycra? She was close to laughter but also close to tears. Hysteria was edging back. But Bryn was weaving a spell with his smile. Offering her a silver lining?

  Or just a bonfire.

  It might be...fun.

  Where had that word been lately? she thought. And where would it be in the future?

  Take it now.

  Bryn was watching, waiting for her decision.

  ‘I don’t have any potatoes,’ she said, because right now the only imperative seemed to be the truth.

  ‘That little blue car behind the house...is that yours?’

  ‘I...yes.’ She’d have to sell it, but she wouldn’t go there now.

  ‘Then let’s do what you offered to do last night. Cut the fence in the top paddock and break out. Let’s head into town and stock up on provisions and then come back and start our weekend. Potatoes on me,’ he said grandly.

  The thought of her car was put aside. This man was buying her potatoes? What an offer. She was forced to chuckle.

  ‘Isn’t your wallet in the car?’

  ‘My wallet’s in my back pocket, a little soggy but intact. There’s the difference between me and superheroes in Lycra. How many of them have back pockets?’

  She choked but struggled to stay with...sense. ‘Your wallet has enough for potatoes?’

  ‘Even for a bottle of wine.’ His smile widened and it was as if the sun had come out. But the sun was already out, she thought wildly. She was delusional. She was becoming mesmerised by this man’s gentleness, his smile, his...

  Trustworthiness?

  Don’t go there. There was no reason at all for her to trust, she told herself. He was asking nothing except to be allowed to buy potatoes and wine and make a truly excellent bonfire.

  Somehow she forced herself to pause, making herself examine the offer from all angles. She didn’t trust. She couldn’t.

  But she did want time out. A bonfire. And wine.

  And this man for a weekend?

  Oh, for heaven’s sake...

  But the thought wouldn’t go away and the grey had suddenly lifted from her world. It’d descend again soon enough, she thought, but for now...

  ‘Okay, let’s go chop holes in fences,’ she said, a trifle breathlessly, and his smile gentled. Changed...

  ‘Excellent. Very excellent decision, Charlie bach.’

  And then, before she could begin to guess what he intended, he took her face in his hands. He tugged her forward and he kissed her.

  It was a feather-kiss, no more, a mere brush of his mouth against hers. It had none of the passion of this morning. It was no promise, no hint at foreplay, no indication of anything to come. It was simply a kiss of tenderness, a contract sealed between two who might become friends. A mark of darkness past, with silver lining to come.

  He pulled away and he was smiling again.

  ‘Do you have anything in the house I could wear?’ he asked, almost apologetically. ‘I’m not exactly presentable. I could send you into town on your own but it doesn’t seem a very superhero sort of thing to do.’

  She could go on her own. It’d be sensible.

  But suddenly Charlie wasn’t being sensible. She was being the very opposite of sensible. That kiss...

  She had nothing left to lose, she thought, and the kiss had fired a warmth in her that she hadn’t felt for far too long.

  Ever?

  But enough of introspection. There seemed magic all around, and suddenly she was taking it. She had her very own superhero for the weekend and there was no way a woman would leave a superhero behind while she went grocery shopping.

  She thought of him carting her groceries out to the car and suddenly she was almost blushing. Oh, for heaven’s sake...

  ‘There might be stuff of Grandpa’s,’ she said slowly. ‘Grandma never threw things out.’

  ‘Excellent,’ he said and he took her hand. ‘Okay, Charlie. Find me something to wear and let’s have fun.’

  And who could resist? Not Charlie.

  The world was grey but for this weekend, the world was...hers?

  * * *

  What had he done?

  He’d promised to stay for the weekend.

  He’d kissed her again! Why?

  His defences were right down, smashed by shock, betrayal and the bleakness of the last weeks. Somehow he’d have to build them again.

  But he glanced at Charlie, at her face, at the beginning of a tremulous smile. He felt her hand in his.

  Defences would have to wait until Monday.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HE DIDN’T JUST buy potatoes. Once in the general store at Carlsbrook, Bryn suddenly became...someone who’d drive an Italian supercar?

  Not exactly, Charlie thought, as she followed the trolley propelled by this man on a mission. He was wearing his own pants because nothing of Grandpa’s had come close to fitting. They were liberally mud-spattered. One of Grandpa’s sweaters had stretched beyond recognition over the years, and was now large enough to encompass his broad shoulders. It was faded and there were moth holes in the sleeves. His shoes were so filthy she couldn’t see where mud ended and leather began.

  He looked like a down-at-heel farmer, who hadn’t bothered to change into his going-to-town best before leaving the farm.

  But despite his clothes he didn’t look like a down-at-heel farmer. Sure, he was wearing what looked like mucking-out-the-pigsty gear. Yes, he looked weathered, his eyes crinkled in the way of farmers the world over, men who spent too long in the sun and wind and rain. Yes, the hands holding the trolley were farmer’s hands, big, worn, capable...

  But the way he held himself... He was tall, tanned and ripped, and despite his clothes he’d had the girls at the checkout a-twitter from the moment he’d walked in.

  And as Charlie headed for the potatoes, he turned stubborn and headed for the delicatessen section.

  ‘First things first,’ he decreed. ‘Entrée. What sort of cheeses does this place stock?’

  Good ones. There were a couple of top-notch cheese producers in the valley and the supermarket stocked them for passing trade. Not for locals. No farmer around here could ever afford them.

  But it seemed Bryn could. ‘Excellent,’ Bryn decreed and bought six large wedges.

  ‘Six!’ Charlie’s eyebrows hit her hairline. ‘We can’t eat six.’

  ‘You’re talking to a man who’s spent the morning being a lumberjack. Watch me.’

  She watched in stupefaction as he proceeded to load the trolley with enough food to feed a small army—an army with very specific and expensive dietary requirements. And part of her was joyful.

  Ever since that first panicked call from her grandmother and the transfer of every cent she possessed, she’d been pretty much living on homemade soup and pasta. Now Bryn was loading up steak. Sausages. Lamb chops. Bacon. Butter. Nuts and crisps. A frozen apple pie. Cream. Beer. Wine. Even ch
ampagne. Oh, for heaven’s sake...

  ‘There must be caviar around here somewhere,’ she muttered as he tossed in vacuum packs of smoked salmon.

  ‘Really? Shall I ask?’ Bryn turned to the girls at the checkout counter. ‘Miss Foster’s looking for caviar. Are we in the right aisle?’

  She choked. The girls at the registers looked at her and looked at Bryn and decided the question was too hard to answer. Instead they giggled.

  ‘Just how long are you intending to stay?’ she asked faintly as a cabbage landed in the trolley on top of the champagne. A cabbage?

  ‘As long as it takes,’ he said enigmatically. ‘Baked potatoes... We need tinfoil and sour cream and bacon and coleslaw but I have a feeling one cabbage is not the total coleslaw ingredient list. Suggestions?’

  She stared at the pile in the trolley. ‘You’re planning to stay...how long?’

  ‘Our bonfire won’t be coals until tonight and I haven’t eaten since breakfast. The steak’s for our very late lunch.’

  ‘The salmon...’

  ‘Snacks,’ he said enigmatically. ‘Lumberjacks get hungry. No caviar? That’s a shame. Does your hardware section run to saws?’ he asked the girls. ‘Big ones?’

  ‘Bryn, you can’t...’

  ‘I can.’ He stopped then and turned to face her. They were in the middle of the vegetable aisle, surrounded by cabbages. A couple of middle-aged women were watching with unabashed curiosity, as were the girls on the register, but he didn’t appear to notice. His attention was all on her.

  ‘You’re too alone,’ he said, loudly enough for anyone—everyone—to hear. ‘There’s not a lot I can do to repair the damage Thomas has created but what I can repair I will. I don’t have the money to compensate every victim of every scam but on a personal level... I wish to leave you enough wood to keep you warm for as long as you have here. I wish to clear your driveway. I wish to help you find homes for all your grandma’s assorted dogs and cows and chooks. And most of all... Charlie, I want to make you smile. Thomas robbed you of your grandma and a whole lot more. I don’t have to be back in the UK for a few more days. Let me do this.’