by Anne Oliver
‘It’s best if I go. I’ll see you soon.’
‘Soon?’ Her brow creased and her clouded grey eyes searched his face.
He knew it sounded vague. Damn, he was trying to get his head around all this. Because he had the urge to smooth that worry and hurt from her forehead, he stuck his hands in his pockets.
‘Come for dinner.’ She spoke as if she expected a refusal. ‘I owe you a dinner, don’t I? Tomorrow night.’
‘I’ll let you know.’ He began walking down the hall towards the stairs.
Charlotte followed. ‘Seven o’clock,’ she said, her voice stronger as he turned to her at the front door. ‘I’ll do something special. Please, Nic?’
How could he resist those eyes? ‘Okay. See you then.’
He drove with the window down and the wind screaming past his ear. He couldn’t get the image of her standing in her parents’ room out of his head. The pain, the grief still so bright and sharp. Two years?
She’d made the house a shrine to her family. From the little he knew of her life since her family’s deaths, her decision to go to Fiji had been her best decision in those two years.
But now she was home would she build on her new experiences or slip into reverse and be satisfied existing on memories for the rest of her life? That wasn’t living; it wasn’t even close.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHARLOTTE moped the rest of the day while she finished unpacking and restocked her groceries and tried to get on with things. The night was an endurance marathon, spent tossing and turning and regretting her defensiveness. Nic had been trying to help and she’d turned on him in the most unkind, hurtful, arrogant way possible. She’d accused him of not understanding because of his background.
And she’d realised it the moment the words were out of her mouth. She couldn’t take them back. Could never take them back. She’d not meant it in a judgemental way, but how could he possibly understand family?
Through her bedroom window, she watched the night fade from grey to pink to day. Nic had been honest, his motivation purely based around concern for her, and the truth sliced like a blade. For a couple of weeks he’d made her forget, but coming home had been like taking a step backwards.
And he was right. Living here surrounded by reminders of the past was no way to live. The memories would always remain but she knew her family would be the first to tell her to move forward. They’d be cheering Nic on. It had taken getting away from everything familiar and comfortable—and Nic—to show her.
Her phone vibrated across her night stand. She was only marginally disappointed when it was Suzette’s voice and not Nic’s.
‘I’ll be home this afternoon. I’ll drop by around five,’ Suzette told her. ‘I’ve got some samples for the charity show ready for you to look at.’
‘Ah, Nic’s coming for dinner tonight.’ If he hadn’t changed his mind, that was.
‘Oh? I thought it was over?’
Charlotte closed her eyes. ‘Suz, have you got a few minutes? I need to talk …’
After the phone call, Charlotte got busy on the meal preparation. Fresh oysters, a lamb and potato hot pot and a sherry trifle. Easy cook, easy serve, would give her time to enjoy Nic’s company and hopefully dispel the bad feeling they’d parted with.
She loved the cellar with its blend of rustic charm in the rough red bricks and the elegance of the eighteenth-century walnut dinner table and chairs. After setting the table with the best cutlery and china, she chose the wines for each course and set them aside.
Suzette was running late and she arrived with her sample pieces ten minutes before Nic was due.
Charlotte glanced at the clock. ‘Can we bring them up to my room?’ She did not want to face him surrounded by bridalwear.
‘You are over Flynn, aren’t you?’ Suzette asked, a moment later, watching Charlotte carefully as she pulled a dress bag from her stash on the bed.
‘Who? I’ve never been more over anyone or anything in my life.’
‘Good. Still, I hope this won’t upset you.’ Suzette unzipped the bag. ‘What do you think of this for the star attraction?’ The hand-worked beading and cream pearls on the bodice winked like stars in the light. ‘It would look amazing with your figure.’
Charlotte’s heart clenched, but only for a moment. ‘It’s stunning,’ she said slowly. ‘But I’m no model. Anyway, I’ll be busy making sure everything runs smoothly and people are buying.’
‘And that’s fine. I’d never ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I thought perhaps it might exorcise a demon or two.’
‘Demons exorcised already. I feel better than I’ve felt in two years.’
‘I can see that.’ Suzette laid the garment on the bed. ‘But be careful with this Nic guy, Charlie,’ she warned, softly. ‘I don’t want to see you hurt again.’
Still hugging her arms, Charlotte looked away. ‘I know, and I’ll be careful. It’s just … sometimes I think maybe, if he knew …’
‘Knew what?’
That I love him and I can’t imagine not being with him. She shook her head, made her voice brisk. ‘Never mind. What’s in this box?’ She lifted a lid and pulled out a froth of tulle with diamanté tiara attached.
‘From what you’ve told me, he sounds like great fling material but anything else …’
Charlotte wouldn’t argue, not when her emotions were so close to spilling over. ‘You’re absolutely right. As usual. This is gorgeous.’ She spun the headpiece around so that the tulle floated. ‘Can I try it on?’
She didn’t wait for an answer, putting it on her head and letting the tulle settle lightly over her face. A screen to hide the moisture that welled in her eyes.
Suzette adjusted the tiara from behind, then stepped back. ‘I only finished it this afternoon—which is why I’m late—and I wanted to see how it looks from all sides in any case.’ She twitched at the tulle. ‘Good job, if I do say so myself.’
Charlotte turned and saw her misty reflection in the night-darkened window. And for just a heartbeat out of time, she dreamed the impossible dream.
Nic arrived a few moments early. He’d seen a car ahead as he turned into the drive and had killed the lights and stopped. A tall, leggy blonde in the highest heels he’d ever seen had got out with a load of stuff; the two women had hugged then gone inside. Suzette?
They probably had loads to discuss. He had a feeling he was about to feel his ears burning. He stared up at the house where light spilled from an upstairs window.
He inched the car forward and parked behind the woman’s SUV as Charlotte appeared in the window. Something white and filmy and nuptial covered her dark hair. She fluffed it out, obviously watching herself in the glass. That was precisely why he and Charlotte wouldn’t work long term.
But his gut tightened nevertheless. And if he sat here much longer he might see more than he was supposed to. Definitely more than he wanted to. Charlotte was expecting him ten minutes ago. How would it look if they came outside and found him sitting in his car like a Peeping Tom?
Grabbing the armful of daffodils, he walked to the door and rang the bell.
A moment later, the door opened and the blonde smiled at him. ‘Hi. You must be Nic. I’m Suzette.’
‘Hi, Suzette.’
She motioned him inside. ‘Charlotte’ll be down in a moment. Gorgeous flowers; she’ll love them.’
‘I’ve caught her at a bad time.’
‘Not at all. It’s me who’s in the way. I just dropped by to leave a few things here for the show.’
He shifted uncomfortably and ran a hand inside the neck of his jumper. He knew when he was being sized up for a wedding suit. Or possibly a coffin if he did anything to hurt Charlotte, because something in Suzette’s eyes advised him to proceed with caution. ‘You’re a successful designer, I hear.’
She smiled. ‘I like to think so.’
‘What do you think of Charlotte’s designs?’
‘She’s shown you?’ Then she la
ughed lightly, blue eyes twinkling. ‘I guess she has. I love them. I’m hoping she’ll let us use some of her pieces at the show.’
‘Good. Because I think she could make a go of it, if she decided to get serious.’
‘I totally agree. We’ll have to join forces and talk her into it.’
Her smile was friendly enough but he could tell it came with a warning that if he broke rank she’d crush him with her stilettoed heel.
She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Here she comes now.’
Charlotte descended the stairs, wearing a fluffy jumper the colour of melted butter and black leggings that showcased her legs.
‘I told you that colour suited you years ago,’ Suzette said as she swept out. ‘Nice to meet you, Nic.’
‘Yeah.’ He didn’t notice her leave. He was too busy looking at the woman he’d come to see. ‘New jumper?’
‘I decided I needed something that reminds me of sunshine. Maybe it’ll hurry spring along.’
‘In that case, I chose well.’ He handed her the matching flowers, then bent forward to kiss her lips.
‘They’re gorgeous. Thank you.’ She smiled up at him but there was an awareness of yesterday’s scene in her soft grey eyes.
‘I’ll just get some water … Come through.’
The warm and enticing aroma of herbs and lamb filled the hall as he followed her to the kitchen. She arranged the daffodils in a vase, then picked it up. ‘This way. Everything’s ready.’
She led him down a narrow flight of stairs off the kitchen and his pulse picked up its pace as the walls narrowed and leaned towards him. He knew it was only his perception.
‘The cellar’s one of my favourite places,’ she said as they descended. ‘It’s intimate without being confining.’
And to some extent she was right, thank God. If the ceiling weren’t quite so low, it’d be even better. Haunting classical guitar drifted through hidden speakers, a crystal chandelier tossed rainbows over a long table set for two at one end. There were delicate pink wine glasses and polished silver.
How was this for a turn-around—Nic being romanced by a woman? A woman he cared deeply about. More than cared about … The knowledge and his instant refusal to accept that knowledge threw him off balance for a moment. For once in his adult life he wasn’t the one in control. In more ways than one.
‘Do you mind leaving the door open?’ He scratched at the itch around his neck. ‘I’m feeling a little warm.’
‘Of course.’ She moved to the table as she spoke. ‘But it’s always a constant temperature down here. I’m sure you’ll be okay.’
She positioned the daffodils in the centre next to an ornate silver candelabrum, then pressed her palms together. ‘Perfect.’ She smiled at him, the chandelier’s lights sparkling in her eyes like stars.
He smiled back. ‘How could it not be? You went to all this trouble for me.’
‘Nothing’s too much trouble for you.’
Careful, Nic. ‘This is great,’ he said to the room in general, wandering over to study what looked to his inexperienced eye to be an original and highly prized piece of Australian art. ‘Where’s the wine? Shouldn’t a cellar have wine?’
‘Through there.’ She gestured to a slim archway almost obscured by a wrought-iron grille. ‘I’ll show you later. For now, have a seat,’ she said, withdrawing a plate of oysters au naturel and a bottle from a bar fridge. ‘Wine?’
‘Allow me—’
She whisked it out of his reach. ‘I’m the hostess—I’m quite capable of pouring wine. We’ll start with a chardonnay.’ She paused, the bottle in mid-air. ‘If you’d like?’
He sat where she’d indicated. ‘I’m in your capable hands.’
She shot him a smouldering look. ‘Let’s just eat first. This is one of our best.’ She poured the amber liquid, then sat down herself and raised her glass. ‘I hope you like it. It has a tropical fruit flavour I think you’ll appreciate and pairs up well with seafood.’
‘To good wine.’ There was the tinkle of delicate glass on glass as he touched his flute to hers.
She nodded. ‘And hopefully good food.’
‘Nice.’ He savoured its crisp and sweet taste on his tongue a moment, then scooped up an oyster. ‘You grow any other varieties?’
‘We’re mainly into Shiraz, which the Barossa’s famous for. Three Cockatoos Winery has won barrelfuls of awards over the years. We’ll try some with our main …’ She trailed off, her eyes clouded and staring into space.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I forgot the winery’s no longer a part of my life.’
He stretched a hand to hers across the table. ‘Tell me about it. The winery, your family.’
With apparent effort she turned her focus on him. ‘My mother’s ancestors were among the first German settlers in the nineteenth century. My father’s three times great grandfather migrated from France during the gold rush, made his fortune, then came to the Barossa and grew grapes. The Dumonts have always been here. And I sold them out.’ Her voice dropped to a near whisper.
‘No.’ He turned her hand over and caressed her palm with his thumb and stared into her troubled eyes. ‘You have a heritage you can be proud of no matter who owns the winery now.’
Her gaze clouded further and he knew she was thinking about his manifestly vast lack of background and heritage because hadn’t she made that quite clear yesterday? The princess and the boy from the back streets? He withdrew his hand.
‘Nic. About yesterday. I—’
‘Don’t. There’s no need.’
‘But there is, I—’
The world plunged into darkness. Black. Totally, blindingly, unfathomably black. Nic closed his eyes so he couldn’t see it while his mind shut down and shrivelled into survival mode. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. He concentrated only on reciting the word in his head and tried unsuccessfully to visualise a cool lake. All he could see were pin spots dancing on his eyelids.
‘That damn cellar fuse must have blown again,’ he heard her say through the thickening air that pressed in around him.
He didn’t even attempt to speak. To do so would make him appear an idiot and, besides, his throat had closed over. He felt the vibrations as she shuffled and bumped her way along the edge of the table towards him. A hand brushed his arm. ‘Stay put. I’ll be back in a jiff.’
Sweat broke out on his brow, his back. His worst nightmare. She was going to leave him here alone underground in the dark. Scaredy cat, scaredy cat, scared of the dark. Old pleas, old taunts. Leering faces circling him, closer, closer till he couldn’t breathe. Holding his schoolbag like a trophy, too high for a young boy to reach. Waving a blindfold in front of his eyes. Let’s teach him a lesson he won’t forget.
‘Stop!’ He hadn’t realised he’d spoken his mantra aloud until he felt her jolt. ‘You’ll trip; I’ll come too.’ He managed by sheer terrifying necessity to get the words past his quivering tonsils.
‘I’m okay,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I know my way around, you don’t.’
‘I insist,’ he gritted out, jerking off the chair. It tipped over with a clatter of splintering wood. Antique wood. He took a step, stumbled over it.
‘Hey.’ She laughed lightly. ‘I should be the one helping you.’
He felt her hand and clutched at it like a damn lifeline. ‘Fine. I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not.’ A pause. ‘You’re trembling …’ Another pause—concerned and amazed.
She knew.
‘Come on,’ she said softly and led him to the stairs. ‘Fifteen steps; count them.’
It gave him something to concentrate on as he felt his way, the rough bricks catching on his jumper, his shoes scudding against the stairs.
Finally. Fresh air was a cool relief on his sweat-soaked brow and he could make out the shape of the fridge, the old sideboard with its stained-glass frontage and Charlotte’s eyes glinting in the kitchen’s dimness. She flicked a switch and he blinked in the flood of light and pulled his
hand out of her grasp.
‘What just went on down there, Nic?’ she asked quietly, her gaze searching his.
He scrubbed his hands over his jaw. ‘What are you talking about?’ He backed away on legs that felt like reeds in a wind. ‘I’ll be outside. I forgot something in the car.’
‘Nic.’ She reached for him, caught hold of his arms and stepped in front, barring his way. ‘You have a fear of confined spaces?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not being ridiculous.’ Her hold tightened. ‘Typical man—your worst fear is admitting that you have a fear. Fear isn’t weakness, and I want to help.’
He stood stiffly, his jaw clenched. ‘If you want to help, you can terminate this conversation.’
Her eyes were resolute and full of compassion. ‘My nurturing side won’t let me.’
‘I don’t need nurturing, for God’s sake.’ He flicked his gaze to the ceiling, away from her soft grey eyes that seemed to plumb the depths of his soul.
‘Okay, not nurturing, then. I’m talking support. Even the toughest guy needs support now and then. The trick is acknowledging and accepting it.’
He wouldn’t know how. He’d been on his own so long he’d learned to live without it. He’d forgotten how to lean on another, but suddenly he yearned, desperately, to bury his head at Charlotte’s breast and draw on her comfort. Worse, he was afraid if he did, he’d never let go.
Instead, he played to one of his key strengths and dropped his voice to a seductive murmur he was far from feeling. ‘Support’s not what I need from you, babe.’
Running his hands over the sides of her breasts to the slim curve of her waist, he leaned in to kiss her but she pushed him away hard and her eyes flashed with impatience.
‘So I’m good enough to have sex with but not good enough to lean on and confide in and be someone who matters.’
He cursed himself when he recognised it wasn’t only impatience he saw, there was hurt too. ‘Damn it, Charlotte, that’s n—’
‘When you love someone you want to help that person any way you can. Why can’t you see that? Why won’t you see that?’
