by Cathryn Hein
Jas sighed and stood. ‘It’s cold and getting late. I should take you home.’
‘I’m quite fine here, thank you. Your heaters are proving more than adequate.’ Granny B studied her from over the rim of her wineglass. ‘Sit back down.’
She rubbed her forehead in exasperation. ‘Granny B, please.’
‘No. I haven’t finished.’
‘I don’t want to talk about him.’
‘Well, I do. So sit.’
Jas thought about arguing further and decided she didn’t have the energy. Besides, the quicker Granny B finished issuing her directive for Jas to stay away from Digby the quicker Jas could deliver her back to Camrick and end the ordeal.
‘He’s doing well,’ said Granny B, once more carrying on the conversation as though the interruption had never happened. ‘Purchasing Tyndale was the best move for him. He’ll make a fine success of it, too. His uncle James was an appalling wine snob but there was never any questioning his expertise, some of which he passed on to Digby.’
‘I’m glad for him.’
Granny B regarded the dregs of her glass before pushing it away, folding her hands across her stomach and settling her sharp gaze on Jas. ‘He needs a friend, Jasmine. Someone who understands him. For a while you were it and the relationship made him better, even happy at times. That probably had more to do with sex than anything else, but whatever you two shared, it changed him. I’d very much like to see him like that again.’
Anguish flooded Jas. ‘He’s unhappy?’
‘I wouldn’t describe it as unhappy, more lonely.’ She pointed a polished nail at Jas. ‘You could change that.’
That Digby might be lonely was heartbreaking, but asking Jas to remedy the situation was too much. She leaped up. ‘I need to take these clothes inside before they get damp.’
‘Stay where you are, young lady.’
Jas ignored her, snatching up the basket, her head crowded with worry for Digby. Worry she had to let go of, if only for her own wellbeing.
For an elderly person, Granny B could move fast when needed. Furry cape billowing, she blocked Jasmine’s path and folded a gloved hand around her arm. ‘He needs you.’
Jas jerked free and tried to push past but Granny B stepped in her way. Exasperated, she let the basket fall and jammed her hands to her hips. ‘Why would you want me near him? I had an affair with a married man, remember? Hardly a suitable match for your grandson.’
Unperturbed, Granny B tilted her head. ‘How long have I known you?’
Thrown by the question, Jas answered. ‘Since I was six.’
‘Exactly.’
She blinked.
‘Jasmine, I have watched you grow from childhood into the adult you are today. Your affair with Michael was ill-advised, yes, but I do not believe it reflects the person you truly are. Your loyalty to my grandchildren has been proven many times over, from your years of friendship with Emily through to your compassion for Digby when he needed someone to turn to.’ Granny B let that thought settle. ‘I want Digby happy, and it’s clear to me now that he can be so with you.’
‘I can’t.’
The wise old lady scanned her face. ‘Because you fell in love with him.’
Jas nodded miserably. ‘It’ll hurt too much to go back.’
‘You’re likely correct.’ Granny B smiled and spread her arms. ‘But what is life if not a series of chances? Take yours, Jasmine. You might even find the odds are in your favour.’
CHAPTER
27
‘I happened to venture down to Admella Beach yesterday evening,’ announced Granny B in the kitchen where the Wallace family had gathered for Tuesday-night dinner.
Dinner had just been served, and the table was aromatic with the scent of Adrienne’s famous minestrone and freshly baked sourdough bread. The atmosphere was relaxed and convivial. Granny B couldn’t have timed her statement more perfectly.
Digby quickly placed his glass down and exchanged a wary glance with Josh. Adrienne, Samuel and Em were swapping questioning looks. Granny B hadn’t driven a car in years, which meant she’d either caught a taxi or had organised a lift with someone, but who? From the puzzled exchanges, clearly it wasn’t any of them.
‘Called in to see young Jasmine,’ Granny B continued, dabbing a napkin to the corners of her mouth. ‘She’s looking well.’
Josh asked the question everyone wanted the answer to. ‘How did you get down there?’
‘Caught a taxi. How else? Jasmine kindly delivered me home.’
Digby picked up his spoon and swirled it though his soup. He’d been at Camrick yesterday evening, working in the office on irrigation plans for the vineyard extension. Samuel had a service club dinner, and Adrienne was at a function. The only person he’d heard come inside was Granny B. Jas must have dropped his grandmother off and left immediately, without popping in to say hello.
‘Had quite a chat. Marvellous job she’s done on her garden.’
At the mention of the garden, Digby cast a questioning look at Em, who refused to meet his eye.
‘It’s going to be wonderful when it’s finished, although that will be some time away. Jasmine mentioned the new rear deck was rather expensive and stretched her finances. Worth it though. Excellent view across to the dunes and back towards Port Andrews.’ Granny B indulged in a sip of wine and smiled innocently at Digby. ‘She’s going to work on the herb garden next.’
Jas was building his garden. She had to be. The deck, the herb garden. They were all part of his design. The idea both thrilled Digby and made him tense. He wanted to see what she’d done but that would mean calling in on her, and there were a whole lot of reasons why that was a bad idea.
‘Why the visit to Jas?’ asked Em. ‘You’ve never bothered before.’
Granny B picked up her spoon and waved it airily. ‘Oh, no real reason. It’s been some time since I saw her, that’s all. Thought I’d better check up, make sure she’s taking care of herself.’ She smiled as if daring them to trip her up on the lie.
‘Actually,’ said Adrienne, addressing Em, ‘we haven’t seen much of her lately, have we? She used to pop round quite often. I hope everything’s all right.’
‘She’s just busy, Mum. Lots on.’
‘So I hear,’ said Granny B, not finished with her tormenting. Digby was only too aware that the entire conversation was directed at him but that didn’t stop his ears straining to catch every word. ‘A regular volunteer at pony club now. Apparently, she’s even met a decent chap there. Jasmine is training his daughter.’
Digby reached for his glass of wine. A decent chap? Like who? He glared at Em and Josh over the rim of his glass. They’d kept that to themselves.
Em caught his look and stammered. ‘I don’t think—’
‘Keeps asking her out,’ Granny B bulldozed on. ‘Won’t take no for an answer. Owns that signwriting business on Chute Street. Thought I’d poke my nose in for a look this morning. He seemed quite personable, not to mention rather handsome.’
‘Sounds like a stalker,’ snapped Digby, then, realising he’d reacted exactly how his grandmother wanted, stared at his bowl.
‘Don’t be mean-spirited, Digby. It’s nothing like that. He’s keen, that’s all. As you’d expect with an attractive girl like Jasmine. Besides, the man has a young daughter and a business to run, I doubt he has time for stalking.’ She turned to Em. ‘It’d do Jasmine good to find someone, what with you and Teagan now settled down. There’s never any joy in playing gooseberry.’
‘I don’t think she has any plans in that direction.’ Em’s voice was faint with discomfort. ‘She has too much else she wants to achieve.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Granny B, before blithely changing the subject to her latest skirmish with wowser Councillor Herriott.
Digby couldn’t escape fast enough after dinner. The unrestrained scrutiny of his meddling grandmother was bad enough, but thanks to his snarky stalker comment his mother kept throwing him curious looks too. Josh had
taken him briefly aside and promised to catch up over a beer later in the week before escorting a grim-faced Em out.
Crossing the path from the house to the stables, Digby couldn’t help looking south. A full moon lit the sky, casting the road and tree-lined park opposite in silvery light. He folded his arms against the cold, kicking at stones as he brooded. So Jas had built the deck. Perhaps she was sitting out there, watching the heavens, moonlight dancing over her curls and shining on her pretty blue eyes, thinking of … that other bloke, the handsome one with the business and the daughter? A stone went flying so high and hard it pinged off the tray of his new ute.
‘Let it go,’ he muttered, except he couldn’t.
Digby scratched his head, agitation burning. He glanced up at the blank windows of the stables and felt the jaws of his loneliness clamp around him. He shook his head. It was over. He should leave her be. The garden was his gift and Jas was building it. That should be enough.
‘Shit,’ he said, and strode to fetch his car keys.
The engine purred as he headed west out of town, retracing the route he drove in the days when his grief and anger over Felicity forced him from the hollowness of his apartment. When he used to race his demons and her ghost on the empty back roads.
Tonight he didn’t need to race. All he wanted was to drive for a while, let the hypnotic span of the disappearing bitumen settle his heart and calm his wayward thoughts. At the windmill farm, he steered left to travel through the quiet grazing country, passing the marker where once he would have wound down the windows, accelerated to madness, and prayed for the furious rush of air to sweep his tortured mind clean.
Funny how that misery no longer existed inside him. When the flood of anguish and fear had left him trembling in the church, Digby had been convinced recovery would never come. Yet it had, creeping so carefully he hadn’t noticed.
No question he still loved Felicity, but it was an abstract feeling now. His love used to be a tangible thing. Something alive inside him that he could hear beating, that sighed and throbbed in her presence, and later bled and howled with ear-splitting intensity, such was the wrack of pain from her death.
Being with Jas had somehow changed that. She’d calmed him with sex and laughter and caring and protectiveness. Healed him smile by smile, kiss by kiss, touch by touch. And, fool that he was, he’d cruelly pushed her away, as if what she’d done didn’t matter.
As he’d explained to her on the beach, that made him not much better than that shit Mike, stringing Jas along while he was still tied to someone else. Only someone as callous as Mike would think he could walk back into her life with acceptance.
The coast road appeared. Digby braked at the stop sign but made no move to turn. Instead, he wound down the driver’s window and let the salt-tainted air fill the car. In front of him the Southern Ocean swept over sand and churned over rocks and reefs. A low wind shivered the dune grasses and bent the leaves of the boobialla scrub. No different from the last time he’d driven here. Except then he hadn’t known what he wanted. Now he did.
Minutes passed as Digby continued to stare and breathe and think through his indecision. Every scent, every sound, every sight reminded him of Jas and the happiness he’d found at Admella Beach. Finally, he took his foot off the brake and turned the car left. He would simply drive past, check out the house from the road and continue on. No harm done to either of them, but his curiosity satisfied.
Digby crawled through Port Andrews. The village was normal, locked up inside and sleepy, yet Digby’s heart wouldn’t stop hammering.
On the outskirts, where the speed limit rose, he kept his foot relaxed. He cruised, then slowed further as Jasmine’s white house appeared. Digby leaned forward to squint through the windows as her property came and went. The angle was wrong to see the back yard in any detail, the night too heavy, even with the moon.
Lights flashed behind as a car sped up from the rear, forcing Digby to accelerate. Jasmine’s house disappeared behind as the road veered to follow the inlets and points of the wider sweeping bay. If Digby followed it far enough he’d hit the river and the road north. Another turn and he’d be on the main highway leading into Levenham. Away from Jas.
It was for the best. It had to be.
So why did he feel so crap?
His headlights caught a sandy side road on the right, one of the many beach access tracks carved by surfers and fishermen over the years. He steered into it, the Mercedes bumping its belly along the ruts. With the car behind well past and the road clear, Digby reversed back out onto the bitumen and swung the wheel towards Port Andrews again.
A few minutes, that was all. A moment to say hello, ask how she was. Act like the friends she’d promised they’d always be.
Lame, but what else did he have?
It was after eight and the kitchen was the only room lit when Digby pulled up at the front of Jasmine’s house. He stared at it for a moment, sick with nerves, wishing he’d kept driving and not given in to his stupid urge, but it was too late to turn around. If she’d seen his car she’d know he’d driven in and been too gutless to face her. If she hadn’t, she at least would have heard its engine, and fleeing would risk leaving her with the fear that her harasser was up to her old tricks.
Digby opened the car door and stepped out, standing momentarily confused. Instead of the expected sound of breakers and swishing tide, music drifted towards him. It was old rock music, a half-forgotten hit song from his teenage years. A song that Em and Jas had played ad nauseam at Rocking Horse Hill until even Adrienne had cracked.
Smiling, he shut the car door and followed the noise.
Jas was lounging on a colourfully cushioned teak chair under the blasting warmth of two tall gas patio heaters, eyes closed, ugg-booted feet up on the table and crossed at the ankles. A set of portable speakers were perched near her waggling toes, her phone feeding into it nearby. She was singing softly under her breath, a hardcover book splayed open on her belly like an exhausted moth.
Digby lingered at the edge of the house, afraid to disturb her indulgent relaxation. There was no way of announcing his presence without frightening her, yet his feet refused to turn around.
He called to her softly. ‘Jas?’ Lost in her song, she didn’t hear. He took a few steps closer, raising his voice a little. ‘Jas?’
She jerked up, sending the book tumbling. Her feet slid off the table, hands braced on the chair arms in alarm.
‘Jas, it’s me. Digby.’
Her palm flew to her chest as though to keep her panicked heart inside. ‘Dig.’ Her voice was breathy and fast. ‘Bloody hell. You scared the daylights out of me.’
‘Sorry, I thought you would have heard the car.’
‘No.’ She rubbed her chest then her mouth. ‘I was daydreaming.’
He smiled. ‘You were singing.’
‘I love this song.’
‘Yeah, I remember.’ Shoving his hands into his pockets, he regarded the yard. The low-watt floodlight illuminating the deck wasn’t powerful enough to extend beyond its edge, but the night was moonlit enough to determine faint stone trails. Outlines of pathways through what would one day be the bowers and shady hideaways of her garden.
Leaning over the side of her chair, Jas picked up the fallen book and laid it on the table, then adjusted the speaker volume downward. The song gave way to another, a recently released love ballad Digby had heard multiple times on the shed radio at the farm. After a few bars, Jas reduced the volume even further.
She sat back with her hands rested on the arms of the chair. No hello kiss, no invitation to join her, only cool regard. ‘I’m guessing your grandmother told you about her visit.’
Digby scratched at his jaw. ‘She said you were working on a garden.’
‘I am. Yours.’
‘I thought it might be.’ He surveyed the stained timber deck. ‘This looks good.’
‘Thanks.’ She tilted her head. ‘Why don’t you come on up?’
He took the
steps and stood awkwardly.
‘Take a seat.’ She pointed to a chair opposite, not alongside. ‘Can I get you anything?’
Digby shook his head. ‘I wasn’t planning to stay long. I just wanted to say hi, see what you’ve done.’
‘Not much so far. If the weather stays like this I’ll plant the herb garden out on the weekend. After that, I’m not sure. Depends on time and finances.’
Digby stroked the sawn edge of the teak table. Already weathering was causing it to silver in places. He should buy some linseed oil. Give it a protective coat before winter fully arrived. He dropped his hand. There’d be none of that. This was a one-off visit, as Jas was making abundantly clear.
‘Gran said you’re busy with pony club these days.’
‘And study.’ She fingered the cover of the book for a moment and pushed it towards him.
He read the title: Taxation Strategies in Financial Planning. He glanced at Jas and picked it up, flicking through the pages, noting the underlined passages and margins filled with her generous, loopy handwriting. A horrible thick feeling of fear rose inside Digby, along with something else he could only identify as intense pride.
‘I’ve already completed half the course,’ she said. ‘Seems a waste not to finish.’
Digby returned the book to the table. For a long while he didn’t know what to say. She’d moved on and was chasing the goals mothballed after Mike. He should be happy for her. And he was, yet the fear wouldn’t fade. Would her new career take her away from Levenham? From him?
‘You’re doing well.’
Jas shrugged and stared at the stars. ‘I’m getting there. What about you? How’s life as a vigneron treating you?’
‘Okay. I managed to make it through my first vintage unscathed. Not that there was a lot to harvest with budburst being so heavily frost affected.’
‘Did you crush it into wine?’
‘Yeah, but it’s pretty undrinkable. Uncle James is probably rolling in his grave.’
They shared a smile and quickly looked askance. Digby kept sweeping the yard, wishing he could see it properly. Night sounds and Jasmine’s music covered their lack of conversation—the whisper of the wind-teased coastal scrub, the eternal swoosh of the ocean, the occasional cry of a hunting bird.
