by Annie Seaton
‘Thanks. You want the basil cooked, not sprinkled on top?’
‘Course I do. Not meant to be eaten raw.’
Emma smothered a smile. She dropped a knob of butter into the pan, and when it sizzled and turned golden brown, she tipped in the tomatoes, basil and onion. A mouth-watering aroma filled the kitchen and she took a deep breath. ‘Beaut tomatoes, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ George pulled out a chair and straddled it, watching Emma as she deftly folded the eggs.
‘So what’s happening out at Cooper Creek?’ She flicked him a glance. ‘You’re on your way early.’
‘Not much.’ George dropped his gaze and shifted uncomfortably.
Emma frowned. ‘You’re not getting yourself into any trouble again, I hope?’
She’d long suspected that George applied his green thumb to more than just his vegetable garden and she knew he’d recently had a caution from the local police, when one of the coppers had come across a small plot of marijuana growing in a clearing deep in the rainforest up near Cooper Creek.
George denied all knowledge and had been most indignant that the cops had even warned him, but Emma knew better. The first time George had taken her for a walk into the ancient rainforest she’d been awed by the sheer beauty of the pristine environment, and she’d turned a blind eye to him watering plants in a small clearing while she ambled along the track beside Roaring Meg Creek.
‘Nah. Just going for a wander.’
‘Hmm. You know what happened last time.’
‘Pah. A warning from a copper who looks like he should still be in school. Don’t go worrying about me. I can look after myself.’
Emma dished out their scrambled eggs and George followed her as she carried their plates out to the verandah. It was shaded and the mornings were still cool enough to sit outside. The heat of the day would become more intense as the sun climbed higher in the late spring sky. As would the ever-present tropical humidity: better to be up and get the work done around the place before it got too hot. Then she could spend the afternoon lying around without a list of chores hanging over her.
As they ate, the only sound was the scraping of cutlery over their plates but the silence was comfortable.
‘Bugger.’ George stood, hitching up his trousers and tightening the wire. He pointed downstream to the punt. ‘Looks like you’ve got company on the way. I don’t need another talking to from that wanker. I’m outta here.’
Emma groaned. There was a police car parked at the boat ramp across the river and Constable Craig Anderson was climbing into the punt.
She stood and followed George as he scuttled down the hall to the front door.
‘Thanks for breakfast. Do you need anything while I’m up at the creek?’
‘If you’re going anywhere near Wilma’s, I do need some more cocky apple bark.’ She frowned at George. ‘But don’t you go getting it yourself either. Only get it from Wilma.’
Even though he cared about the rainforest, George had no concept of trespassing and considered the Daintree open to him wherever he wanted to wander. Wilma Randall, the local Aboriginal healer, lived in the rainforest at the turn-off to Cooper Creek Road. She had come into the clinic to have a stickybeak last year, and had been pleased to see that Emma was using natural therapies. Their friendship had developed quickly and a mutual respect and trust had grown as Wilma introduced Emma to the plants growing in the Daintree Rainforest around her home at Thornton Peak. Emma had expressed concern about the elderly woman’s cardiac health as they had trekked into the forest and Wilma had reluctantly agreed to a medical examination, but it had been a few months before she could persuade Wilma to take further tests down in Port Douglas. A valve problem had been diagnosed in addition to her angina and she was supposed to have a stent inserted, but Wilma had refused. So she was on medication as a temporary measure to alleviate her symptoms.
Wilma was happy to share her knowledge of bush medicine with Emma and they had become firm friends. George sometimes accompanied Emma to the rainforest but he always refused to get out of the car when she called into Wilma’s house on the way back. Despite all his protesting, though, he listened when Emma explained what the plants and barks were used for on the way home.
He stared at her. ‘No way. I can’t stand that old woman. Anyway I don’t know why you need all that hocus pocus stuff. You’re a doctor.’
‘Yes, and I also practise alternative medicine.’
‘Well, she looks like an old witch.’
‘Wilma is lovely. Even some of the people in Dalrymple drive out to see her for her bush remedies.’
‘She threatened to set her dog on me when I took a shortcut through her land a couple of weeks back.’ The creak of the rarely used front door blended with the indignation in his voice as he pulled it open.
‘Ah, now we’re getting closer to the truth.’
Emma shook her head as she stroked the soft fur behind Bowser’s ears. ‘I’ll ring Wilma and let her know you’re doing me a favour.’
‘All right. I guess I can pick it up for you. Just this once.’
Emma watched until George disappeared into the scrub at the side of the dirt road, and then whistled to Bowser as she walked back around the side of the house to wait for Craig. She smoothed the dog’s shiny coat as she looked across to the river. ‘You’re a naughty pup. I’m going to have to lock you in if you keep chasing snakes,’ she murmured.
The water was flowing slowly this morning, the gentle eddies and whirlpools adding to its silent beauty. A red-tailed black cockatoo screeched as it flew across the water, its giant wings flapping ponderously as it headed for the dead tree in the paddock beside the cottage.
Emma lifted her hands to run her fingers through her hair and then pulled a face and dropped them to her sides. Last thing she cared about was looking good for Craig.
A couple of months ago she’d made a stupid mistake and ended up spending the night at his place. Craig had seemed lonely at the Young Professionals dinner at the club and she’d gone back to his place for a coffee. One minute they’d been deep in conversation and before she knew it, he’d pulled her into the bedroom. When she’d woken the next morning, self-recrimination had washed over her in a cold wave. It was the first one night stand she’d ever had and Emma vowed she would never make the same mistake again. She’d opened her eyes to see a wedding ring on the top of the chest of drawers and that had made it ten times worse. She’d shot out of Craig’s bed and was out the door while he was still asleep. She’d left a noncommittal note and headed to work at the hospital. And kicked herself the whole way.
Craig had been following her around ever since. In his eyes, it appeared that one night of sleeping together guaranteed the beginning of a relationship. He was in for a shock; Emma didn’t date married men. Emma didn’t date period.
She’d tried a relationship a long time ago and it had reinforced her need for independence. No man—or his family—was going to call the shots and tell her what to do with her life. Or tell her what was wrong with her viewpoints and philosophies. Or tell her she didn’t measure up to some social standard. Especially someone like Craig. She was in control of her own life now and it would stay that way.
Despite her best efforts to get the message to Craig, he had started to call in at the hospital when she was on shift and the more she saw of him the more he showed his true colours.
A bully and a liar.
Happily, being so busy at work with one doctor down over the past couple of weeks meant she’d seen little of him at the hospital. But it looked like he’d finally caught up with her.
Craig was obviously on duty today because he was in his police uniform. She watched as he pulled the rope and propelled the small vessel across the channel, the sun glinting off his blue-black hair. He gave the rope a final yank and the muscles flexed beneath his blue police shirt as the punt sped across the last five metres. She reached out and grabbed the small boat as it nosed into the muddy bank. The pun
t slewed around and the bottom scraped noisily on the concrete ramp. He jumped out and Emma looped the rope over the steel post and secured the small boat.
‘Hi Craig.’
‘Emma.’ He took her arm and leaned forward to kiss her but she stepped back out of his grip. His eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know why you have to live over here when there is perfectly good accommodation in town. I don’t like you taking the boat across this river by yourself.’
She didn’t bother to tell him that it was none of his business where she lived or how she lived her life. She was tired and didn’t want to make his visit any longer than it needed to be.
If only she hadn’t already slept with him.
‘Haven’t seen you around for a couple of weeks.’
‘I’ve been busy. I’ve put in some long days at the clinic and the hospital. We’re still one doctor down. How come you’re working on a Saturday?’
‘Need the money. There was an overtime shift up for grabs and I took it.’
‘So what are you doing here? On your break, or is this official business?’ She forced a smile.
‘I was going to call you, but I had to come down to the village so I thought I might as well come across. Kettle hot?’
‘I’ve only got time for a quick cuppa. I have a busy day ahead.’
‘Sounds good.’
Emma turned and strode towards the house and as Craig followed her, she was conscious of her shorts and bare legs.
‘Take a seat. I’ll be right back.’ Emma gestured to the seat George had just vacated.
Discomfort prickled through her when he ignored her and followed her inside. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.
‘Breakfast?’ Craig lifted his head and sniffed appreciatively but his expression darkened as he spotted the two plates and mugs on the sink. ‘Overnight company, Emma?’
‘An early visitor.’
Emma put the kettle back on and put a teabag into a clean mug, aware of his eyes on her; she felt like pulling her shirt down to cover the backs of her bare thighs. It was way too cosy in this small kitchen. She turned back to the table and waited for the water to boil.
‘So why were you going to call me?’
‘I wanted to see if you were going to the seventies night at the pub tomorrow night.’ Craig’s eyes stayed on her.
Emma busied herself at the sink as the kettle boiled. ‘Yes. I’ll be there.’
‘Are you dressing up?’ he asked. She quickly made the tea and placed the mug on the table before sitting opposite him.
‘Yes. I love a good dress-up.’
‘I’m not. I think it’s a stupid idea.’ His expression settled into a sneer.
Emma drew a breath and glanced over at the clock on the wall. ‘We’re a social group, Craig. The Young Professionals hold lots of different events to raise money. And getting into the spirit of things is all part of the fun.’ His attitude was making her angry and she changed the subject before she lost her cool. ‘Wait till you see the get-up of the tug-of-war teams at the Rainbow Day.’
‘Whatever.’ His tone was dismissive. ‘Anyway I thought we’d go together.’ He lifted his cup and blew on the hot tea as he continued to stare at her. ‘You can get ready at my place and stay the night.’
Emma held up one hand. ‘Craig. I’d like to make one thing very clear. When I went home with you I didn’t know you were married and there won’t be any more “staying the night” at your place.’
‘I’m not married. We’re separated.’
‘Look, Craig, even if you’re separated, just because I stayed one night at your place doesn’t mean we’re in a relationship.’ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, biting back the inward groan. ‘I’d had a big week, and having a few drinks on an empty stomach wasn’t such a good idea.’ She could kick herself for the mistake she made that night; casual sex was way out of character. She softened her words with a weak smile. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but I’m not in for the long haul with anyone.’
‘But—’
She held one hand up. ‘No.’
‘I hear you’ve been out hiking with Troy Greaves.’
This time her voice was cold. ‘I don’t think what I do in my time off is your concern.’
He shrugged and the cold glint in his eye was replaced by a smile that she felt was forced. His sullen persistence was making her uncomfortable.
‘Okay. But you are still going to the pub? I will see you there?’ Craig’s eyes were wide. They suddenly reminded her of Bowser’s when she’d been ignoring him. That hangdog look that said pat me please.
Emma forced a conciliatory smile onto her face. ‘Yes, I’ll see you there. Along with everyone else.’
Craig stood slowly and tucked the chair in, and she walked down to the riverbank with him.
‘So I’ll see you tomorrow night then,’ he repeated. He unlooped the rope from the post and gave the boat a shove. Emma was relieved when he jumped in and pulled the punt away from the bank.
She tried to shake off the bad mood that had settled around her. It had been like Pitt Street Mall in her cottage this morning. The day had to get better.
As Emma cleaned up the house, demolishing the mountain of washing, she tried to put Craig out of her mind.
She had made her position clear to him and he could like it or lump it. He’d probably move on soon anyway; the last policeman had only been in Dalrymple for six months before transferring back to the city. If Craig stayed longer than that, she’d deal with it. She’d been in Dalrymple before he’d arrived, and she’d be here a lot longer than he would. Emma had no plans to move anywhere; she was here to stay.
She’d fallen in love with the Daintree when she’d come north with a hiking club in her last year at James Cook University in Townsville. The lush green of the rainforest, the sapphire seas and the slow pace of life had appealed. Stunning scenery surrounded each small town and when the job at Dalrymple Hospital had been advertised, she’d known it was the right move for her and was delighted when she was offered the position. She’d quickly settled into the small community and when she’d bought Crooked Cottage it meant there was enough room for Mum to move in with her too. Establishing her clinic, making close friends and watching her mother’s health slowly improve had left Emma in no doubt that she’d made the right move. Mum had bought a unit and moved to Port Douglas last summer and was happy and settled.
Just on dark, the loud buzz of a plane overhead distracted her as she took the last load of washing in from the clothesline at the side of the house. She watched curiously as a vehicle pulled up at the end of the runway in the paddock across the river. The plane taxied along the fence line and the vehicle’s headlights switched to high beam illuminating the paddock. Emma put her hand to her eyes as the vehicle turned and caught her in the bright light.
By the time she had the washing off the line and in the basket, the vehicle had headed back past the village and the plane had taken off again. Strange. It was the first time she’d seen that runway used since she’d moved here. Usually freight planes used the small airport behind the sugar mill in town.
Emma picked up the basket and inhaled the clean fragrance of freshly laundered sheets. Despite the full day of housework, the hard work was worthwhile. Mum and her sisters had always teased her about being the little homemaker. Her memories of growing up were centred in the kitchen back at the family mango farm. If she wasn’t poring over the recipes in her grandmother’s old tattered exercise book, she’d be at the sink, cleaning up after Mum had made her famous mango chutney. The television would be blaring in the lounge room and Ellie and Dru would be arguing over who was going to wipe up.
She closed her eyes and smiled at the memory. Dad had always teased Mum about being the messiest cook in the world and Emma had taken on the role of organising her sisters to clean up when Mum cooked the annual batch of mango chutney. For a moment the silence around her was empty but there were many memories to fill the loneliness.
Precious memories of days when life had been simple and uncomplicated. Precious memories of Mum being happy. Precious memories of Dad, larger than life, before the greed of others had cut his life short.
Back when she and Ellie and Dru had been an invincible threesome.
Bowser’s yap brought Emma back to the present.
‘Come on, Bowser. Teatime.’ The little dog followed her inside and she soon forgot about the plane.
Chapter 2
Saturday morning
Macquarie Street, Sydney
Jeremy Langford sat in the large foyer of the specialist practice in Macquarie Street, waiting for his father. He glanced impatiently at his watch before lifting his eyes to the wall. The sooner he was out of here and on the way to the airport, the closer he’d be to his new home, and his new career—his new life. The marble-tiled wall was lined with gold-framed degrees and memberships, telling all who perused them how well qualified his father and two older brothers were. A specialist practice, catering to the cosmetic needs of the rich and famous, laid out in documentation, for everyone to admire the men of the Langford family who had deigned to treat them. Look at us. We’re special. We have the paper to prove it. Each frame was positioned so that the lights recessed in the specially positioned chrome rail below highlighted the gilt writing on the parchment. There was his father’s degree in medicine above his registration with the Australian Society of Plastic Surgeons and the Royal Australasian College of Surgeons. His brothers were quickly catching up. Alex’s degrees were on the second row and the document listing him as the current chair of the Australian Board of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery took prime position. Brenton’s achievements, although along the bottom row, were equally impressive.
The air was cold and the sterile smell of the air-conditioned office sent a shiver down Jeremy’s back. He stood and crossed to the window, looking out at the people scurrying purposefully along the footpath below. The thick sandstone walls muted the sound of the traffic crawling along Macquarie Street. He wondered what the view would be like from the hospital up north. Excitement unfurled in his chest and he bounced lightly on his toes.
