Where There Is Smoke

by Elisabeth Rose

  ‘Don’t,’ she said, slid in to the driver’s seat and closed the door. She gave a little wave, jammed her dark glasses on, started the engine and turned the blue car for the gate.

  ‘I think I love you,’ Oliver said helplessly, and watched until the car disappeared from view.

  ***

  Krista drove with damp cheeks. She stopped when, out of sight of Oliver’s place, she reached the turn into the main street, opposite the house with tyre swans in the yard, and pulled out a tissue to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. How could she have fallen so hard and so fast for that man? And wasn’t it just typical that when the perfect man turned up, he was one of the very few who was resistant to her looks. He was more interested in personality and what a woman was like, her brain and what she could do. She wasn’t anywhere near up to his standard in that department. She didn’t know where to start when it came to using her brain to attract a man. Or using her brain for anything important. She was a brainless bimbo. Her mother was right.

  She continued on slowly through the town, noting the Arts Centre and remembering she hadn’t followed up Abbie’s offer to help. There was another example of her superficial approach to life and commitment. But she had meant to help Abbie and when she came back she would.

  At the far end of the main street, she passed the General Store. Oliver mentioned the owners but she’d forgotten their names. An elderly couple married for ages, he’d said. On impulse, she parked and went in on the pretext of buying a bottled of cold water to drink on the way. A black dog lay half across the doorway and thumped his tail twice when she edged around his bulky body.

  A grey-haired old man smiled at her from behind the counter. ‘Hello there, Krista, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ How one earth did he know that?

  ‘Laurie’s the name. Dot and I’ve owned this place for fifty years.’

  ‘Gosh.’ She shook the proffered hand.

  ‘Saw you walking that big horse to Oliver’s last week. Glad you made it safely.’

  ‘You stopped and asked if I needed help!’

  ‘Guilty as charged,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks for stopping.’ She could say that now and mean it. She understood.

  ‘No worries. You were lucky The Grange didn’t get hit by those fires.’

  ‘Yes, I know. It was scary though. Les and Sally are on that road too and they should be all right. Les helped me at the showground with the horses.’

  ‘Right as rain,’ he said. ‘Sal was in this morning picking up a few things on their way home. She told me you and Oliver had been attacked by a gang of thugs.’

  ‘Two thugs, but yes.’

  ‘Looters. Those bastards. Reckon they thought The Grange would be easy pickings and worth the risk.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Fancy hitting a woman,’ he went on. ‘What sort of man does that?’

  ‘I hit one of them with a bucket, twice,’ she said. ‘To stop them beating up Oliver.’

  ‘Good for you, love. Those types should be thrown in jail and never let out. We don’t like that sort of thing around here.’

  ‘The police have put out an alert for them but we haven’t heard anything yet.’

  ‘They’ll be from Wagga, probably. Not local.’

  So he didn’t know everything but she doubted she’d be able to tell Laurie anything new. Except … ‘The stable manager and his wife are home now so I’m on my way back to Melbourne. I’ve stopped in to get some water.’

  He nodded and pointed to the drinks fridge.

  ‘Word is your stepfather is selling up,’ he said. ‘So we may not see you around here again.’

  ‘I’ll be back in a few days,’ she said. ‘I need to collect a few more things from home and tie up some loose ends.’

  That was definitely news to Laurie. She almost saw his ears prick up.

  ‘Oliver got anything to do with this?’ he asked with a cheeky smile, which made her laugh. ‘He’s a handsome young feller.’

  ‘How much do I owe you?’

  She gave him the coins. ‘Nice to meet you, Laurie.’

  ‘Likewise, love. Call in when you get back.’

  ‘Will do. What’s your dog’s name?’

  ‘Banjo.’

  Krista drove on with a lighter heart. The Taylor’s Bend residents assumed she and Oliver were shaping up to be a couple even if they themselves were in a weird sort of limbo. If Doc, Laurie and Margie were random samples of popular opinion, it seemed she’d gained their approval. Laurie hadn’t commented once or even looked twice at her bruise. His reaction was sympathy and disgust at who would so such a thing. Somehow she’d worked her way into local life without even trying. Somehow these people accepted her.

  Oliver obviously hadn’t told a soul about the Calypso exchange. Had he put out the looters theory or had that arisen like water to fill a hole in local knowledge? Gossips were the same the world over. If facts were scarce, make them up.

  Two hours later, she stopped for petrol and a break. She’d taken a rest at the same place on the way to Taylor’s Bend, dreading the stultifying weekend ahead of her, but the events that transpired were extraordinary—from being threatened by gangsters to escaping a bushfire to falling in love with a most unlikely man. Unbelievable, really. She would have sworn on her life that she’d never want to live in Taylor’s Bend or anywhere like it. Now she was seriously considering the move. She wasn’t taking any drastic action like selling her Melbourne apartment, or even renting it out, but she would stay for a few months and see what happened. Not least of the reasons why was, as crafty old Laurie had thought, Oliver.

  Oliver. She might be in love with him but how did he feel about her?

  Now that she was away from him and the drama of the preceding days had faded, it was easier to think clearly. Staying in his house probably wasn’t a very good idea. Not for more than a few days. She’d look for somewhere to rent as soon as she got back, or, more sensibly, she could stay at The Grange. Learning about the horses would be useful, and until Rod’s leg was out of the cast Amy would bear the brunt of the workload. She really should be there to help.

  What she mustn’t do was trail uselessly around after Oliver. She needed to be independent, just as he’d said. ‘Make your own decisions.’ He didn’t need looking after, not really, not in a practical day-to-day sense. That was her own desire talking. Margie would be there and she was far more efficient and experienced at what was necessary than Krista would ever be.

  If he was the man she thought he was, she had to be cautious and she had to prove to him she was worthy of loving and not a liability. That would take time and she had plenty of that. By the time she arrived outside her apartment block, she was fairly sure she’d made the first grown-up decision of her adult life. In other words, she’d resisted the urge to leap in headfirst and made a rational, considered plan of action all by herself and for herself.

  She’d rung Mel, the cleaner, on her way in and arranged to meet her at five with the keys. Luckily she was cleaning other apartments in the same complex so there was no problem. Until she had the keys, she couldn’t park in the underground area so she circled the block until Mel appeared, then parked illegally during a quick exchange of greetings and thanks.

  ‘I’m moving to the country for a while,’ she said, although she knew Mel wasn’t the slightest bit interested in her doings. ‘So I’ll be in touch when I need you again.’

  Krista hadn’t bothered bringing anything with her except her toiletries. She had more than enough clothes and shoes to choose from at home. The problem would be deciding how many bags to pack and what to take. She rode up in the lift from the underground-parking garage, turning her choices over in her mind. Jeans, shorts, solid shoes and maybe workboots of some sort. Elastic siders, perhaps? She’d need to go shopping for those. T-shirts, blouses and shirts. Leave the work clothes and upmarket party dresses and high heels behind. Think practical, outdoors, serviceable. Take her tennis racquet and gear f
or when Oliver recovered. Maybe take a couple of dressy outfits just in case. The pink floral? Teal sheath? A couple of light cotton summer dresses. Jacket and anorak for when the weather changed.

  Humming to herself happily, she opened her apartment door, eager to get started right away on the packing. She’d call Oliver to let him know she’d arrived but not right away. Maybe a text would be better. More low key. A simple, ‘I’m home’ would do. Be cool.

  She dumped her bag on the nearest chair and looked around the familiar space. As sparse and clinical as always. It didn’t have the lived-in feel of Oliver’s sprawling old house or the cosy family feel of Rod and Amy’s cottage. Even The Grange had an air of being lived in.

  First she needed a cold drink. Melbourne was as hot as Taylor’s Bend but with the grime of the city replacing the dust and smoke. In the kitchen, Angus had left dirty dishes on the draining board. What a slob! The least he could do was clean up his mess, having invited himself into her home without permission. Where was he hiding? Did he think his debt would go away magically?

  She took her glass of chilled juice to her bedroom. Angus wouldn’t have dared sleep in her bed, surely. No, he hadn’t. A quick look into the second bedroom with its rumpled bed confirmed it. Just as well.

  Half an hour later, in the midst of trying to decide which shoes to take and which to leave, the buzzer sounded for the street door access.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Delivery for Ms Laatonen.’

  ‘What sort of delivery?’

  ‘A package.’

  ‘Is there a sender’s name?’ She frowned. Had she ordered anything online recently? Not that she remembered.

  ‘Littlejohn.’

  ‘Okay. Twelfth floor.’ She pressed the door opener. Which Littlejohn? Possibly Mama. Maybe Hugh. Not Angus. She suppressed a tingle of alarm. This was a delivery, she received them all the time, but she waited for the knock and looked through the peephole rather than open her door. A man in a black polo shirt and cap stood there, blank faced, holding a largish box. He was alone and he looked vaguely familiar. A courier.

  ‘Krista Laatonen?’ He pronounced it like Late-nen. ‘Sign here, please.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She scrawled her signature quickly and retreated inside. The box was light but bulky. The sender was V Littlejohn. Mama. Still using her married name, which was a good sign. What on earth was Mama sending?

  Lola’s lead, food bowl and blanket. Good grief. A note on top said Lola will need these or she’ll pine. I’ll be in touch when things are better. Love Mama.

  Far from pining, Lola was having the time of her doggy life and who better to care for her than a vet? By the sound of that last sentence, Lola would be visiting for quite a while. Typical of Mama to assume Krista wouldn’t mind.

  After dinner, Krista sent Oliver the text she’d prepared in her head. Short and to the point. I’m home. Not sure when I’ll be back but will probably stay at The Grange.

  His reply came in five minutes later, shorter and even more to the point. Okay.

  Krista spent the next day sorting through her clothes. She had barely anything suitable for a working country life. A shopping expedition was definitely necessary for plain jeans and boots. There wasn’t a lot of food in her kitchen but she’d take the fruit, cereal, eggs and vegetables. And a few jars of her favourite olives and water crackers.

  She texted a couple of friends saying she was back in town for a few days and that a get-together would be nice to say goodbye. Not that there were many people she’d miss. No-one close. She’d never been the ‘best girlfriends’ type of girl. Moved around too much to form close relationships and never wanted to—apart from Trudy. She was a loner.

  Clea and George responded, suggesting dinner at a restaurant in the city and that they’d put the word around. Saturday at 8.

  See you then. Xxx, she responded.

  So if she spent Friday and Saturday completing her packing and shopping, she could leave on Sunday. She wouldn’t tell Oliver or anyone else, she’d just turn up and surprise them. Rod and Amy would be pleased to see her. Oliver … probably would.

  Surprisingly, Hugh phoned her on Friday when she was shopping but he didn’t seem to have much to say beyond asking how she was.

  ‘I’m fine. How are you?’ she countered.

  ‘I miss your mother.’

  ‘Does it serve you right, do you think?’

  ‘Probably.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I want her back.’

  ‘She was very angry and hurt, Hugh. I’ve never seen her so upset.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll forgive me?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I really don’t know.’

  ‘What are your plans, Krista?’ he said with an effort at stepfatherly interest.

  ‘Dinner with friends tomorrow night.’

  ‘Enjoy yourself. You know I’m very fond of you. Take care.’

  ‘Thanks Hugh. You too,’ she replied, touched by the unexpected call.

  On Friday afternoon, she lugged one of her large suitcases down to the car and heaved it into the boot. She eyed the remaining space. If she put half the back seat flat, she’d get the other slightly smaller one in next to the first, and her other bags could go in the gaps and on the back seat and passenger side floor and seat. She shut the boot and headed upstairs to bring down the second one. A bit of juggling later and both were stowed in the BMW.

  Maybe she should have hired a van. Her car wasn’t used to being a carthorse. ‘Welcome to your new life,’ she murmured and turned away for the lift.

  Chapter 15

  On Saturday, Oliver decided he could return to work on Monday despite ribs that ached and a badly discoloured forearm. His hand had enough strength to hold a cat or dog and anything he couldn’t manage he’d redirect to Willoughby. He could give an injection and dress a wound and he could drive—just. And he was bored. He’d finished the thriller he’d bought and he’d read the paper each day and done the puzzles. He’d pottered about in the house and caught up on a few domestic chores and he’d waited for Krista to come back.

  She hadn’t texted since her initial message. Staying at The Grange was probably a better idea than staying here, disappointing though that was. Distance and space had allowed some perspective into what had been a fraught and emotionally heightened situation. Was he losing interest in her? No way. He missed her like a piece of himself.

  The kiss she’d so surprisingly bestowed on him had sealed his love, and the memory sustained him during the ensuing empty days. Several times he’d picked up his phone to ask her if she’d decided when she’d return, and every time he put it down unused.

  On the pretext of checking how things were, he called Rod on Sunday evening.

  ‘I’m hobbling around doing what I can. It’s good to be back though. Amy’s been fantastic and we’re managing okay. How are you?’ No mention of Krista.

  ‘Much better. I’ll start work again on Monday.’

  ‘Good. Fred’s recovered. You were right about it being a cold and none of the other horses got it.’

  ‘Excellent. Listen have you heard from Krista? Any idea when she’s coming back?’

  ‘Not a thing. I reckon you’d be the one she’d call, mate.’

  ‘I don’t know about that … she said she’d probably stay at The Grange. And I’ve got Lola and some of her things here. Not that that’s a problem. Lola’s been good company while I had nothing to do.’

  ‘Have you called her and asked?’

  ‘No. I thought I’d leave it to her. She’ll come when she’s ready.’

  ‘Okay. But I reckon she’ll be back. Don’t worry.’ Rod laughed. ‘Gotta go, dinner’s ready. See you, mate.’

  Oliver hung up then called Krista. Voicemail. He hesitated but didn’t speak. She’d see the number and know it was him.

  ‘What do you reckon, Lola? Is she coming home to us?’

  Lola wagged her tail and he scratched her ears.

  While he was eating dinner, his phone pinged. A t
ext. He snatched it up. Krista.

  Decided to go away for a few weeks.

  What the hell? He called the number again. Voicemail.

  He texted, frowning.

  Call me.

  He finished eating, cleared away the dishes, watched some TV, but she didn’t respond and she didn’t call.

  Monday dragged. Morning surgery was quiet and he only had two calls in the afternoon, neither of which involved anything too demanding. Margie insisted on closing early, saying he shouldn’t overdo it and he looked tired. He was. He was also distracted—worry was making inroads. Where was she and why the silence?

  He considered phoning Rupe but dismissed that as a waste of his time. What could he do? He’d say she was an adult and could do what she liked, that Oliver barely knew her and since she’d gone back to the city she might have decided Taylor’s Bend was what she’d originally thought it was. Boring. That text could be her way of saying she’d changed her mind. Rupe would tell him to forget her. He would have believed the woman he’d first encountered could act so dismissively, ignoring the fact he was minding her dog, but he did know her now, much better and she wouldn’t do that. He went to bed but he couldn’t forget her and he couldn’t still that nagging little voice in his head telling him something was wrong.

  His ringing phone woke him from a sleep disturbed by dreams and periods of wakefulness. He snatched it up, his fuzzy mind flying immediately to Krista rather than the more likely worried animal owner.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Is that Oliver Johnson, the vet?’

  ‘Yes.’ He sighed and swung his legs out of the bed, ready to get up and going. Morning light streamed in. He was late.

  ‘It’s Angus Littlejohn. Is Krista with you? Her phone is off.’

  Oliver sat up, ignoring the protest from his bruised stomach muscles. ‘No, she’s in Melbourne, at her apartment.’

  ‘She’s not.’

  ‘Where are you? Are you overseas?’

  ‘I’m at her apartment. I just got in. Rod said you might know where she is.’

  Wide awake now, anger surged. ‘I don’t. You’ve got a hide, you know that? Have you any idea of the trouble you’ve caused. We both got threatened and beaten up because of you, you bastard.’