'Susie, are you OK?'
'I'm trying to sleep.' Susie's voice answered in the distance, and Brenda's head appeared again.
'She's trying to sleep. Go away.'
The head disappeared, the window slammed shut and the house reverted to darkness.
She couldn't face him, she thought desperately as she wrote. If she went outside he'd hold her and make it all right. He'd make her fears seem groundless.
She was no one's mess.
She kept on writing.
Nick always left just before dawn when he was heading to sea for a couple of nights. The fisherman drove across the island in darkness, pulling up at the wharf. His assistant was waiting, John—a likely lad of a little over seventy. And so was Susie, sitting on a suitcase, huddled into an overcoat, as pale as death.
'She says she's coining with us,' John said unhappily. 'She says she's walking out on the twins.'
'I'm walking out on everyone,' Susie said, standing up and heaving her suitcase across onto the deck of Nick's boat. 'I need a lift to the mainland.'
'Why the hell—?' Nick said.
'I've left you all notes,' Susie said. 'I'll be back in two weeks but, Nick, if you dare phone and tell anyone, and I mean anyone, including Donna, what I'm doing until I'm well away from here then I won't come back in two weeks. So help me, Nick, I mean it.'
'You have to come back,' John said unhappily.
'I will,' she promised. 'Of course I will. Because I'm responsible. But for the next two weeks I intend to be very irresponsible indeed.'
The twins woke up to notes—one on each of their pillows.
Hi, guys. I'm off on an adventure. I was thinking last night about all the adventures you two have. How you go off with Nick and Bobbie and Lisa and camp on the other side of the island. How you go to Scout camp. How you have sleepovers at your friends' places. And suddenly I thought, I haven't had an adventure for a very long time. Mummies work really hard. We clean and we cook and . we look after people, and sometimes we get tired. I'm like that now. I'm really, really tired, so I've decided to have an adventure. I'm going to stay in a big hotel in Sydney for fourteen sleeps and do adventuring things. I'll phone you every night and I'll send you postcards, and when I come back I'll be ready to go back to being a mummy.
Donna and Brenda will look after you and make sure you have fun while I'm away. Sam and his nice Aunty Effie will help look after you, too.
There are lots of lamingtons in the fridge and you can help Brenda shop for the things you like to eat. I love you a lot. Be good and have adventures of your own while I'm away.
Mum.
Donna and Brenda woke up to notes, too. They were still taking them in when Sam found and read his. Sam's had been stuck under Doris's front door, and Doris only found it after she'd called him for breakfast. She handed it to Sam, then stood by wordlessly as he read.
Dear Sam
Last night was a revelation. I knew this was too good to be true. I thought I fell in love with Grant, but I was wrong. I didn't know what love was. And then I thought I fell in love with you. Maybe I did, but I was just as dumb as I was eight years ago.
Because I don't want what you're offering.
Or maybe I do. But just for a bit. Maybe I can use what you 're offering in the only way I can accept. I'll take your help to alleviate your conscience, whatever your stupid conscience is saying.
Here it is. You can take it on, all my responsibilities, the twins, Brenda, the medical needs of the island, the pilates clinic. This is what Effie says you want, a chance to make Grant's mess right, but you don't have to marry me to do it. I don't want anything to do with any relationship with this hanging over it.
Sam, I met Grant a long time ago. I had my twins because of him and, yes, I'll accept his money so the boys 'future is secure. I'll even use a little bit for what I'm planning over the next two weeks. But I'm not Grant's mess, and neither are my boys. As for marrying you to clear up after Grant... No.
So I'm leaving. I've thought it through and I'm not negotiating. I'm just telling you.
For two weeks I'm having no responsibilities. Not one. I'm leaving all of you to take care of each other. I've written to the boys explaining what's happening and they'll be OK with it—they go on school camps and they know the drill. Even though their mother has never left them before, they're old enough to know the concept of two weeks and they'll survive. I've written to Donna and to Brenda and they'll know what to do, too. They both owe me heaps and this is my two weeks for calling in debts.
And now it's all yours. Medicine for one island, for two weeks, to alleviate Grant's last mess. Meanwhile, I'm out of here. I'm going to sleep on the beach, have massages, read books. I'm going to take care of me. This can be your debt to clear your head of Grant. You can take over all my responsibilities and give me space to have a break I haven't had since I got pregnant.
And that's it. Enough. I'm damned if I'll let you use me to sort out your head. In two weeks I'll be back, but I'll get to the mainland wharf and I'll ring and I'll check that you're off the island. If you're still here then I'm waiting until you leave before I return. In two weeks' time you walk away and you don't look back. Your responsibility is over. I don't care that it does your head in, Sam. It's my life and you don't come near me.
All the best, to you and to Effie. Of course you'll be welcome to keep in touch with the twins whenever you want. If you want to take the job on the mainland then you're welcome to do that, too. I can't stop you. But you're not welcome in my life.
Thank you for the ring, but it was ostentatious and it was stupid. I'll deposit it in a bank in Sydney and send you the details of where you can collect it.
All the best.
Susan.
He stared at the note blindly for a long minute. Then he swore, handed the letter to a confounded Doris, and went and hauled open Effie's bedroom door.
'Effie,' he said, very softly indeed. 'Tell me exactly what you told Susie.'
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A life of luxury and indolent ease wasn't as great as it was cut out to be. Not when your heart was broken. Not when you felt sick about what you'd left behind. Not when you haven't ever had anything to do with indolence and ease and didn't know what the heck to do with it.
Susie caught the early train to Melbourne. She then caught a plane to Northern Queensland. She'd told the boys she was going to Sydney, but by the time she was halfway to the mainland she'd figured Sydney was too close and the islanders would likely arrive in force and haul her home.
Or—more likely—Sam would come and start making his stupid protestations again.
When she got to Cairns she went into the tourist information centre and got directions to the most luxurious resort on the coast. Grant's money was burning a hole in her bank account and he at least owed her. Two weeks of luxury wouldn't deprive her boys of an education. Dammit, she deserved it.
At the resort she told them she was travelling incognito and to deny her presence there to anyone.
'No matter what,' she said. 'My family have my cellphone number. They can text me in an emergency but I want contact with no one else.'
At seven each night she rang the twins. If anyone else answered she was polite—'Brenda, this is my holiday and this call is expensive. Can you put the boys on please.' 'Donna, I'm fine, but I need space. Can you put the boys on, please.'
Once Sam answered and she hung up.
He texted. They all did—the whole damned island. She did a cursory first-line check twice a day that there wasn't an emergency and then deleted them all.
The time was hers.
She slept late the first day—that was to be expected as she hadn't slept the night before. She woke at eleven and was pleased. This was what a holiday was meant to be. Lots of luxurious sleep.
She wandered down to the beach and swam. She ate lunch, trying to stretch it out to be leisurely, but it was pretty hard to have a leisurely lunch with no one to talk to.
; She chose a book from the resort library and lay under a palm tree and read.
She went for a long walk on the beach.
She wondered if the kids had gone to Sea Scouts.
She tried not to check her phone.
She wondered who'd taken her pilates clinic. No one. It'd be cancelled. If Doris didn't keep those legs moving...
Stopitstopitstopit.
She ate dinner under the palms at a candlelit table, the warm wind whispering through the palm fronds. She watched honeymooning couples.
She tried not to check her phone.
She went to bed early, slept restlessly, woke at five a.m and thought about Sam.
OK, so a life of indolence and ease wasn't going to cut it. There was an activity board at Reception. Snorkelling. Surf kites. Horseriding.
How many activities could she fit into one day? How early did the first activity start?
'Her calls are being tracked from far north Queensland. How many hotels are in your area? That many? OK, let's start with the most expensive and work down.'
Nocturnal walks, nature spotting included. Total head count— one startled possum caught in floodlights. She could have seen a hundred of them at home.
Movies. What about something gory? No? How many honeymoon couples did they have staying in this place?
'She won't be using her real name. You'll know her. She's gorgeous and she's desperately lonely and I love her to bits. I've hurt her. I just need to know.. .No. Of course not. Only couples? Yes, I see. Thank you anyway.'
'So massage is the only thing I haven't tried? I don't think I want.. .Well, if you're sure. Yeah, I know it can be remedial. I guess I am stressed. And it's only for medical purposes. I'm a nurse, you know. I can -stay with my clothes...No, I guess I can't. Well, if you're sure...'
'Dr Sam Renaldo. Yes, from the US, but this is a family matter. We're looking for a woman called Susie, a woman who's looking bereft. The family is desperately worried about her. No, not suicidal. Not that, but.. .well, as a doctor I can never exclude options, and if you were personally worried about a particular guest...'
'No. No, I understand that you can't give guest details. But if your clientele is usually honeymoon couples, and there was someone on her own you felt worried about...'
'Absolutely. I understand you're telling me nothing. Absolutely. But would you have a vacant suite...?'
'I thought the massage was to be done by a woman. No, of course I'm not worried. I'm not worried. I'm not stressed. It's just.. .OK, let's do it. Just do it. OK, fine, I'm relaxed, dammit, just get on with it.'
Massages were supposed to be wonderful. She knew that. Properly done they could help mentally as well as physically. She was trained in exercise rehabilitation. She knew.
But it felt wrong. She lay rigid on the massage table while the masseur did his best with the knots of tension he couldn't help but be aware of.
'This is supposed to make you feel good,' he said gently as her hour-long massage moved to the ten-minute mark and the tension in her body grew and grew. It felt wrong that this man's hands were touching her. It just felt...wrong.
'I'm sorry.'
'You know, the entire staff here is worrying about you,' he told her. 'The receptionist just told me to take good care of you because you seem alone and stressed.'
'I'm not,' she said, stunned. Heck, she'd thought she was a nice anonymous guest. The occupant of Suite 9. Nothing more.
She didn't want anyone worrying about her.
'Is there anything you'd like to talk about?' her masseur queried, and she shook her head, her sense of unease growing with her sense of loneliness. She was naked apart from her skimpy panties. The man's hands were massaging the small of her back. She could feel his skill as he kneaded the rigid muscles, urging her to relax, with his words as well as his hands.
'N-no,' she muttered.
'Jodie tells me you're an exercise therapist,' he said. Jodie was the sailboard instructor. Jodie had tried to get her to talk yesterday.
'I... Yes.'
'Then you'll know that we can help—in all sorts of ways,' he said smoothly. 'Bottling troubles up can lead to major psychiatric problems.'
Great. A masseur diagnosing clinical depression. 'I'm fine,' she muttered.
'Your muscles say you're not fine.'
'Please...'
'Can I ask you to turn over?'
'No,' she snapped, feeling panicked.
'Susan, it's OK,' he said, in his best bedside manner—a manner which was starting to close in on her. 'I'm giving you a therapeutic massage. You'll stay covered at the breasts and the thighs. But you're holding yourself rigid. If you'll let me massage your abdomen I'm sure I can get you to release—'
'I don't want you to release.
'What don't you want me to release?'
'I don't know,' she muttered. 'I just know that I don't. I should never—'
'I've pushed you too hard,' the masseur said, finally seeing her panic for the brick wall it was. 'I'm sorry. Stay on your stomach until you're comfortable.'
'I think we should stop.'
There was a pause. 'I'm expensive,' he said reluctantly. 'You've paid for an hour.'
'Look, I don't want...'
'If I finish up now, I'm in trouble,' he confessed. 'I'm new here and having a client finish a quarter of the way through reflects badly—'
'Look, I don't care.' But she did, though. Of course she did. She was responsible.
'What if I take a break for a couple of minutes? We'll both take a breather and then start again,' he said.
'Fine,' she said, resigned.
'Take three deep breaths and listen to the music,' he told her. 'It's supposed to represent the power of the sea. Think dolphins. Think power of the surf at dawn. Think peace and serenity. I'll just pop out...'
'Out you pop,' she said wearily. 'I'll still be here when you get back. I'm good like that.'
The power of the sea. Dolphins. Peace and serenity. It sounded like a cheap harp, badly played.
Relax. Get those muscles relaxed. She was wasting money if she kept being so damned tense.
She concentrated fiercely on relaxing. Relax, relax, relax.
The door opened and she tensed even more.
This guy's a paid health professional, she told herself. Relax, relax.
She heard the slight sounds of him pouring oil into his palms, warming them. He's probably been out having a fag, she thought nastily, and then felt ashamed of herself. As his hands came down on her back, she felt herself flinch.
Relax. Relax, relax.
The cigarette seemed to have done him good. He seemed surer now, smoothing the oil in long, strong strokes down the length of her spine. Sweeping strokes, over and over again, and then gentle circles on either side of her vertebrae.
This was better. This was OK.
'But I'm still not rolling over,' she muttered, and there was a moment's stillness.
'Very good call,' a beloved voice said unsteadily. 'The best call you ever made in your life. Not when you thought you were turning over for him. But would you consider turning over for me?'
Sam.
Her whole world stilled. She lay without breathing, wondering if her world would start again, wondering if she dared take a breath, and if she did so whether the wild, crazy hope would dissipate in the way of dreams.
Sam.
'Are you awake?' he asked, and went back to kneading. 'Sorry. I know the first rule of a good massage is not to get personal. Go back to what you were doing.'
She did. She could scarcely do anything else.
'Um,' she said.
'Don't talk unless you want to,' he said encouragingly. 'You're the client. My aim is to serve you in every way possible.'
'What have you done with my masseur?' she tried, and was ridiculously pleased that her voice didn't squeak.
'I sent him home for the day,' he said. 'A hundred Australian dollars. He gave up massaging you for a hundred dollars. The man's out of his
mind.'
'How did you find me?' His hands were doing amazing things to her spine. She wasn't moving. She couldn't move. She felt...
She wasn't asking how she was feeling. She just was.
'I've had an inordinate amount of trouble,' he said.
'If you want me to say sorry, I'm not,' she whispered, and his hands stilled.
'I'll never ask you to say sorry,' he said. 'I'm the one.. ' His hands went back to massaging. They'd gentled a little. His massage was becoming almost an extension of his voice. 'Hell, Susie, if you hadn't been so lovely I'd never have found you. And I'd never have known that you needed to be found.'
'Wh—why?'
'When Effie remembered what she thought she might have said to you, I was as close to murder as it's possible for a man to be and stay out of prison,' he said grimly. 'Of all the...' He paused, refocused, concentrating on small, concentric circles on either side of her spine. 'I was desperate to find you, but Donna told me I wasn't to come near you. I don't know what you wrote in your note to her, but she was feeling guilty as hell. The entire island's feeling guilty. They practically held me down.'
'So who's looking after the island medically now?' she demanded, feeling like she ought to ask something unemotional.
'Effie,' he said, and she blinked.
'Effie?'
'She's a doctor. In between being an astrologer.'
'Your Aunt Effie is a medical doctor?'
'Why do you think Grant and I ended up in the business? She used to read us medical journals as bedtime reading. By the time I was eight she was discussing cases, asking for opinions. She retired five years ago and has been driving me nuts ever since. But that's not what I'm here to talk about.'
'No?'
'No,' he said. 'Susie, this is a hell of a way to talk to you. I can't even see you.'
'You sent my masseur home,' she said. 'I believe I have another three quarters of an hour.'
'I don't...'
'Why are you here?' she asked. 'And don't stop whatever you're doing to my spine. If you knew how that feels…'
His Island Bride Page 15
