Still, they did live on opposite sides of the world, and it had only been a fling—they’d both accepted that.
He cleared his throat. “Of course I was going to ask. I was just…building up to it. How is she?”
“Good.” Sean slowed at a T-junction, but they hadn’t met a single vehicle on the way, so he didn’t bother stopping and turned the car onto the main road to the bay. “Her paintings are really taking off. She sells heaps of local landscapes at the galleries in town, and she’s getting commissions now.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah. She’s really good, Dion. People are starting to take notice, you know? She’s been interviewed on national radio, and she held art classes in Auckland during the winter.”
“That’s so cool.” He was pleased, but not surprised. Megan had been painting the first time he saw her. He’d met Sean in their first year at high school, and Sean had invited him home for tea. She’d been sitting on the deck, trying to capture their Boxer dog on paper, and she’d scolded it when it dashed off to greet them.
With a typical twelve-year-old boy’s tact, he’d laughed at the brown smudges she’d made on the paper, and she’d threatened to shove her paintbrush where the sun didn’t shine, earning her a telling off from her mother. The memory still made him smile. Her feistiness seemed even more prominent because it stood out against the disorder she’d had to fight against her whole life, like a black cloud hovering in a bright blue sky.
“How’s she coping?” he asked. “With the agoraphobia, I mean.”
“She’s good,” Sean said.
“I’m glad.” Dion had become aware of the condition when she was eleven. They’d walked into town with a group of friends. Crowds from the annual summer fair choked the town. They queued up to buy a burger, and the unfamiliarity of the situation and the crush of bodies triggered an attack.
He hadn’t known about her phobia at the time, and the last thing he expected the spirited, lively girl to have was panic attacks. Alarm shot through him when she turned white and started shaking, her eyes widening with fear. But when Sean reacted not by making fun of her but by announcing he’d take her home, Dion realised the seriousness of the situation. He walked with them without asking, and they both held her hand the whole way.
When she got home, she thanked him and cried, and he hugged her. Her hair had smelled of strawberries, and his lips had lingered as he kissed the top of her head for a few seconds longer than he should have.
Was that when his obsession about her had started? All those years ago?
“It got bad for a while,” Sean added, “around the time she broke up with Cody. She told you about that in Prague, didn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
So Sean definitely knew they’d met up the Christmas before. For the first time in his life Dion thought he might be blushing. Not banging your best mate’s sister was rule number one. No wonder Sean had been cool when he got in the car.
“But she’s worked at it,” Sean continued. “She has counselling, and they’ve taught her breathing techniques, that sort of thing. She copes.”
“That’s good to know. I’m looking forward to seeing her again.”
That was the understatement of the year. Their coming together in Prague had been brief but momentous—like a once-in-a-thousand-years alignment of two planets. He’d tried not to dwell on her too much after they parted, but he’d spent more nights than he cared to remember lying awake thinking about that night before Christmas. He couldn’t deny to himself that he’d chosen to recuperate in New Zealand with the hope of seeing her again.
“She’s at the house,” Sean said. “We’re nearly there.”
Dion’s heart rate sped up at the thought of seeing her again. For the first time since he left the UK, real pleasure surged through him that he’d made the decision to go away. All the worries and stress of the past few months faded. He had two whole weeks here to unwind, to catch up with his mates and rediscover the friendships he hadn’t realised he’d missed until he needed them. Two whole weeks to spend with Megan, maybe to explore that relationship a little more.
Sean signalled at the turnoff for the marina, drove about ten yards and then turned left into a tiny drive. The road led steeply upward, and then the car crested the top of the rise.
Dion gasped. The long wooden house below them lay at the top of a small bay. The hills surrounding the bay were encrusted with palms, manuka trees and bush. A pair of brightly coloured rosella parrots flew in front of the car, and when Sean pulled up outside and Dion got out, he heard the tuis up high in the trees, their distinctive call sounding as if they were saying George! George!
“Wow.” He stared at the house. “You built this?”
“Yep.” Sean practically burst with pride. “You like?”
“It’s fantastic.” He hadn’t realised the building business paid so well. “How much land do you have?”
“A couple of hectares. Not much.”
Not much? Dion tried not to exclaim out loud. He considered himself fairly well off, but he’d only been able to afford a small apartment in London. Although situated in Islington, one of the newly transformed parts of the city, it had only a few rooms and no view to speak of. It didn’t come close to what Sean had.
The front door opened and out came the dark-haired woman he’d seen with Sean on Facebook. She looked less glamorous than in her wedding photos, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her face free of makeup, but she was a pretty girl, with eyes creased into laughter lines.
“You must be Gaby,” he said. Used to years of meeting and greeting through the business, he smiled, walked up and extended his hand. “I’m Dion.”
“Hey, Dion! I’m so glad you came.” She ignored his hand and gave him a hug. Taken by surprise—how English had he become?— he stood there awkwardly for a moment before putting his arms around her and giving her a quick hug back. “It’s lovely to have you here,” she continued. “Sean’s been so looking forward to it, and he’s told me so much about you.”
“All good things I hope,” he said.
“Of course.” She grinned, then flicked Sean a quick look. “Everything okay?”
“Yep. Lead on.” He gave a mysterious nod.
Was it his imagination, or did they both look nervous?
She went into the house and Dion followed, puzzling over their secret communication. But he forgot it instantly as he found himself in a huge, open plan kitchen and living area with high ceilings and shiny, kauri wood floors, the far wall completely made of large windows that looked out over the small bay. “Wow!”
“I know.” Gaby laughed. “It took my breath away when I first walked in. Sean wouldn’t let me see it until he’d finished it.”
“It’s fantastic.” He opened his mouth to ask her to show him around, but the words failed to come as his attention focused on the person standing on the deck outside, overlooking the bay.
She hadn’t noticed him come in. He could hear her singing, and it made him smile. She’d always been the same, her brain like an iPod on shuffle. Now she was singing an old Dylan song, I’ll be your baby tonight. Her husky voice sent a shiver down his spine. He remembered that voice in his ear whispering erotic things he’d never have dreamed she’d be brave enough to say to him.
He walked across the floor to the open sliding doors. As he approached, she turned around, obviously hearing his shoes on the wood.
Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped in an almost comical expression of shock and surprise. Obviously, she hadn’t expected him. Sean hadn’t told her he was coming.
Fuck. Why?
He stopped walking and stared at her, his heart hammering. She hadn’t changed much over the past year. Her hair shone the light chestnut colour it had always been, and she’d pinned it up in an elegant clip, leaving curly strands to frame her face.
She’d lost a little weight. She wore denim cut-offs and a pink vest that clung to her breasts, and sparkly flip-flops, or jan
dals as the Kiwis called them. She looked pretty and sexy, and an image shot through his head of her that moment he’d spotted her Prague, stunning in the scarlet coat, with the saddest look on her face he’d ever seen on anyone.
No, she didn’t look any different.
What was different was the baby she held in her arms.
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Sweet as Honey (The Seven Sisters) Page 19
