The Widowmaker

by Amy Gallow

  "Which brings me to my next question.” He was pouring the wine into the glass she offered. “What are you doing tonight?"

  Lexie concentrated on the plastic champagne flute, pretending holding it steady required her attention. She wasn't surprised by the invitation. This was a seasoned traveler, who'd taken advantage of a chance meeting to impress and woo her. It was logical to assume he'd take the next step. There was nothing to be read into it beyond a casual interest...

  This didn't account for the stumble in her heartbeat and the flush of warmth she was certain he'd see in her face.

  "What do you have in mind?” she said, playing the sophisticate she didn't feel.

  "Dinner. I ate at a good restaurant last night."

  "Where?"

  "115 Bistro."

  Lexie wasn't surprised. He'd been to Cowes before.

  "What time?” She was conceding she had no choice. Personable men didn't grow on Phillip Island trees and it would get her away from her father.

  "Seven. I'll pick you up."

  Lexie shook her head. “I live quite close. I'll meet you there."

  She pretended to study the trails of bubbles in her glass as she disciplined her thoughts in the vain hope it might have the same effect on her body. His voice sent harmonics racing up and down her spine, peaked her nipples against the thin bikini top and dried her lips to the point where she had to wet them with the tip of her tongue. The wine flute rattled against her teeth as she took a sip long enough to be a gulp, hoping the chill of the wine would spread to other places.

  It didn't and she spoke the first words to pop into her head. “I like travel. It sets you free to be somewhere else.” It was total nonsense. She loved familiar places. A friend she'd traveled with for years had accused her of recreating her home every time they'd stopped, but this man made it impossible to admit.

  He detected the lie, either from her choice of words or their tone. “Freedom's an illusion. It never survives the first trip."

  She flushed at the gentle rebuke, too flustered to hear the wistfulness behind it.

  "I'll see you at seven.” She drained the wine and stood up. “I'll need to wash my hair.” She started replacing things in the basket.

  "I'll do this.” He took the seafood tray from her hands. “You go wash your hair."

  He walked her to the 4WD, helped her with her board and wetsuit and stood back as she drove out of the car park, his hand half raised in farewell.

  Lexie knew, because she watched him in the rear vision mirror until the curve of road hid him, a fatuous smile on her face she was glad he couldn't see and a bubbling excitement making it impossible to control. It was crazy. She was crazy. Tonight she'd have to confess she'd lied about the grammar school, but it didn't matter. He'd understand ... she crossed her fingers on the steering wheel.

  It was Phillip Island's fault. She always did crazy things here. Any other place, she was comfortably in control. Bring her back here and she reverted to the child rebelling against the changeling tag of being born beautiful in a family noted for its homeliness, creating ridiculous situations as naturally as she breathed.

  After meeting Glenn the night before, she must now trust his understanding when she confessed to a silly lie...

  Her doubts grew, making Lexie grumpy by the time she reached her parents’ home, and she punched the dashboard remote to open the automatic gates as if it were to blame and not her stupidity. She parked next to the coiled hose and spent five minutes hosing down her board and rinsing her wetsuit and vest in fresh water. The mindless task didn't improve her mood and, by the time she racked the board and draped wetsuit and rash vest on the shaded drying line, she felt savage.

  "You're back!” Her mother's voice came from the balcony above. “You've eaten?"

  "Yes.” Guilt did little to lighten Lexie's sour mood and her voice was sharp. “I'm going out for tea as well."

  She was acting badly to someone who deserved better, but the words were out before she could stop them. The sooner the birthday celebration was done, the better. London looked more attractive every day.

  Head down to hide her expression, she reached the steps leading up the verandah when her father came out of the front door and the noise of it slamming made her look up. The hardness in his eyes made her pause. He'd heard the exchange and wasn't pleased.

  "Your manners aren't improving."

  As any response was wrong, she said nothing, waiting for him to go on.

  His face tightened and he descended the steps, brushing past her on his way to the garage. The contact made her speak before thinking, as always.

  "I'm following your example."

  He gave no sign he'd heard.

  Lexie watched him drive away before she went inside, stepping around her mother in silence.

  Her room had become a suite in the years she'd spent away. All the things she'd left behind kept in treasured places. It was her father's work, but he'd spoilt it with a single utterance when he said, “I thought, now the fairies had their changeling, they'd send my daughter back. I was wrong."

  She soaked in the spa for an hour, the temperature as high as she could stand. Then she washed her hair and spent time choosing what she'd wear, setting aside her London wardrobe for a casual sleeveless dress. The evening was warmed by the gentle northerly and a large silk scarf would act as a shawl. Glenn was tall enough that she could opt for heels and it was less than two hundred yards to the Bistro.

  She'd paused for one last check at the hall mirror when her mother walked out of the kitchen. “Your father would be pleased.” Her mother was smiling. “You look family in that dress."

  Lexie remembered belatedly it was his gift for her graduation. “It's a nice dress.” There was no harm in acknowledging the truth. “I'm not sure what time I'll be back. We're eating at the Bistro."

  "Who?"

  "One of the Grand Prix people."

  "Oh.” Lexie heard the disappointment.

  She left the house and had reached the front gate when her youngest brother arrived with his wife, a woman younger than him, but still four years Lexie's senior. “Hi, Kiddo,” he said. “Not eating with us?"

  "No, Tommy. Meeting a friend."

  "An Islander?"

  Lexie shook her head and he grinned at her. “Enjoy yourself anyway."

  Tommy was the only one of her four brothers to sympathize with her need to stay away from the Island. Comfortable himself, he still understood her need for freedom.

  She reached Thompson Road and turned away from Westernport. The Bistro was at the beginning of the next block and it was still twenty minutes to seven so she took her time, pausing to look into the library and cultural centre. She was about to cross Church Street when Glenn caught up with her.

  "I thought I'd walk as well,” he said. “I'm glad I did. I've been admiring you.” There was a question in his eyes, as if he were trying to match her against some memory.

  She'd deliberately used a minimum of makeup and her natural hairstyle was different to the wig she'd worn at the function, but she suspected the moment had come to admit her little pretence. “I...” she began, only to be interrupted by a voice from the car waiting to enter the central roundabout in front of them.

  "Lexie, when did you get back?"

  "I'm here for Dad's birthday.” Pam was a family friend and her brother, Harry Doherty, was doing laboring work at the Grand Prix circuit—yet another of his temporary jobs.

  "I'll talk to you at the party. It will be livelier with you back,” Pam said. “Got to go. The kids are waiting for these fish and chips.” She drove off and Glenn's moment of doubt had passed, taking with it Lexie's courage. She'd wait a little longer...

  Their table at the 115 Bistro was in the back corner, clear of the passage to the rear kitchen and marginally quieter than the main room. An Asian-looking girl Lexie didn't know explained the Chef's Specials on the blackboard before taking their drink order and leaving them to decide what they wanted.

/>   "I tried the rock whiting last night, the special.” Glenn pointed at the menu. “It was very good."

  "It always is. I remember my father catching them when I was a girl. He used to boil them in seawater while we fished.” Lexie smiled at the memory. She'd not thought of those days in years. She must have been ten, following her father everywhere before she soured their relationship with rebellion.

  "It must be a common trait of their generation. I can remember Dad doing it when we fished off Rosebud.” Glenn gestured vaguely to the west. “I grew up on the Mornington Peninsular just below Dromana."

  "A Mainlander.” Lexie pretended pity. “It's probably not your fault.” She smiled. Glenn was another one who'd found broader fields than Australia could provide.

  "You could be a Taswegian with that attitude.” Glenn smiled back. “Australia was an island last time I checked."

  Lexie had forgotten the comfort of a common background, the easy jokes of mutual understanding. Glenn's dry humor reminded her.

  The waitress returned and they chose their dishes, Glenn reprising the whiting while Lexie chose savory Tasmanian salmon cutlets, baked with a light sauce of mustard, mayonnaise and finely chopped spring onions. “If I'm to be accused of being a Tasmanian,” she said, “I'll eat the right thing."

  "You enjoyed the Garret Family wine today?” He was studying the wine list. “It's here.” Lexie nodded and he turned to the waitress. “Serve it with the main course, if you would.” His smile rewarded the girl in advance.

  Lexie's London career had made her an expert in dealing with men socially. The promoters paid her to put them at their ease, amenable to purchasing what was being showcased. She did it well enough to be in constant demand, yet Glenn challenged her expertise on two levels.

  The first was his ability to draw information from her.

  Everything she said and did was processed by a mind acute enough to draw inferences from the slightest hint. Leap-frogging to conclusions he tested with subtlety ... and then extended. It made maintaining her lie difficult, but he never challenged it, sensing the boundaries of her comfort zone with intriguing skill. He felt like an old and trusted companion, someone who knew her every sin and was still her friend.

  The second challenge was contradictory ... an illusiveness that kept his thoughts a mystery.

  He spoke of his childhood across Westernport Bay, his travels in Europe, North America and Asia, but there was a detachment that hid his personal responses. He was showing her his past, allowing her to experience, not share, it. Lexie wasn't sure if it was deliberate. It could be natural reticence, but he shouldn't feel so much like a friend.

  "The southwest swell is building. This northerly will make Express Point interesting.” Glenn's words sent a chill through Lexie as she remembered the deceptive power of the Island's most intense break and what it could do to the foolhardy.

  "I'm not sure I'd be up to it. I've only surfed intermittently in the last eight years.” She didn't want to goad him into being brave, having already made the mistake once long ago. “The outer break isn't forgiving. People have died there."

  "I know.” Glenn's interest sharpened. “Getting into trouble is easy. My take-off was a bit slow last time and I had to bail out and dive deep, grab a handful of kelp on the front ledge until the wave passed. I left it a fraction late and dinged my board badly enough to need replacing."

  Lexie remembered the damage the sharp basaltic rocks covered with barnacles inflicted and shuddered at the risk he'd taken. He was good, but Express Point took no prisoners. She wanted to warn him, but knew it would be futile. “This northerly won't last,” she said. “The forecast has the wind veering south. We'll have strong southerlies for the GP weekend."

  "Yes, mother.” His grin took the sting from the jibe. “I'll be a good boy and stay in the playground."

  "I-I...” Lexie spluttered the beginnings of an apology.

  "Don't,” he said. “I'm flattered by your concern.” He changed the subject. “Are you interested in desserts? The sticky date pudding is good."

  Lexie let his attempt to distract her succeed. Anything was better than her memories. “I'll look at the list first."

  He turned and signaled the waitress, catching her eye with an ease suggesting a reputation as a tipper.

  Lexie knew the moment was coming to confess. Her little joke had soured and she needed a way out. A simple admission seemed safest, but she must set the stage. “I'll need to walk this meal down if I eat dessert.” She'd rely on his perception.

  "You've read my mind.” Glenn wasn't ready to end the evening either.

  "Are you staying at the Continental?” Lexie knew his team had taken all the upper floor spa rooms, but waited till he nodded confirmation. “We could walk along the Esplanade. It's close to my parents’ home.” A walk would provide the moment to confess she'd lied. She smiled, remembering the perfect spot ... a track called Lover's Walk at the end of the Esplanade.

  "Perhaps we might venture a little further?” The twinkle in Glenn's eyes suggested his local knowledge might match hers.

  "Perhaps...” She permitted herself another smile.

  Lexie hadn't consciously considered where this evening might lead. She never did, always trusting her instincts, but they were attracted to each other and she'd done nothing to dissuade him. It would make it easier when she confessed.

  The selection of desserts took time. Every one was tempting, but Lexie accepted Glenn's choice. The sticky date pudding with brandied cream topped by a strawberry sliced into a fan. She didn't regret it. The sensual explosion of sweetness in her mouth sent her mind into the near future. At the end, she licked lips sensitive enough to feel the individual taste buds on her tongue. “That was great,” she said, dabbing the corners of her mouth with the serviette. The last mouthful had been larger than it should have been.

  Glenn stretched in his chair. “The worst thing about places like this is having to stop. Coffee?"

  Lexie nodded. The final stages of the meal were the preliminaries and she wanted to enjoy them, content to let Glenn set the pace. He knew how things should be done. When he offered liqueurs, she chose Cointreau, the taste of oranges the perfect counterpoint to the strong black coffee.

  When the bill appeared, Glenn handled the transaction smoothly and it was time for them to leave. He rose, drew back her chair, and took her hand as they walked towards the door, pausing only to acknowledge the manager's thanks. Then they were outside in the cooler night air, strolling, still hand in hand.

  The northerly breeze had died, but the air remained unseasonably balmy. Lexie freed her hand, folded her scarf into a triangle, and knotted it around her waist. It made a dramatic slash of color on the pale green of the dress.

  "You remind me of Barcelona,” he said, tasking her hand again. “The girls come up from the beach and hide the skimpiness of their bikinis with scarves tied like that."

  It made Lexie recall the Grand Prix display in the window ahead of them and the other side of the road was suddenly attractive. “The pavement's smoother over there,” she said, pointing. The display might jog his memory and she wanted to confess at a time of her choosing.

  They'd reached Chapel Street and the slope down to the Esplanade when disaster struck.

  "Sexy Lexie's come back from London looking for another sacrifice!” Harry Doherty was sitting on an opened slab of beer cans outside Coles Supermarket. “Hobnobbing with a team manager. Typical grid chick. Bet he doesn't know how dangerous you are!"

  Lexie's body went cold, not with the revelation of her job, but the terror that Harry would continue. He'd been the first one to call her the Angel of Death, and it had stuck. She felt Glenn draw back, even as she attacked to halt the flow of words. “Are you always drunk these days, or is this a special occasion?"

  "The bastard next to you had me sacked this morning. Said I was a risk to myself and his riders."

  "I was right then ... and still am.” Glenn moved past her to face Harry. �
�Go home before you're too drunk to stand."

  Harry surged to his feet, but seemed to find something daunting in Glenn's face, swaying uncertainly while his brain sought a rebuttal amid the alcohol fumes.

  "Trouble, sir.” Jack Welch, the local police sergeant, had joined them unnoticed. “Had a phone call about Harry. I'll deal with him."

  Glenn turned and smiled. “My Dad taught me never to interfere with police sergeants. He was stationed at Rosebud."

  "Your name?"

  "Smallwood."

  "I served under Lionel when I joined the Force. Say ‘Hi’ to him from Jack Welch.” The sergeant turned away and pushed Harry back against the wall. “Stay there,” he said. “Craig's on his way to take you home.” Harry slid down the wall to sit with his legs outstretched, muttering too softly for his words to be understood.

  "We'll be on our way,” Glenn said, turning back to Lexie.

  Jack Welch turned back and saw her clearly for the first time. “Should've known it'd be you. You were always the centre of trouble.” The sergeant kicked the slab of beer out of Harry's reach. “Nothing's changed."

  Anger blotted out common sense. “You're right,” she agreed. “You're still wiping the bums of the rich kids."

  "I wiped yours more than once,” he said, Glenn forgotten in the reawakening of an old enmity. “Probably do it again before you bugger off.” The sergeant's contempt was open. “I'll be glad when Kieran's party is over."

  "Yes.” Lexie matched his contempt. “You can go back to parking in Church Street and walking around to the Henderson's when Trevor's at work.” Her brother said the affair was still going.

  "Take her away before I forget whose daughter she is.” The sergeant was talking to Glenn. “Keep your hand on your wallet when she leaves.” The implication was clear.

  She turned. Glenn had moved back slightly and his silence spoke volumes. Phillip Island had won again! Her temper flared and she swore at him, gutter language surfacing unexpectedly.

  "Your hotel's that way.” She pointed towards the Esplanade and swore again, suggesting a physical impossibility. He didn't respond and she fled before tears betrayed her.