‘What happened between you?’ she said, as gently as she could.
He puffed out his cheeks, thinking. ‘Time, I guess. We’re not what we used to be.’
‘How do you feel about her . . . um . . . shacking up with the preacher guy?’
‘He’s not a preacher,’ Bill said. ‘He is a minister of some sort, though.’
‘You seem to know a lot about him,’ she said uneasily.
‘When you’ve been married as long as us, there are no secrets.’
‘You knew about him?’
‘Of course. We discussed it for a long time. Years, actually.’
‘Huh.’ Elizabeth was speechless. What a concept: no secrets. If only John had bothered to take some pointers from her parents. What whoppers he’d been hiding. But how would she have dealt with it if he’d told her the truth? Would they have talked about it calmly over a cup of tea? Not bloody likely. The end result would have been the same, she was sure of that. Except for the incident on the bridge in her negligee, perhaps. She could have done without that.
Maybe he’d actually spared her years of pain as they tried to work things out. Cut to the chase. Bam. It’s over. Possibly not such a bad way to go after all.
She reached out and took her father’s hand. ‘I think you’re brave.’
‘No, not really. Just pragmatic. Probably too much so. Lost my sense of romance a long time ago. If I hadn’t, she might still be here.’
Elizabeth rubbed his shoulder soothingly. ‘Thank you, Dad.’
‘What for?’
‘For bringing me back to London. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
He reached up to take her hand from his shoulder. ‘That’s what parents are for, kitten.’
After a successful cheese-and-pickles-on-toast affair for them both, Elizabeth decided to leave her mother alone, partly to give her some time to settle into her new life, partly to give herself time to adjust to her mother’s choices, and partly (okay, mostly) because she wanted to make the most of the first day off she’d had in a long time and that meant spending time with Haruka.
She’d checked in on Victoria, who was alone in the shop, and all seemed fine. Then she’d donned a pretty sunshine-yellow frock and chiffon scarf and shouted herself a taxi to meet Haruka at the Peter Pan statue in Kensington Gardens for a picnic.
He was there with a wicker basket, a green blanket rolled up under his arm, staring up at the bronze Peter Pan. Elizabeth felt a smile spread across her face. He cast a striking figure, his long legs and lean body so graceful.
He heard her coming and turned around. His eyes met hers and she giggled.
‘Hi,’ she said, a little breathless from her walk.
‘Hello.’ He grinned.
‘Finding inspiration for your work?’
She was still a little awestruck from seeing his pieces at his flat the other night.
‘I’m a terrible sculptor,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Well, from what I’ve seen, you’re putting your talents to good use.’
They wandered in amicable silence towards a shady patch of grass, where they unfolded the blanket and spread out Haruka’s treats. Handmade wasabi chocolates, profiteroles, an array of sushi bites, strawberries and champagne.
‘This looks amazing,’ she said, taking a piece of salmon sushi between a pair of chopsticks.
‘East meets west,’ Haruka replied, raising his champagne flute in a toast to her.
Elizabeth nibbled carefully. If everything kept going well, she could be enjoying sex with this man. The prospect of lovemaking that was just for pleasure, rather than timed for procreation, was incredibly liberating.
‘So,’ Haruka said, gazing at her intently, ‘how’s your day off going so far?’
‘Okay, I guess,’ she said, momentarily feeling sad about her parents. Suddenly, she found herself talking to Haruka about them. He was a good listener, nodding in sympathy and asking an occasional question, but never trying to solve the problem or tell her what to do.
He was the complete opposite of John. Whenever she’d vented frustration to him, or shared her confusion or sadness, John had cut over the top of her with a ‘Why don’t you do this . . .’ or a ‘So go and do that . . .’ It ate away at her, making her feel he didn’t trust her to come up with her own solutions.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, waving a profiterole in the air. ‘I’m sure this is the last thing you want to hear.’
‘Not at all.’
‘For what it’s worth, you’re a great listener.’
She saw him suppress a smile of pleasure. He reclined on his side on the blanket, his right hand supporting his head.
‘What are you thinking?’ she said, before mentally slapping herself. What a line.
Haruka looked up at her. She shivered slightly as clouds passed across the sun and the temperature dropped several degrees in a moment. ‘I was just thinking about you,’ he said.
‘You were?’
‘I was thinking how this thing with your parents might be extra hard right now.’ He spoke quietly. ‘Given what’s going on with your husband.’
Her smile dissolved. She reached for the chiffon at her neck, unravelling it and wrapping it lightly around her bare shoulders.
‘Now I’m sorry,’ Haruka said, putting his hand to his chest. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. I was truly just moved, I guess, by your situation.’
‘I suppose we had to talk about it sometime.’
They were silent for a while as she gathered her thoughts and feelings, wondering what to share, how much he knew already, and how much Victoria had told him.
Worse still, how much had she told him on the flight?
She didn’t want to scare Haruka away. This thing with him was unexpected and it was sudden, and it had only been a few days, but she liked him. That was something she’d thought she might never feel for another man again. And he was here, listening to her like she was the most important person in the world.
Yes, it was fast. But she’d spent years with John and it turned out she hadn’t known him at all. Maybe it was time for a different approach.
But that discussion with Haruka could wait. Why spoil the moment?
Instead, she tentatively stretched out her hand towards his. Their fingers connected and a small gasp escaped her throat before she could stop it. Instantly embarrassed. Her face flushing hot. She was twelve years old again.
Haruka smiled and intertwined her hand with his and held on tightly.
She laughed. It felt so good to laugh again.
He pulled her towards him. Their lips met and locked together perfectly. He tasted like chocolate from the profiteroles. Her palm found the back of his neck and she traced light circles there.
His chest was aligned with hers. The sounds of other park visitors’ laughter and chatter receded into the distance under his breathing as he kissed her.
Oh mercy.
She may have actually murmured it out loud because she felt his lips smile over the top of hers.
And then a splash. A big, heavy, cold splash plummeted from above and landed in her eye. She shrank into his body, shielding her face from the rain. More fat drops followed.
Haruka’s eyes locked onto hers. ‘Let’s go.’
He shoved food into the basket and then they were on their feet, pulling at the rug and laughing and running hand in hand across the grass, heading for a taxi that would take them north to his flat in Hampstead.
They moved through the front door as one, limbs entangled. Her eyes were closed, their lips still tasting each other’s. She couldn’t see where he was taking her but she could smell the faint aroma of citrus-scented cleaner and some kind of paint fumes in the distance.
She was going to have sex! It was romantic; it was epic; it was a fairy tale.
It was a miracle.
Another door opened behind her and they entered his bedroom, dim thanks to the blinds he’d forgotten to
open that morning. A neutral scent of washing powder. The bed was made. Nothing horrible lying around.
He was clean. This was good. In a moment she would be having sex with a clean man who washed his sheets.
Of course, John washed sheets. He loved nothing more than to take his clothes off and climb in between a thousand thread count.
Stop thinking about John.
They fell onto the bed and inched towards the headboard, shedding their clothes. She was enjoying taking off his clothes. John always liked to take off his own clothes.
Stop thinking about John.
Her whole body shuddered with anticipation as their naked flesh connected and brushed and bumped together.
He lowered his hand and . . .
‘Wait!’
Haruka froze.
She couldn’t believe the word had escaped her mouth and she clamped a hand across it to stop anything else following.
He gently removed her hand from her lips so she could speak.
‘I can’t do this.’
They lay on the sheet. Elizabeth covered her eyes. He was too far from her, his heat gone, cooling air already moving between them.
Stupid, stupid thoughts of John.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean to lead you on. I wanted to. I just . . .’
Just what? She didn’t even really know why she’d stopped, except that it likely had something to do with a sliver of loyalty to her scumbag, cheating, testicle-altering husband.
But that fear moved aside for a much larger one. Fear she’d completely ruined this opportunity to make a new start with a sexy, lovely, gentle Englishman.
She peeked from between her fingers and turned to her left to see what he was doing.
He was lying on his side, watching her. And he didn’t look angry. He didn’t look pleased either, admittedly. But he didn’t look like he was about to yell, or throw her out of the flat, or give a big speech.
‘Say something,’ she said.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
Haruka poured a hot green brew from an earthen teapot and handed her the cup to nurse between her hands.
She sat on his iris-blue couch, wrapped in his white robe. He wore a towel around his waist and she drank in the sight of him, just in case it was her last look.
‘Thanks.’
‘You can stay here for as long as you like,’ he said, sipping on his tea. Outside the window, the sun shower had developed into persistent drizzling rain and even looking at the greyness made Elizabeth feel cold inside, despite the perfect temperature in the flat.
‘I’ve really messed up,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘Not possible.’
She considered him for a moment, his seeming devotion to her when he’d known her for such a short time. His graciousness about her bedroom blunder. His kindness.
‘You’re something else, you know that?’ she said.
‘Nah.’ He waved her away and looked at the floorboards beneath his bare feet.
She sipped some more, the warmth of the tea soothing her. Her back arched and she reached around to find a ball of lime-coloured wool wedged between the cushions.
‘This yours?’ she asked, handing it to him.
‘Oh, I think it’s my mother’s. She was here recently.’ He took it and dropped it into a magenta ceramic bowl on the coffee table.
‘So, I’ve been meaning to ask,’ she said, eyeing him. ‘I can’t remember much about the flight from Brisbane. I’m almost afraid to ask, but was I horrible? I didn’t vomit on you or anything?’
Haruka laughed. ‘You drooled a little on my shoulder, but no vomit.’
‘That’s a relief. Did I keep you awake with my crying and ranting?’
‘Only when you began to demonstrate all the different efforts you went to trying to get pregnant.’
Elizabeth froze. ‘Oh, the shame.’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I learned quite a lot.’
She put her tea down on a section of the coffee table not covered with ceramics and buried her face in her hands. ‘So do you know everything then? About my husband?’ The word was stale in her mouth.
‘That he cheated. That he had a vasectomy and didn’t tell you. That he has another family in Japan. Yes.’
‘And what about the bridge? And the nightly news?’
Haruka frowned, trying to remember. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, that’s something. Oh, Haruka, you must think I’m such a nut job.’ For a moment she’d thought she could start with a clean slate. But her dirty laundry was out there for all to see, thanks to John. ‘I won’t be offended if you never want to see me again.’
He shook his head. ‘No way.’
‘What do you mean?’
He stood, suddenly. ‘Wait here. I have something for you.’ He left the room and began to rustle around in a cupboard in the kitchen. He brought back a brown paper bag and sat beside her on the couch.
‘Sorry for the lack of wrapping. I bought it months ago and put it away for you but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.’ He rubbed the back of his ear in a tender, self-conscious way.
‘What do you mean you bought it months ago?’
‘After the plane. If you open it, I’ll explain.’
Elizabeth reached for the bag. It wasn’t heavy, but there was something solid in there. Her hands touched bubble wrap and she pulled out a ball of it, stuck together with tape. She opened it. Inside was an exquisite peacock-blue ceramic figurine of a mother duck, a baby duck tucked under her wing. It was the size of Elizabeth’s palm.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful. I love ducks.’
‘I know. That’s when I fell in love with you on the plane.’
‘You what?’
‘I think it was around the time of your sixth vodka. You told me you’d wanted to be a mother since you were twelve years old, the day you saw a mother duck risk her life to run out in front of cars and save her ducklings from oncoming traffic. She saved the ducklings but was run over herself. You said a love that fierce had to be worth dying for and you would spend the rest of your life making it happen. A friend of mine, another artist, someone who can actually create figures, made that piece and as soon as I saw it I remembered your story. So I put it away for you.’ He shrugged. ‘Just in case.’
Tears pricked Elizabeth’s eyes and before she could stop it a fat droplet ran down her cheek.
Haruka knelt in front of her and reached up to cup her face, smoothing the tear away with his thumb.
‘I knew right then you were a woman worth fighting for too.’
Elizabeth gently placed her beautiful duck on the coffee table, then reached for Haruka and kissed him. And this time, she didn’t let go.
Ten years earlier
Local businesswoman Simone Taylor has been sentenced to three months imprisonment after a drink-driving incident that left a young woman with a broken leg. Ms Taylor recorded a blood-alcohol reading more than three times the legal limit. The victim was hit on a pedestrian crossing in the middle of the day while pushing her baby in a pram. The baby was unharmed.
The rosy glow of new love followed Elizabeth home and only threatened to wane when several police cars, sirens wailing, rushed past and she recalled the riots on the news. She momentarily wondered if she should be nervous, but she was tucked up warmly in a black cab, gazing at the lights gliding by.
It was late. Her father would probably be in bed and she would have to sneak into the house like she had when she was at school. She giggled. Life had come full circle and her other life in Australia—her job, her friends and, of course, her marriage—seemed like a dream. This was real, being back in her home city, working for someone who admired and needed her.
All around her there were signs of life. A new life for her mother, as strange as it was. Kate was succeeding against the odds. Her sister was thriving in the retail world and Elizabeth had a new appreciation of her skills and the way she’d matured. Leila had a b
lossoming new relationship with Quentin, according to her last text. And Elizabeth was building a new life and falling in love.
Her heart skipped a beat. Was that what she was doing? Falling in love? It seemed such a strange thing to be doing but she couldn’t deny how wonderful it felt.
The cab pulled up outside her house with a squeal of brakes and she handed the fare over the seat to the driver and wished him a good night.
At her front door, she paused for a moment with her key in her hand and took in a deep breath of the chill night air. She’d made it through the worst. Satisfaction washed through her. There was hope yet.
And that hope lay in her plans to meet up with Haruka tomorrow afternoon, back at his apartment. She smiled again; it was becoming second nature these days.
20
The shop smelled even more divine than Kate remembered. Gentle wafts of rose and jasmine greeted her and she breathed in, revelling in the way it made her feel. Alive. Successful. Proud. The plants had grown. The water in the water feature sparkled under the morning light streaming down through the skylights. She charged up the laptop hidden behind the counter, clicked on the iTunes icon and began the day’s playlist, a mixture of old-school jazz and tracks from The Magic Flute.
She turned her attention to opening the mail. She’d passed the postman on her way in. His satchel and wagon looked particularly heavy today, as did his demeanour. He was rushing, frowning, and barely acknowledged Kate’s wave.
Leila opened the door, her mobile jammed to her ear. ‘Give me a call when you can. Bye.’ She put her phone back in her handbag and slid it behind the counter. Kate wished she felt half as good as Leila looked. She was bright and fresh, with an easy smile. Kate was happy to be back in the shop, though she couldn’t deny the effects of Judy’s threat hanging over her head.
‘Cup of tea?’ she asked Leila.
‘Mmm, thanks.’
Kate boiled the kettle and began setting out the many glass jugs they would need for the day, to offer tastings to the customers.
‘So,’ Leila said. ‘Judy’s deadline approaches.’
Kate shook her hands, flicking off nerves. ‘It does.’ She still hoped Judy was bluffing, and she’d put on her most confident attitude this morning when she’d rolled out of her single bed in Elizabeth’s parents’ house. But she’d cautiously braced a small part of herself for bad news.
The Tea Chest Page 21
