by Fiona Lowe
Her relationship with Ben was so different from the one she’d had with Jason that she often pinched herself. Ben had not only filled the obvious hole in her life but he’d filled spaces within her that she’d never known existed. Not that they agreed on everything—what constituted a clean sink and a clean bathroom was a perfect example—but instead of becoming stuck in a circular argument, Ben suggested they work to their strengths. He shopped, cooked, ironed and vacuumed. She dusted, cleaned the kitchen and the bathrooms. They both daydreamed of paying someone to do all of it for them.
Ben’s island holiday idea was now a reality. She still loved him but good God, no part of her definition of a ‘relaxing island holiday’ featured rising at dawn and a breath-sucking walk up a precipitous climb. It didn’t help that Ben was positively bounding up the track ahead of her, looking fit and buff while her hair stuck to her sweaty head, her calves screamed and her heart and lungs threatened to go on strike because they were being forced to work so hard. Not caring that the bulk of the hike group were ahead of her, she took a moment to rest. Her parched throat welcomed the cool water she glugged down fast.
‘We’re almost there.’ Ben jogged back to her and pressed a protein bar into her hand. ‘You’re doing great.’
‘This better be worth it. There better not be cloud,’ Georgie grumbled petulantly. ‘And just so you know, I’m having a spa day tomorrow and being pampered.’
He laughed. ‘I promise you’ll remember this walk for longer than you’ll remember the spa.’
She doubted that. The track was too narrow to walk side by side and as Ben was the faster walker, he went first. She supposed the one up side to this strenuous walk was that she got to admire his arse as she went. They’d started at sea level, climbing quickly. She’d used the ropes to help haul herself up and soon they’d found themselves in a grove of tall and straight kentia palms. The next section had freaked her out as she’d gingerly traversed a very narrow track wedged between a mountain on the left and a one-hundred-metre drop to the Tasman Sea on the right. As if nature knew she only had so much stamina, the trail thankfully flattened out for a kilometre and they’d strolled over a plateau before climbing again. Now they were above the tree line and in a mossy forest.
The summit beckoned and she pushed through her discomfort, keen to get to the top and conquer the walk like the rest of the party. Soon she was gazing out across Lord Howe Island’s rainforest towards the rugged volcanic Mount Lidgbird and down to the spectacular turquoise lagoon. Two providence petrels soared overhead, riding the wind currents and above them, the blue, blue sky went on forever.
‘Oh, wow,’ she somehow managed to splutter despite panting for breath. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘So are you.’ Ben grinned at her and whipped her hat off her head. ‘Marry me?’
Her oxygen-deprived brain short-circuited as his unexpected question sucked away what little breath she had. She blinked her sweat-filled eyes, trying to work out if he’d just proposed or if she was having an exercise-induced hallucination.
A knot of worry pulled at his mouth. ‘Georgie?’
She heaved in air. ‘Did you … did you just ask me to marry you?’
He gazed down at her, his eyes filled with love but backlit with a thread of anxiety. ‘I did. Sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry. Not at all.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Hell, I’ve stuffed it up. The thing is, I’ve been planning to ask you for weeks and tonight was the night. I booked us a romantic dinner in the restaurant in the corner window you love so much under the watchful eye of Mount Gower. But seeing you standing here with wonder and delight on your face, I couldn’t wait another minute.’
She blinked at him. ‘But I’m bright red, sweaty and I’ve got hat hair!’
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘Inside and out.’
Her heart lurched and she had the craziest sensation that she was going to cry. She didn’t want to cry—she’d done too much of that in the last two years. ‘Only a PE teacher would propose on a precipice to a woman who wasn’t match fit.’
‘You’re fitter and stronger than you ever give yourself credit for.’ He picked up her hands. ‘You still haven’t answered me. Shall I repeat the question? I can do the official version or the unofficial version. Which do you want?’
‘Both.’ The shock was passing and she wanted to savour every minute of this life-changing moment.
‘Okay. Take one. The unofficial version.’ He got a wicked twinkle in his eye as he cleared his throat. ‘Hey, babe. You and me. How about it?’
She laughed. ‘Smooth. Very smooth.’
‘That’s me.’ His face sobered. ‘Now the official version. Georgina Elizabeth Chirnwell, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
The old-fashioned words wrapped around her heart with the reassuring warmth of a blanket on a cold night; words she’d waited years to hear and had despaired they’d never be spoken. Now she understood why. She’d had to meet Ben first.
‘Oh, Ben. I’d love to marry you. The sooner the better.’ She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled in close, tilting her head back to look up at him. ‘But I still get my romantic dinner tonight, right?’
He laughed. ‘I promise you champagne, the seafood extravaganza, and a ring served with the decadent dessert.’
‘You bought a ring?’ Her heart swelled.
He looked sheepish. ‘I told you. I’d planned it all perfectly. Then I stuffed it up.’
‘No, you didn’t. You’ve just doubled the joy. I get to relive it all over again tonight.’ She gave a shivery squeal. ‘I can’t wait to see the ring. I can’t believe you bought me a ring.’
‘I had help. I got input from Xara and my sisters.’
‘Clever man.’
‘I thought it politic on many fronts. Besides, it gave Josie something else to focus on instead of Michelle. Josie loves a wedding.’
‘A wedding,’ she said wondrously. ‘Oh my God, we’re really doing this. We’re engaged!’ She grabbed his hand and tugged him over to the group of hikers who were now sitting in a circle, tucking into the gourmet sandwiches packed by the resort kitchen. ‘Everyone,’ she said portentously. ‘You intrepid folk are the first to know. Ben just proposed and I said yes.’
To the background of cheers, Georgie kissed her fiancé and thrilled at the sheer joy pulsing through her.
* * *
‘Welcome to Miligili. And doesn’t she look a picture in this glorious spring sunshine?’ The real estate agent’s voice boomed out over the buzz of the large crowd. ‘Historically significant, this rare and illustrious home was built by the Mannering pastoral dynasty in 1878. Now nestled on 2.023 hectares, it boasts beautifully established landscaped gardens, a full-size tennis court, a swimming pool and spa as well as a guesthouse and bluestone stables. Restored and currently owned by a descendent of Thomas Mannering, its superb interiors retain their heritage allure and include soaring ceilings, Baltic pine floors, original leadlight and decals …’
Harriet stood at the back of the crowd wearing dark glasses and praying she was inconspicuous. She’d dressed carefully, passing over her usual spring weekend casual clothing of knee-high leather boots, caramel twill pants, a long-sleeved striped T-shirt and a jaunty quilted vest. Instead, she’d hauled on Xara’s tracksuit pants and hoodie. It had physically hurt to put them on, not just because she’d taken a personal vow at seventeen never to be seen out of the house dressed in tracksuit pants, but because the clothes reminded her of the bitter argument she’d had with her sister. They hadn’t spoken since. It wasn’t like she and Xara had never argued before—they had and often—but this time was different. They’d never gone weeks without speaking and Xara’s silence had bitten hard. For the first time in her life, Harriet felt completely abandoned.
Despite their differing views, she and Xara had always pulled together on the important things. Every time she thought about Xara’s current silence, the root of her anger burned hot. How could X
ara believe that she’d never grieved for her over Tasha? Granted, she didn’t provide Xara with any hands-on help, but she’d paid for the occasional weekend away for her and Steve, she’d contributed money toward Tasha’s new wheelchair and every school holidays she’d lent Charlotte.
I think that was more Xara helping you out with childcare than the other way around.
She batted the errant thought away with renewed resentment. It was Charlotte’s exposure to Tasha and the twins that had made her hellbent on continuing with the pregnancy. Charlotte was thirty-four weeks pregnant now. Not that she’d seen her daughter or her fecund belly, but despite not thinking about the pregnancy, she always seemed to know the gestational week without even trying.
‘… Handsome formal sitting and dining rooms, each with marble open fireplaces and bay windows, precede an expansive informal living and dining domain with tessellated-tile floor accompanied by a well-appointed kitchen with butler’s pantry. The outdoor spaces are accessed through French doors and are ideal for indoor–outdoor entertaining. There are six bedrooms including a luxurious main with ensuite and a parents’ retreat. The children are looked after too, with a large games room offering fabulous family flexibility.’
Harriet peered out from under the beanie she’d pulled over her hair—all part of her disguise—and felt her umbrage grow. The bulk of the crowd weren’t here to bid on her beautiful home; they’d come to gawk and pass judgement on her and her taste. They’d walked over her polished floorboards, slid their fingers across her furniture, probably opened her linen cupboard and underwear drawers, checked out her bathroom cabinets and commented on the righteousness of the forced sale of her home. With a masochistic bent she hadn’t been aware was part of her, she’d lingered in the house during the obligatory open for inspection prior to the auction. Apparently, having good taste and money was offensive to many.
‘It serves them right. I mean, who needs a house this big?’
‘Look at all these bedrooms. Ridiculous. Apparently they only had one kid.’
‘I heard she’s run off the rails just like her father.’
‘Yeah, well what do you expect? The rich think they’re above the law. It’s all about power and prestige.’
The real estate agent’s voice droned on. ‘The original attic-style servants’ quarters have been converted into two bedrooms. With a total of three bathrooms, a library-cum-study, a cellar, water tanks, auto gates and a four-car garage, Miligili is a home you want to own. And now I’ll introduce you to our auctioneer, Ted Radak.’
Harriet had told the real estate agent she wouldn’t be in attendance and would deal with questions by phone. She hadn’t wanted the gaze of the town on her, which was why she was incognito at the back of the crowd. She scanned the throng, which featured almost every demographic in Billawarre from farmers to shopkeepers, hospital cleaners to administrators, with a few teachers thrown in for good measure. James was not among them. He’d written from the remand centre when he’d got news of the auction: We can’t always get what we want, H. It’s just a house.
Unlike the man she’d married, this new James always found a way to hurt her. Miligili had never been just a house. Now, standing in the crisp morning air watching the bright and cheery daffodils sway in the breeze, she wondered why she was putting herself through the pain of watching what had been her third love—after James and Charlotte—go under the hammer. She’d wondered if Charlotte might have come but she wasn’t in the crowd either. None of her family had come. Georgie was out of range on Lord Howe Island but even if she’d been able to call, her youngest sister’s long-distance solicitude would somehow have made Harriet miss Xara more.
‘Harriet?’
She stiffened as panic surged through her. How the hell had someone recognised her in this getup and behind large dark sunglasses? Don’t respond and they’ll go away.
‘Harriet Chirnwell?’ the voice persisted, slightly louder this time.
Shit. She really didn’t want him yelling out her name so she turned around slowly. Through her Polaroid glasses she was startled to see Andrew Willis. Acute embarrassment followed; she’d just been outed by a colleague while being dressed like a bogan. He, on the other hand, had his hands shoved deep inside the pockets of a navy woollen coat. Underneath it he wore jeans and what appeared to be a cream, hand-knitted, cable jumper. He looked like a hatless fisherman.
‘Have you lost your boat?’
‘It’s definitely you.’ He smiled slowly. ‘I wasn’t certain there for a minute. I’m used to seeing you in scrubs, although it seems you favour the casual look out of hours too.’
An unreasonable sense of betrayal gripped her that he, like so many others, had come just to scope out Miligili. She didn’t understand why she felt so strongly—it wasn’t like they were friends. Apart from some brief conversations with Jenny, he’d been the only other person she’d talked with over the last few weeks. Not that the conversations had been riveting—far from it. In fact they’d barely strayed from work-related topics, the weather and the latest knick-knack Cecily had added to his room at the B&B. She’d never mentioned James and the fraud, or Charlotte and the pregnancy, and she definitely hadn’t mentioned the auction. Still, this was Billawarre. All it would take was a brief conversation with anyone in the hospital and he’d have been told Miligili was hers.
‘Come to bid?’ she asked tartly.
‘Nah,’ he said easily. ‘Not bidding. She’s a bit big for my needs.’
‘So, in actual fact, you’ve joined the rest of the town as a tyre kicker.’
He didn’t even have the grace to look abashed. ‘I like to think of it as getting a feel for the market.’
She inclined her head, studying him. ‘This is hardly your market.’
‘Yeah, okay. You got me.’ He rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, his face lined in thought. ‘Will you accept I have an interest in historic houses?’
‘Do you?’
His eyes lit up silver grey, matching Miligili’s blue stone, and he pulled out his phone. Swiping the screen, he brought up a photo of a glorious Victorian house. ‘I spent five years restoring her to her former glory.’
Harriet studied the photo. The two-storey house with long verandas was built out of the distinctive South Australian bluestone. Unlike the blue-grey of the Victorian stone, this was a multicolour mix of browns, blues, greys, sand and ochre. The neat red brickwork surrounding each window punctuated the beautiful melange of colours and textures. All of it said ‘Adelaide’.
‘She’s beautiful.’
‘Yeah, she is. Part of my heart will forever remain in that house.’ He closed the screen and slid the phone back into his pocket. ‘I lost her as part of my divorce settlement.’
Her own heart took a hit on his behalf and she glanced at him over the top of her sunglasses. ‘Is it supposed to hurt this much?’
He rocked again, his booted feet crunching against the Lilydale topping on the drive. ‘Yep.’
She crossed her arms over her chest, hating the feel of the bulky hoodie bunching around her middle. ‘If it was your intention to come today and make me feel better,’ she said, ‘it’s not working.’
He laughed and the sonorous sound rang out with relaxed enjoyment. ‘I like your frankness, Harriet Chirnwell.’
She stared straight ahead, not sure what to make of him. ‘You’d be in the minority.’
‘You did a beautiful restoration job on this house. You served her well,’ he said, his voice sobering and dropping to such a deep and quiet tone she struggled to hear. ‘You’ll always be a part of her history. Hold onto that.’
She wanted to say thank you, but her throat felt scratchy and her eyes burned. She looked away, blinking rapidly, grateful she was wearing sunglasses.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, now we’ve outlined all the information required by law,’ the auctioneer said after declaring the obligatory rates and water costs and referring the serious bidders to the Section 32. ‘I nee
d to tell you that as well as the people present here today, we have three people bidding by telephone. My assistants—’ he indicated three women dressed in almost identical black skirts, white blouses, grey and white patterned scarves and black jackets ‘—will be relaying their bids to me.’
Nausea rolled Harriet’s stomach. Miligili was really going on the market. ‘I don’t think I can stay and watch after all.’
Andrew gave her shoulder a quick squeeze with a steady, friendly pressure. ‘You can. You owe it to her. Besides, you’ll hate yourself if you don’t stay. As much as you don’t want to be here, you won’t want to miss it either. It’s all part of saying goodbye.’
She didn’t quite know what to make of this man who up until today had only ever talked shop. She really wanted to say a tart, ‘Nonsense’, but instead she heard herself mutter, ‘Have you always been insightful?’
‘Of course.’ This time his laugh rang with self-deprecating humour. ‘Put it this way: getting divorced taught me some things. Thought some of it might be useful to you. Mind you, as difficult as it got for me, I didn’t have to face the scrutiny or deal with the vitriol of an entire town.’ He gave a small smile. ‘Sorry. Can’t offer you much advice there except keep doing what you’re doing.’
‘Hiding in plain sight in awful clothes?’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of turning up to work every day.’ He winked at her. ‘Not that you don’t rock that particular look, although you haven’t got it quite right. You’re missing the uggies.’
Despite her embarrassment at him finding her dressed like this, she felt her lips twitch. Her smile stalled as the auctioneer rang the bell. ‘Let’s start the bidding at one-point-five million dollars.’
The bidding started slowly but quickly sped up. Harriet, despite her height, was having trouble working out exactly who was bidding. It soon became apparent that the telephone bidders were the serious contenders.
She leaned in close to Andrew so that only he could hear her and whispered, ‘It just passed the reserve.’ His very male scent of wool, sweat and mint settled inside her with an ache. He didn’t smell anything like James, although memories of that clean, crisp fragrance now made her gag. Andrew’s aroma rammed home exactly how long she’d been alone, especially if she counted the months preceding James’s arrest. All of it unsettled her. She didn’t like feeling unsettled about Andrew; she had enough disconcerting things going on in her life without adding another one. Besides, he wasn’t her type.
