by Kelly Hunter
‘For good reason, don’t you think? Yes, he struggles to be as open as he could be. But he does it from a place of self-sufficiency and resilience. No burdening other people with his misery—wonder if he gets that from his early childhood years too? And, okay, so he has to be asked to share what’s going on with him. He doesn’t do it automatically. Good thing I like to press and wedge myself in there with my silly questions and half-baked opinions, isn’t it? Good thing my knowledge of how to love and nurture a person is better than his, although for what it’s worth I think he’s going to be brilliant at it once he really gets going.’
‘You’re putting up a solid defence of him.’ Her mother tried a tentative smile. ‘It’s impressive.’
‘He has the purest heart of anyone I know. There’s no malice in it. It’s just guarded. He’s a gift. A gift for me.’
‘I hope so.’
Do you trust me with your happiness? he’d asked before leaving for London.
Belief was a gift too, and Tilly Moore believed in Henry Church. ‘I know so.’
*
The private investigator Henry hired was a good one. Within two days Henry had enough information to call Amanda’s solicitors and have them set up a meeting with the other party. He was currently sitting in a ludicrously expensive solicitor’s mediation room opposite a big bald, blue-eyed man called David Gayle, who readily admitted that he’d been in a relationship with Amanda that she had ended for no clear reason. He’d figured she was pregnant there towards the end of their time together. She’d said she had something to tell him. He’d been relieved when it turned out that all she wanted to say was that she didn’t think they belonged together.
The man’s gaze skipped to Rowan, who slept quietly in the pram in the corner—oblivious to the tensions playing out around her.
‘Look,’ the big man said. ‘I’m sorry Amanda’s dead. She was a fine woman and she’s gone way too soon, but even if the date of conception of that baby does match up with when I was in Amanda’s bed, you can’t prove she’s mine without a DNA test and I’m not taking one. I came here today out of courtesy, that’s all, because your solicitor assured me it was just paperwork. This ain’t my circus. I’ve no claim on the kid.’
There were a lot of things Henry could say to that. I know it’s a lot to take in, so why don’t you think on it for a while being one of them.
You might change your mind one of these days.
You don’t know what you’re missing.
She looks like you he could have said.
Instead, he nodded his assent and murmured, ‘All right, then.’ At which point the ludicrously expensive solicitor proved his worth a hundred times over as he slid a set of papers across the table for signing. Papers that allowed the man to renounce all claim and relinquish all rights, real and imagined, now and into the future, to one Rowan Aurelia Church.
The man was out the door not three minutes later.
The solicitor stood and gathered the papers. ‘That went well.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll charge my time to the baby’s trust.’
‘You will not. Amanda’s legacy will be preserved and those frivolous charges can come to me. Are we clear?’
‘Perfectly, Mr Church.’
The man was a QC. Reputable. Discreet. Had it not yet occurred to him that Henry probably wasn’t Rowan’s biological father? And that her birth certificate and passport had been obtained without Henry’s knowledge? Probably not the best time to bring it up. ‘I’ll see to my account on the way out.’
The older man regarded him curiously and then glanced down at Rowan sleeping peacefully in her baby carrier. Henry wondered if he was about to comment on her resemblance to the man who’d just walked out the door. ‘You have a beautiful daughter.’
Guess not.
‘Yes.’ He let his first real smile in days break through. ‘I do.’
*
In the end, he decided to get a paternity test done. Why grapple with uncertainty when he could know for sure and be honest about his place in Rowan’s life from the start? Even if he wasn’t Rowan’s biological father, he’d be able to say with full confidence that it had been his choice to take her on regardless, and honour Amanda’s wishes. Amanda, who’d been a lot like him. A little bit lost, disconnected from family. And, unlike him, dying.
He met with Rupert Bello and together they retrieved Roo’s meagre belongings from Amanda’s house. Roo was a talker—he wouldn’t shut up—but Henry saw shades of his own thirst for knowledge in the young man. Too smart to fit in comfortably. Too curious to keep his questions to himself.
‘How are you finding Oxford?’ he asked, and the boy told him he liked it well enough and talked about his family who were so proud of him—never mind that they didn’t understand half of what he said—and how he missed them, his mother especially, his staunchest supporter and his fiercest critic, and somehow Henry ended up telling him about Rowan, and Tilly and Amanda, and Roo stayed on to help him pack a box full of Amanda’s belongings to take back to Australia. Most embarrassing afternoon of Henry’s life, and possibly the most revealing.
Was giving of himself, his thoughts and his feelings, all it took to make people want to help him?
He ended up offering Roo the use of his apartment when in London and his name as a reference, and he knew the kid would use both, there was such a hunger in him for learning.
But when had Henry become so goddamn soft and transparent?
Was it a fatherhood symptom?
Or a love thing?
A love thing, with a Tilly influence.
Love and be loved. He finally was open to it. Because Tilly believed in him.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Henry and Rowan are flying in tomorrow, so I’m off to Melbourne tonight so I can be there in the morning to pick them up,’ Tilly told her mother. She was boxing up a double order of fairy cakes. Her mother was passing by because this was her mother’s kitchen, after all, and the sooner Tilly moved her growing business to different premises the better. ‘You know how much I appreciate being able to use this kitchen to bake in, right?’
‘Is this another confession that you’ve done something surprising?’ her mother asked dryly? ‘Because it feels mighty similar to your I got engaged to Henry Church speech the other night, and if it is I want fair warning and a cup of tea in front of me, and a stool to sit on.’
‘No, this is an I’d like your advice moment,’ Tilly was quick to reassure her.
‘And I’d be flattered, except you have a habit of not taking that advice.’
‘It was one time! And besides, I had to override you on your reservations about my affianced because you’re wrong.’
‘We’ll see.’ Her mother smirked and put the kettle on and took a seat. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘Well,’ she reached under the counter for another flat cardboard box and proceeded to fold it into shape. ‘My business is growing beyond all expectations, and I’m sure you’d like your kitchen back one day, and I’m wondering about either asking around in town to see if anyone has a commercial kitchen they’d like to rent to me for a couple of hours each morning or, better still, setting up a commercial kitchen of my own. And before you ask where, I don’t know. Somewhere in town, maybe. Even a shed somewhere if it can be brought up to spec. It’s still just the bud of a thought.’
‘Not a bad thought.’
‘Helps that you’d get your kitchen back.’
Her mother’s smiley grey gaze met her own. ‘True. But I agree that if you continue to grow your business you need to look into such options. You could get an apprentice to help you on occasion. Because, darling, you can’t keep taking the amount of orders you’re taking. There are only so many hours in a day.’
‘Exactly. I wouldn’t be able to call them an apprentice, though. Not as if I’m a chef.’
‘Then call them a helper. There are plenty of very competent people around here who would jump at the cha
nce of part-time kitchen work.’
Her mother had that right.
‘So … setting those nuggets aside for future investigation, it’s Melbourne tonight for me and I’ll be staying in the furnished apartment next to Joe’s. I could be back tomorrow afternoon, it might be the following one. I don’t know yet. Depends how Henry and Rowan are travelling. Thirty hours of airports and planes.’ Tilly shuddered in remembrance. ‘Ugh.’
‘The man’s a champion.’ Her mother said these words without sarcasm.
‘You’re mellowing towards him?’
‘No need to gloat,’ her mother said airily. ‘I said the same of you when you did the trip. I mean every word, and when Henry returns, I’ll make more of an effort to get to know him. You’re not the only one who’s been doing some forward thinking. I have it all planned out.’
Matilda beamed. ‘I love you. Everything I know about love, I learned from you.’
‘Darling, I love you too. But those buns in the oven are burning.’
*
Tilly spent the rest of the afternoon at Red Hill Station, picking beans while they were still young and tender, and harvesting zucchini before they grew to the size of a watermelon. She par-boiled the beans and then froze them, knowing Joe and Beth wouldn’t mind her using their kitchen to preserve their harvest. She pickled the zucchini, dastardly vegetable that tasted of nothing and took over the garden. A quick check of the house pumps, pipes and tanks showed no leaks and ample water. A squiz in the fuse box showed everything still in order. Grass needed mowing but she decided that wasn’t her problem. Bedsheets could do with washing, but she didn’t want to go presuming.
There was a stack of papers on the floor of the little farm office alcove that butted up adjacent to the kitchen. Spewed out by the printer, it looked like, and she stopped to pick them up on the way out the door.
She should have left them there, she thought minutes later. She should never have decided to put the pages in order.
Because the first page said ‘Confidential,’ but it was the last page she picked up, and by then she’d caught the gist of the report she held in her hand.
It was a paternity test.
And the results strongly suggested that Henry hadn’t fathered Rowan.
She’d always wondered, given the difference in their colouring. She’d always wanted to ask about Rowan’s mother’s heritage, beyond being Irish. But Henry had never said a word when it came to Rowan not being his and, once the initial shock of finding out he had a daughter had worn off, he’d taken to fatherhood with unerringly good instincts.
He’d stepped up, not back, when it came to taking responsibility for the motherless baby girl. Watch a man with a child and he’d show you his soul.
He was making plans, plans for them all.
But if he wasn’t the father, who was? And would they want Rowan too? And would that mean challenges and legal cases and courtrooms, and it might help if Henry was married, but who was to say the real father wasn’t?
And her mother was going to say that Henry had known all along that he might not be Rowan’s father, and that his case would be strengthened if he married, and soon.
For convenience, not for love, but it wasn’t true.
She couldn’t bear it to be true.
She put the papers on the table and drove. Not towards home, but up towards Red Hill and sat next to a pile of rocks and watched the sunset, with her arms wrapped around her legs, and tried in vain to understand the mindset of a woman who had no family to fall back on, and no one to call.
‘Why’d you do it?’ she asked finally, but there was no answer and there never would be.
‘Why’d you lie like that and say he was, when he wasn’t?’ Tears blurred her vision. ‘Did you know he’d never be able to turn away your orphaned child, the way he turned from you?’ And that was a petty and hurtful thought and Tilly felt ashamed of herself for ever having uttered it aloud, even in the middle of nowhere. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. I just … you know what he’s like. You never know what he’s thinking unless you drag it out of him. All he had to do was say, ‘I’m not sure she’s mine’ and we could have talked about it. I could have been part of whatever’s going on, but I’m not and it’s touching on every insecurity I’ve ever known.’
Silly, naive, cosseted Tilly. Put her in the kitchen and let her feed you baked goods, but beyond that, out there in the wider world, what use was she? Couldn’t navigate London. Had never known paralysing fear or hunger or conflict. Couldn’t rise to the occasion and put faith into practice when Henry said trust me, just trust me.
Trust him to return home and explain what he’d been doing.
She unclasped her hands and dug them into the dirt that had always been her centre. ‘You believed in him.’ She closed her eyes and reached for her truth. ‘Whatever he’s doing, I believe in him too.’
Throw her a curveball and watch her adapt to it. Maybe that was her strength. A strength borne of loving and being loved, of thinking the best of people and not the worst, of standing firm for what she believed in.
Grow up, Tilly Moore. Know your worth. Henry had chosen her for what she would bring to him and she brought steadfast love, and the pleasures of home, the comfort of family and much, much more.
She opened her eyes. The wind whistled in the trees and set silver-green leaves to rustling.
‘Thanks, Amanda. Good talk.’
*
It probably wouldn’t do for Henry to kiss the ground the minute he stepped from the plane. He’d probably drop the baby, for one thing. The fractious, grumbling baby who could keep up her fractious grumbling for twenty-four hours straight. He knew this because his darling child had just proved it.
He’d been aiming for fatherhood to look good on him, given Tilly was waiting for them on the other side of customs and immigration.
He’d settle for not smelling like baby drool.
Immigration took forever, and customs even longer, but eventually he walked through the arrivals gate and into the waiting room. He was relatively clean and tidy after a change of shirt for him and a complete change of outfit for Rowan. Tilly stood waiting for them, and the look on her face was hard to decipher. Relief and plenty of it. Sheer joy when she looked at Rowan. Something altogether more complex when she looked at him, and suddenly he felt all awkward and wrong footed.
And then she flung her arms around them both and burst into tears, and it wasn’t quite the welcome he’d expected.
‘You foolish, silly man. What am I going to do with you?’ she told his shoulder and then proceeded to kiss him stupid.
She took Rowan out of his arms next and hugged her close and, and then she kissed him again, and he sensed this could go on and on. ‘What did I miss?’ Because, seriously. He’d been gone for less than a week. ‘Want to get out of here?’ he asked next.
The Mercedes was a welcome sight. The furnished apartment, same as last time, seemed like an oasis. The shower beckoned, but he wanted to get to the bottom of Matilda’s tears first.
Rowan had fallen asleep in the car and stayed asleep during transfer to the portable cot in the apartment and why, why could she not have slept on the plane?
‘Do we need to talk?’ he asked Tilly as she poured herself a glass of water and threw him a guarded smile. ‘Let me rephrase. I do have news and things to say, but you go first, if you like.’
‘Sure you don’t want a shower first? I’ll wait.’
He didn’t want her to wait on him. Unfortunately, he could think of at least two instances where he’d made her do exactly that.
He dug in his pocket for the little ring box and set it on the counter between them. ‘Have you changed your mind?’
‘No.’
‘ ’Cause I’m not sure I know anyone who wants to marry a silly, foolish man that they don’t know what to do with.’
‘It’s a good thing I have quite the imagination,’ she said.
‘I’ve always thought so.’
She laughed, just a little, and his heart lightened accordingly.
‘Open it.’
She did, and gasped. And it fit.
‘Do you like it? Because there is a return on it if you don’t, and the store’s right here in Melbourne. We could—’
‘I love it.’
‘Not too—’
‘Definitely not! It’s perfect.’
‘I was going to say small.’
‘Henry, if you think this perfect, glittering, several-carat diamond is small, we need to get you some glasses.’
Seemed he’d chosen well.
‘Shower,’ she said next, and pointed the way with her ring hand and immediately got distracted. ‘Oh, wow. Look at that sparkle. I am a sparkly gem woman.’ And then she accosted him on his way to the bathroom to hug him tight and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. ‘You mad romantic, I love it.’
Could be a good time to tell her about those other things he’d seen to lately because he figured she might like them. ‘Remember that library chair of mine you liked? The one near the window?’
‘The one I used to fantasise about you sitting in? With your tie all loose and your sleeves rolled up as you undid a couple of buttons on your crispy white shirt? I remember it well.’
‘It’s on its way here.’
Her smile grew positively wicked. ‘ ’Cause there was more to that particular fantasy of you in that big ol’ library chair. At one stage you even lost your trousers.’
‘I wasn’t embarrassed by that?’ It was her fantasy; he was just going along for the ride.
‘No, you were an absolute porn star,’ she murmured with all due emphasis. ‘Henry, you blush!’
‘Only for you. Also, is that a challenge? Because, challenge accepted. Care to join me in the shower?’
‘No. Go. Enough of your fancy gifts and spoiling.’
‘One more and then I’ll stop. And I haven’t actually bought it yet, but I’m hopeful. There’s a house on the market on the outskirts of Wirralong that I thought you might be interested in.’
She looked intrigued. ‘Which one?’
