The High Price of Secrets

by Yvonne Lindsay

  What if she applied for the job and they said no?

  She swallowed against the fear that threatened to paralyze her. She’d never had to second-guess herself before. Trent’s lies and subterfuge had totally done a number on her head, she realized. Especially coming on the heels of discovering the secret her family had been keeping from her. Now she was so shaken up she was second-guessing her ability to apply for a casual position doing something she knew in her heart she could do virtually blindfolded.

  She forced herself to knock on the door before she could give in to the anxiety.

  “Come in if you’re good looking!” a gravelly voice answered.

  The words brought a smile to her face and she opened the door.

  “I’m here about the coordinator’s job?” she said as she stepped into the chaos that was the hall’s office.

  Papers were strewn on every available surface, together with an array of multicolored empty coffee cups. Behind the desk sat a woman who was probably anywhere in age between fifty and eighty. Her wiry hair stuck out in all directions and an unlit cigarette hung from her lips as she looked up in response.

  “An Aussie, huh? What makes you think you can do the job?” she barked.

  Tamsyn fought to keep her face impassive. She took a deep breath. “I have a degree in communication, majoring in event management, and I’ve worked the past seven years coordinating events on both small and large scales, from company dinners and product launches, to weddings and anniversary celebrations.”

  “The job’s not paid.”

  “I’m aware of that. Money isn’t an issue.”

  “Hmmph. Nice for some. You know it’s only for five weeks—only four probably because no one will want to come on Christmas Eve.”

  “Five weeks is fine.”

  “Damn-fool woman who normally does it tripped backward last week over a carpet bowling ball and broke her leg. I guess you’ll give the old codgers something new to look at. You’re hired.”

  Tamsyn looked at the woman in surprise. “Just like that? Don’t you want references?”

  “Do I look like I need references?” The woman peered at Tamsyn over her half-lens glasses. “What I need is a cigarette, but we’re not allowed to smoke in a council-affiliated building anymore.”

  Just privately, Tamsyn thought that given the tsunami of paper throughout the small office, it was a good thing the woman wasn’t allowed to light up.

  “Okay, when do I start?”

  “Next session is Wednesday this week. Runs from ten-thirty until one. People bring their own lunch. Here’s the ring binder with the weeks’ activities set and the roster of who does what. Don’t lose it.”

  “Thank you. I’m Tamsyn Masters, by the way.”

  “Gladys. I run this joint because no one else can. Got any questions, ask me. Just not now. Damn bingo caller for tomorrow night has laryngitis and I need to get someone else. I don’t suppose…?” Gladys looked at Tamsyn who firmly shook her head. “Hmmph, you better give me your number in case I need to call you.”

  Tamsyn gave her cell phone number. “Okay if I take a look around?”

  “Feel free. And don’t lose that binder, whatever you do.”

  “I won’t,” she promised, tucking the item firmly under one arm and walking back out of the office.

  Well, she thought as she carried on into the main hall, that had to be the shortest job interview in history. She laughed out loud. What on earth had she been worried about? She stopped and looked around.

  Sash windows with half-lowered black-out blinds lined the hall on both sides. A raised stage stood at one end with ancient dark red velvet drapes hanging on either side. Tamsyn felt as if she’d stepped into a time warp. As if she could just close her eyes and reopen them to a wartime dance, or a seventies disco.

  Folding tables were slanted against the wall on one side, stacking chairs on the other. Tamsyn pulled out one of the stacking chairs and sat down to study the folder she’d been given. Despite Gladys’s curt demeanor and seeming disorganization, everything in here was neatly compiled and ordered. Activities were basically the same each week, with an occasional out-of-town trip organized to see a movie in Blenheim or to visit a restaurant.

  Basically, all she had to do was oversee each week and ensure that the door takings, a gold coin per member each meeting, were given to Gladys to bank by the end of each session. It’d be a walk in the park. Even so, the prospect left her feeling more enthused than she’d felt in a very long time. She itched to share her news with someone. Finn, maybe?

  She put a clamp on her wayward thoughts. Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell him, when he came to show her how to use the espresso machine. It wasn’t as if they were friends or anything.

  Tamsyn thought back to this morning’s meeting, to that moment when she’d thought he might kiss her. He’d been so close, his gray eyes—dark as storm clouds before torrential rain—fixed on her lips. Her whole body had gone on high alert from the instant he’d brushed against her, all her feminine sensors pinging at that merest of touches. She lifted her fingers to her lips. What would it have felt like, she wondered, if he’d followed through on what she thought had been clear intent in those tempestuous eyes?

  A thrill rippled through her body as her imagination took hold, and she closed her eyes, lost in the moment.

  “Are you planning to nap there all day? I’ve got somewhere to go to, even if you haven’t.”

  Gladys’s raspy voice jarred her out of her reverie.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll be out of your way in a minute,” Tamsyn said, lurching to her feet and stacking the chair back where she’d found it.

  Accompanied by mutterings of “young people these days,” she headed back out the main door and onto the street. Behind her, Gladys activated an alarm, clanged the front doors closed and methodically locked them.

  “You still here?” the old woman asked as she reached the pavement.

  “I was wondering if you could tell me where I can find the information center.”

  “That’d be me,” Gladys said crustily.

  “Oh, okay. Maybe you can help. My mother is from here and I’m trying to track her down.”

  “Hmmph. I thought you had a familiar look about you. Your mother a local, is she?”

  “I…I think so. Ellen Masters, have you heard of her?”

  Gladys fossicked through her voluminous crocheted handbag before extracting a lighter and applying it to the cigarette still hanging from her wrinkled lips. She sucked long and hard on the filter, an expression almost close to happiness spreading across her lined face.

  “Can’t say as I have. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

  The old woman’s statement hung on the air between them. Tamsyn was initially at a loss for words but pressed on.

  “Well, do you know where I can view an electoral roll?”

  Gladys took another long pull at her cigarette, the smoke filtering out between her lips as she spoke. “Library could be your best bet. Ask for Miriam, tell her I sent you.”

  “Thank you. Where can I find the library?” Tamsyn answered, but she was talking to thin air.

  For an old lady Gladys sure did move fast, and she was barreling down the pavement toward the local pub as if she was on a deadline. Frustrated and unsettled by the comment about her mother, Tamsyn pulled out her phone and keyed in a search request. Ah, there it was. The library should be just around the block from where she stood now. Given that the blocks were tiny, she was there in five minutes, only to find the doors closed.

  She gritted her teeth as she studied the opening hours on the neatly hand-printed notice stuck on the inside of the glass door. She’d just missed them. She jotted a note on her phone with the hours and promised herself she’d be back on Wednesday before she attended her firs
t day as the seniors’ coordinator.

  For now, there was nothing for it but to head back to the cottage and take out her frustration for a few hours on the weeds growing through the garden. Her car was hot from sitting in the sun and she waited a while with the windows open for it to cool down before starting the engine. She looked around the township from where she sat. The place was quaintly idyllic. Everywhere she looked people greeted one another with a cheerful smile and a wave or a toot of their horn.

  So, if everyone was so darn friendly why was it proving so hard to find anyone who’d met her mother? What was it with this place? Was everything and everyone conspiring to prevent her from finding her?

  Eight

  The garden looked as if a whirlwind had torn through it, Finn realized as he stepped out of his car the next morning. Clumps of weeds lay in piles here and there all over the slightly overgrown lawn. He made a mental note to drag out the ride-on mower and run it around the grass sometime soon. But what Tamsyn had done with the untidy garden was nothing short of spectacular.

  “Good morning!” she called, stepping out onto the veranda to welcome him.

  She was a sight for sore eyes today, dressed in shorts and a tank top that already showed the efforts of her labors, stained as they were with a combination of perspiration and dirt.

  “You’ve been busy,” he said, getting out of the Cayenne.

  “I started yesterday and kept going this morning. I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing, and I hate leaving a job unfinished,” she said. “It’s enough to drive a woman to drink.”

  And wasn’t that exactly what had driven her mother to the bottle back in Australia? Finn thought privately. Being forced to sit around, doing nothing, just being decorative? Always at Tamsyn’s father’s beck and call, but only getting attention from him in dribs and drabs? Even the children, he’d heard, had been mostly raised by nannies.

  He pasted a smile on his face and pushed the stories he’d heard from Lorenzo to the back of his mind.

  “Would an espresso do?” Finn offered.

  Tamsyn gave a heartfelt groan of appreciation. “I’d do anything for one.”

  Deep down, Finn’s gut clenched tight. Oh, yeah, he was doing well so far. Not. Less than five minutes in her company and he was already fighting a hard-on. Willing his errant body back under control, he stepped up onto the veranda.

  “I’m sure your boyfriend wouldn’t like you going around making that offer,” he finally answered.

  “No boyfriend at the moment. I’m off men.”

  “Off men?” Finn reached for her left hand, his finger stroking the white line on her ring finger. “This the reason?”

  Her hands, despite the grime from the garden, were soft. Tamsyn looked down at where he touched her. Finn watched as a gamut of emotions played across her expressive features.

  “Yes,” she said abruptly, tugging her hand free. “I need to rinse off. You know where everything is, I take it?”

  Ah, so she didn’t want to talk about that either. Had the Aussie princess met her match in her former fiancé? Was that why she was so intent on finding Ellen? he wondered. Was she looking for affection now that her fiancé was no longer in her life?

  Finn told himself not to jump to conclusions. He needed to understand her in order to keep a lid on this situation. To control it and to guide Tamsyn away from trouble. Trouble, in this case, being finding out anything to do with Ellen whatsoever.

  He went through to the kitchen and pulled out Lorenzo’s favorite coffee cups and the imported Italian-branded coffee beans the older man swore by. Putting the required scoops in the grinder, Finn set the machine to work.

  “My own personal barista, how did I get so lucky?” Tamsyn said a few minutes later from behind him, startling him with her arrival in the kitchen.

  She’d taken a very quick shower, judging by the fresh soapy scent of her, and changed into the jeans she’d worn yesterday, teamed this time with a pale pink T-shirt.

  “Well, the luck stops here. You’re doing the rest. I’m here to show you how, remember?”

  She shrugged. “No problem. Let’s start with how many beans you measured into the grinder.”

  Finn went through the steps. She was a quick learner, grasping the use of the machine easily.

  “Let’s take these out the front and enjoy looking at your efforts in the garden,” he suggested when the cups were poured.

  “It’s been a while since someone has worked in it, hasn’t it?” Tamsyn asked as they settled into a pair of cane-and-wicker chairs.

  He just nodded, not really trusting himself to speak. The garden had always been Ellen’s domain, but in recent years it had become too much for her. Lorenzo, busy overseeing the staff who tended the vines on the joint property he shared with Finn, had little love for working in the rambling cottage garden Ellen had created and had done the barest minimum to keep the weeds at bay. Finn had frequently suggested they employ someone to help out around the house, but his business partner had adamantly refused.

  Considering he and Ellen were still only in their late fifties it was an emotional outburst, but Finn respected that it couldn’t be easy for Lorenzo to slowly see the woman he had loved for so long slowly wither away physically and mentally. Lorenzo hadn’t wanted to admit that Ellen could no longer handle the tasks she’d once loved, like gardening. The early onset of her dementia had been devastating news for them all.

  Finn and Tamsyn settled into an easy silence together, broken only when she finished her coffee and placed her cup back on its saucer on the small glass-topped cane table between them.

  “That was pure gold. I feel like a new woman,” she declared with a happy sigh.

  “Something wrong with the old one?” he queried, always ready to delve into what made Tamsyn Masters tick.

  “A few things, but I’m working on them,” she answered vaguely. “I got a job, by the way. Not paid work, but I’m volunteering in town at the hall.”

  “Seriously? Gladys is letting you help her out?” Finn’s eyebrows rose in tandem with the incredulous note in his voice.

  Tamsyn laughed, the sound plucking at his chest. God, he loved it when she laughed.

  “Oh, no, as tempting as it is to set her office to rights, I wouldn’t dare trespass on her domain. No, they needed someone to fill in for the seniors’ program coordinator. She hurt herself last week, apparently, and won’t be back until the new year.”

  “You’re planning to stay here that long?”

  Finn was surprised. Surely she intended returning home long before Christmas?

  “I don’t have any other demands on my time.”

  “But your family? They’ll expect you back for Christmas, won’t they?”

  Tamsyn shrugged. “As far as my immediate family goes, it’s only Ethan and me and he’s recently engaged. I think it would be nice for him and Isobel to enjoy their first Christmas together without having to worry about me tagging along. The rest of my family is big enough and noisy enough not to miss me too much. Besides, I’m needed here now.” She gave him a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  There was a note to her voice it took him a moment to place—she was feeling lost and vulnerable. He didn’t doubt for a second that her family would miss her over Christmas, but she obviously felt they didn’t need her. If anything, she needed the voluntary position here in the community more than they needed her.

  The realization knocked his impression of her back a couple of notches. No matter which way he turned it, she was looking less and less like the spoiled little princess he’d built up in his mind. Had he been so determined to see the worst in her that he hadn’t opened his eyes to the person she really was? Obviously the scars that Briana had left had gone far deeper than he’d thought if he was incapable of seeing the good in a
person anymore.

  After all, he thought, looking out over the garden, would someone who didn’t understand hard work or dedication have worked so diligently to expose the carefully cultivated loveliness behind the weeds?

  “I’m sure the old guys at the center will be thrilled to have you. You’re far easier on the eyes than their usual coordinator.”

  “Oh, I’m sure the novelty will wear off soon enough,” she said, brushing aside his comments even as a delicious blush spread up her chest and neck before tinting her cheeks with a delicate pink.

  “Well, I had better get back to work,” Finn said, rising to his feet.

  “What is it you do exactly?” she asked, getting up to lean on the railing that skirted the edge of the veranda.

  “This and that. At the moment I’m developing a new idea.”

  “Oh, hush-hush, is it? Tell, and you’d have to kill me, is that it?”

  Finn chuckled. “No, nothing like that. I used to be in I.T.,” he said, downplaying the company he’d established on the internet and then sold for several billion dollars a few years ago. “Nowadays I dabble in all sorts of things, including the vineyards around us. The owners here and I are partners in this lot.”

  He opened his arms to encompass the surrounding land.

  “I’m impressed,” Tamsyn answered with a smile. “I’ll bet this is a lot more fun than being lashed to a computer all day.”

  “Different strokes. What I did was fun at the time. Leaving it was even more so as it gives me the freedom now to do what I please, although I’m more of a silent partner with the vines. We grow for supply to the local wineries and it turns over a good living.”