They were silent for a while, taking it carefully. James offered his arm on bigger steps and rocks, easing her journey on her damaged ankle as they enjoyed the sounds and smells of the bush, the darting wrens and native flowers, the vistas of cliffs and eucalypts. It was peaceful, the air so fresh it almost hurt Stella’s lungs.
They stopped near a lookout and James placed the bag on a bench.
He’d brought some cool water, and Stella drank it greedily, grateful for his thoughtfulness.
“So I hope you’ll think about it.”
“Sorry?”
“Coming and working for Huntleys.”
“What?”
“Doing some design work.”
“Where did this come from?”
“We can teach you things. Jim’s a proper goldsmith. He can offer you an apprenticeship.”
Speechless, she studied the vast valley before them, the depth of air, the fine white line of the distant waterfall, and the play of rainbows in its spray.
Into the wilderness, he spoke again.
“You should be exhibiting at shows. You have serious talent, Stella. I can take you to gem shows, introduce you to suppliers. You could be representing Huntleys at international shows, go in some competitions. You met my grandfather, Jim, up on the second floor. He was blown away by your designs in the sketchbook.”
“You looked at my designs.”
“Nicole showed us the book this morning. We didn’t know it was yours till we started flipping through it and worked out how it must have got there. Where’d you learn to draw like that?”
He was looking at her, studying her reaction, worried. This was not going as he’d planned.
“You’ll want to think about it, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Biscuit?”
Absentmindedly she broke off part of a biscuit.
She remembered again the warmth of James’s lips around her fingers the previous evening, and brought her attention from the huge view to his eyes. They reflected her concern.
She was speechless, totally floored. She’d come east to control her own destiny. Not to work for another handsome man. She already had a plan. She was barely three months into it. Flame would have said “yes” on the spot, but Flame was a rudderless ship on the ocean of chance. And because of Flame, Stella couldn’t be more cautious. She’d shrunk from change all her life. Having worked like a slave for the past few months, she’d need a good reason to throw Stellar to the winds just as she was starting to build success. The offer had come out of nowhere. If her heart whispered “yes,” her head was saying “no.” The last time her heart had its way, it had been Exos and Damian. Look how that had turned out.
“How long do you think it’ll take us to get back?” she asked. “I didn’t achieve a thing this morning and I really have to create more stock.”
“A few hours. It’s about 45 minutes to mother’s from here. Once we’ve swapped the cars we can head north again.”
...
Cynthia Huntley’s place was a low-lying homestead with bull-nosed verandahs on three sides and perfect symmetry. It was architect designed, solid, with a feature stone fireplace and several sets of French doors, in the style of a small country manor, perfectly tasteful. Pruned hedges lined the front garden, and the climbing rose over the front gate was bursting with amber blooms.
“It’s charming,” Stella said.
“Mother would be pleased to hear you say that.”
“Would she?”
“Planned the garden herself. She loves it best in spring with the wisteria in bloom. That’s around the back along the lavender walk.”
“Did you say she’s in France?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t help sounding a bit bitter. “In Provence. Prefers it there, I guess. Excuse me.”
He reached across and extracted a set of keys from the glovebox.
“Why don’t you go in and take a look, maybe put the kettle on? I’ll swap the cars.”
As James disappeared down the long driveway, Stella made her way along the path, enjoying the fragrance of more roses, mostly white. On the porch there was actually a “bienvenue” welcome mat, and she smiled, locating the right key.
As she swung open one of the double front doors she was struck by the other worldly interior with its stone flagging and tasteful antique furniture. Linen. Marble. If it smelled a little musty, it looked fabulous. It was like wandering into a Côté Sud magazine, a showcase house, nothing like the crowded apartments and cheap, worn-out rental houses of her childhood.
She found the kitchen, light, bright and classy, with marble topped benches as smooth and creamy as a wedding cake and a magnificent set of antique copper saucepans of all sides marching along one wall. She didn’t have to be a great chef to appreciate the designing eye behind the effect.
The kettle was hidden under a white roller door with a plethora of other kitchen devices. As she filled it from the fancy tap and switched it on, she took in the view of a courtyard, complete with an ornate stone fountain.
A glorious green-tinged light flooded in through French doors all along the back wall. The courtyard was covered with wisteria vine, a few purple and white sprays still hanging.
Stella turned another key and swung open one of the French doors, wandering into the shady light and space, and breathing in deeply the fragrance of lavender and wisteria.
She headed down a meandering path towards what must be the garage. It was a substantial building, with a similar rooftline to the house and space for at least three cars.
“Kettle’s on,” she called out to James, who was busy replacing the roof of the Jag.
He nodded at her as he closed one set of garage doors and opened another, revealing a red Alfa Romeo.
“Your car?”
“Will’s. I drive a sensible car.”
“Oh?” She wandered closer. He was watching her running her hands through the lavender.
“Cut some flowers. Take them back with you if you like. Gardening gear’s over there.” James nodded at a third area, a wall of windows and a long workbench flooded with northern light.
Stella had a sudden vision - of how it might be to work there awash with natural light, sketching, beading, designing, creating prototypes. After months of camping in Jeannie’s tiny spare bedroom, the sheer amount of space around her was shocking; made her giddy with new possibilities.
James was still watching her, quietly.
What was it someone once said? Free speech with friends is a joy, but a loving silence, divine?
She glanced back at him, and they shared the tiniest of smiles, before she slowly turned to the task at hand.
Tidy shelves held secateurs and a basket, and she headed back into the garden, filling it with blooms before returning to the kitchen to plunge the stems in water as quickly as possible and investigate tea options.
By the time James came in, she’d managed to lay out cups, saucers, some UHT milk in a matching jug with the sugar bowl and steaming teapot, all on a round marble table in the corner of the kitchen. It was more like a conservatory with its abundance of french windows festooned with garden greenery. She’d put three of the white rosebuds in a cut crystal vase in the centre of the table.
“Having fun?” James asked.
“It’s like playing house.”
“Nice to be here when it’s not entirely empty.”
“How often do you visit?”
“About once a month. A local gardener comes in, too. I never have time to enjoy the place. It’s more like a duty. You can see I’ve failed to keep the fountain working.”
She peered out at it. On closer inspection, it was full of green sludge.
“How long will she stay - over there?”
“Who knows. But it can’t go on forever.”
“Why not?”
...
He looked across at her. Stella. He was tired of playing games, tired of keeping things to himself. Stella was a good listener.
She might as well hear the truth. Maybe she’d stop accusing him of being a playboy.
“She and Will and their jaunts; they’re bankrupting us.”
“What?”
“Exactly what I said. It’s only taken about five years for them to spend most of the family fortune. Mother sold the Bellevue Hill place and built this, and we bought an apartment each for Will and Nicole and me off the plan, and a car each. That got rid of about half of it. We own Huntleys, but it’s an old building. You’ve seen it. It needs maintenance. And there are all the staff. Lorna, Charlie, Ming. They’re like family. Can’t lay them off. We’d be alright if mother would settle back down. Will’s the big worry.”
“Want to tell me?”
“He never got over dad getting sick and dying. Of course we all miss him... But Will needed him most; always needed his attention and praise. He was the favourite. A rising sports star. Plus, Will was the baby of the family. Always a bit spoilt.”
James sighed. Stella waited.
“In theory he’s finding new markets and new suppliers for us in the US, but he’s been in Vegas for the past six months, and you know what that means.”
“What does that mean?”
“Gambling.”
“Really?”
“Must be. Where else does all the money go?”
“Can’t you stop him? Surely that’s not fair. You and Nicole work hard. Why should he just play?”
“Agreed.” He rested his teacup in his saucer and reached for Stella’s hands, holding them. His eyes caught hers. “It feels so good to tell someone the truth. Nic knows, and our accountant, but mother doesn’t want to discuss it. Won’t hear a word said against him. But can you keep it to yourself, please, Stella? Huntleys has had enough bad press over the years. Will’s misbehavior is legendary, but we don’t need it broadcast.”
...
She looked away, then back into his handsome face, creased by worry. She had a sudden impulse to cup his face with her hands, smooth away those lines with her thumbs. Simply kiss him. Wasn’t today meant to be a holiday? For her? Why not for both of them?
“It’s okay,” she said. “I can keep a secret.”
His relief rewarded her. The worry lines eased.
“Knew I could trust you,” he held her hands, ran his thumbs across them, then let them go. “Well, you wanted to be getting back, didn’t you? Mustn’t keep you waiting.”
James sprang to his feet, grabbed the cups and swished them quickly with detergent and hot water, then propped them upside down to drain dry on the creamy marble counter.
“See you out the front in five? Feel free to have a wander around the house while you’re here. You’ll find plastic bags under the sink, if you want to take some flowers back.”
Stella emptied the teapot in the garden, rinsed it and turned it upside down with the teacups and empty milk jug by the sink. She locked the back door then took a quick tour of the other parts of the house.
Some of the furniture was shrouded in dust covers and the blinds were drawn, giving the place a feeling of emptiness, but there was a beautiful living room with a wide marble fireplace, three chandeliers and gilt mirrors against one wall, Versailles style. Again, the sense of proportion was perfect. Calming. Classy without being imposing. Lovely.
There was a baby grand, closed, with a cluster of silver-framed black and white photographs on top. She peeked at pictures of three generations of Huntleys. The wave at James’s forehead was unmistakable even as a toddler. There was one of the three children together in their school uniforms, and another of them all at high school age.
She leaned in to study Will, a younger version of James, but a bit broader and stockier. In both pictures he was staring off to the side instead of smiling at the camera, a maverick even then, anxious to get away and do his own thing, she surmised. There was James again with a mountain bike, at 15 maybe. Wild hair and a grin to match.
She realized with a start that her five minutes must be well and truly up, and retreated down a long hallway of cream carpet to the front door, locking it behind her. She’d forgotten the roses. In she went again, pricking her hand on the thorns as she grabbed them and wrapped them hastily in a plastic bag she’d found under the sink.
By the time she was back at the front gate, door locked behind her, and breathing in the heady scent of the roses, there was still no sign of James.
He had told her to wait there, hadn’t he?
Another five minutes, and she was beginning to worry. Was there some problem?
Footsteps crunching down the drive eased her mind, and he came into view.
“Sorry, Stella. It’s Will’s car. Temperamental bloody Alfa. That’s why I need to give it a run every so often. Keep it running smoothly. This time I can’t even get it to start.”
A wind had come up from the south and clouds were building. In her denim skirt, she was starting to shiver.
“I’ve cleaned the spark plugs. That usually does the trick. But I might need to change the fuel filter; maybe drain the oil. Total bore. How urgently do you need to get back to Sydney?”
“Oh.”
Stella had thoroughly enjoyed the change of scene and James’s company. It was the weekend, wasn’t it? She was her own boss. If she couldn’t take advantage of her autonomy now, when would she ever have a weekend off? Sure, she had her debt to consider, but there had to be some benefits of taking all that risk.
“That’s okay,” she smiled. “Later’s fine.”
James smiled back. He looked relieved.
“Thank you. Might as well make yourself at home for a while. I’m really not sure how long this will take.”
She looked at her watch. Five o’clock already. “How about I fix us some dinner?”
“Sure. See what you can find. Freezer’s usually pretty well stocked. Here, I’ll show you. Thanks for thinking of dinner. We might as well enjoy our visit.”
As they walked back together to the front door, naturally in step, she allowed herself to fantasize it was their own house.
“If this were my house, I’d set a fire,” she said. “Looks like a cool change is coming. Can you smell rain?”
“I can. Beautiful smell in the country. Every farmer’s best dream. I’ll bring some wood in from the shed when I’ve got the oil draining. Maybe you could gather some kindling before the rain gets serious. Should be plenty out near the orchard.”
Orchard. Of course. Why not?
“Which way?”
“That way. And there’s the pantry. Deep freeze is at the back.”
Chapter 21
Stella followed James part of the way to the garage before branching off to the orchard. As more clouds gathered and the world became grey, little lizards scurried ahead of her. Some wallabies watched her from the other side of a paddock before bounding away.
As James had said, there was no shortage of twigs, and she quickly gathered an armful before returning to the house. She was almost there before the heavens opened, dumping huge, cold drops of rain. Leaning over the kindling to keep it dry, she ran the rest of the way, throwing open the door and standing, dripping, just inside. She was drenched, but she’d kept most of the kindling dry.
Shivering, she placed the sticks on the tiles and found a teatowel, French blue and white, depicting Notre Dame and other cathedrals. She mopped her hair, neck and arms to sop up the drips, and removed her sandals. Her feet were muddy now. It seemed like sacrilege to use the towel on the floor, but maybe she could take it home and wash it and give it back to James before his mother returned. For that matter, she might need a proper shower, and to borrow some clothes.
First, she took the twigs through to the living room and kneeled at the hearth, scrunching up some newspaper she’d found in a copper bin beside the fireplace. She snapped the twigs into suitable lengths and balanced them against each other, smallest first, the way Flame had taught her. Memories of childhood camping trips came back. It hadn’t all been bad.
She washed
and dried her hands on a creamy hand towel in the nearest bathroom, as stylish as the rest of the house. It was brand new, though the style was old, with a large clawfoot tub, and brass and marble accessories. Here, the window looked into a kind of lightwell full of ferns. Another beautiful room. How on earth could James’s mother stay away?
It didn’t take Stella long to find a stash of frozen beef bourguignon in takeaway food containers in the bottom of the freezer, and a packet of pasta in the walk-in pantry. She put on water to boil, threw the casserole in the microwave and went hunting for cutlery and glasses.
Sure enough, there was a dining room with a whole sideboard laden with antique silver and crystal, but this room was too formal and cold.
Stella opted instead for a marble side table in the living room. She removed an ornate porcelain figurine of a woman in a long dress, placing it carefully beside the photographs on the piano.
She moved the little table closer to the fireplace and set it with a silver candlestick, the little rose vase, cutlery and crystal glasses. She and James should be comfortable enough sitting on the hearth rug, their backs against the closest couch.
With most of the furniture still draped, this made for an intimate setting, a picnic by the fire. Two picnics in a row with James. She had to pinch herself. Was this real?
By the time James entered, wet from the rain and smelling like engine oil, the fire was burning cosily in the grate. He added some thicker pieces of wood and placed the rest on the hearth for later.
The aroma of the casserole made Stella’s mouth water as she found some frozen french bread and defrosted it in the oven. It too smelled delicious.
James looked down at his wet clothes.
“Smells so good! Thank you, Stella.”
“Been fun. Like I said, it’s like playing house. All care. No responsibility.”
“Well. While I’m such a mess, I’ll duck back to the cellar and find some wine to go with this meal you’ve whipped up for us. Do you like red?”
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