by Carla Caruso
In case he hadn’t been certain, it really wasn’t a booty call. Instead of her usual high-maintenance, city-slicker look, she had her skin scrubbed free of make-up and wore trackies and fuzzy bed socks.
Seeing his surprise, she looked down at her outfit and pulled a face. ‘Sorry, this is my de-glamourised, at-home look. Bit embarrassing. But, hey, I’ve seen you in your smelly fishing overalls, so I thought it would be okay.’ She chanced a grin.
‘I hadn’t even noticed what you were wearing,’ Alex lied, loping indoors as she moved aside. Winnie locked the door behind him, holding the cream curtain back to peer out into the dark, before letting it fall back into place. She really was kind of skittish.
Whirling around, she put her palms up, a wobbly smile on her face. ‘So can I get you a tea or something to help you unwind again? I’m all out of coffee unfortunately.’
He would have really liked to hit the hay seeing as fishing was still very much on in a few hours, but he doubted he’d be able to nod off straightaway anyway. Not knowing where he was – and knowing who was sleeping none too far away. It was all a bit strange.
‘Sure, I’ll go a tea.’
She moved into the kitchen zone and he glanced around the surrounds – his first proper look indoors. The décor was sparser than his own – if she hadn’t said as much already, it would have been clear she wasn’t planning on hanging around for long. There were touches of her about the place, though, from the bunch of wild flowers in a vase on the kitchen bench to a pretty, vintage-looking lamp switched on in the lounge. The cat was also curled up in a basket in the corner. He peered up at Alex distrustfully with one eye.
‘How do you take your tea?’ Winnie called over her shoulder, busying herself with the kettle. ‘I hope Lady Grey’s all right.’
‘That’s fine. Black, no sugar would be great.’ At least she didn’t say ‘earl’. It would only have reminded him of a dodgy acquaintance from his past. ‘So where’ll I be sleeping?’
‘Oh, gosh.’ Winnie smacked a palm to her forehead. ‘I hadn’t actually thought about that. Too caught up in my own edginess. I’m an idiot. You take my bed – though it’s only a camp bed, I’m afraid – and I’ll go the beanbag in the lounge. Sorry I can’t offer you anything more. My place isn’t exactly fully furnished.’
Alex ripped off his sports jacket and threw it on the beanbag. ‘I’ll be fine in here.’
‘No, no, you can’t do that, not after I dragged you here in the wee hours and all —’
‘I can handle it,’ Alex insisted.
‘Are you sure? At least let me lend you my doona or something.’
‘It’s not necessary.’
‘Well, okay,’ she said, sounding uncertain. The kettle whistled and Winnie turned to pour boiling water into two sunny yellow mugs.
Alex stepped onto the kitchen tiles to grab his and something squelched underfoot. He stopped short. Lifting his sneaker, he discovered a brown, mucky mess splattered across his sole.
Winnie’s eyes widened. ‘Ew. What on earth is that?’
Realisation slowly dawned. ‘I think your cat might have coughed up a hairball.’ Maybe it was karma for teasing her about landing in cow dung at the beef field day.
Winnie’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh yuck. I’ve never seen him do anything like that before.’ Behind her fingers, he could see she was now biting back a smile. Despite being the one standing in cat vomit, just hours before he was due on the boat, he could kind of see the funny side, too. She reached for a roll of paper towels and extended it towards him. ‘Here, these might help.’
He grabbed a bunch and began mopping up the mess. ‘Where’s your bin?’
Winnie opened a cupboard, which had a bucket on the bottom shelf. He chucked the soiled towels in. Pausing as she closed the door, Winnie’s gaze lingered inside.
‘You know, it’s so strange. These black rice-like pellets keep turning up everywhere, like some kind of dead insects. And they can’t be explained away by Casper. I find them in the laundry mostly. Any idea what they could be? See? There.’
Alex leant closer, catching a whiff of her sweetly fragrant skin at the same time. ‘Uh, they’re not dead insects, Winnie, they’re mouse droppings.’
The magazine editor jumped, banging the cupboard door shut again. ‘What? You’re kidding me? How can there be a mouse? I’m fastidious.’
Alex shrugged. ‘It’s just a curse of living in the country, surrounded by paddocks and all.’
She’d turned as white as a ghost, her head slowly shaking from side to side. ‘Great, now I really won’t be able to sleep.’
It was his turn to grin. ‘And I thought you liked animals.’
‘I do, I do. Even wildlife hazards like Casper. And mice are cute, just —’ she shuddered, ‘not near my kitchen cupboards.’ On tippy toes, she grabbed the mugs from the bench, keeping a safe distance from the bin area, handing one to Alex.
He accepted it with a shrug. ‘You’ll just have to get some mouse bait in the morning. Or a trap.’
She reached a hand up to her throat. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. Uh-uh. I’ll have to find some other way to move it on.’
Alex shot her a slow smile, heading back in the direction of the lounge. ‘Good luck with that.’ Pushing aside his jacket, he sank onto the beanbag, the beans crackling under his weight. Winnie followed him, dropping cross-legged onto the carpet with her mug. Strangely, the hairball incident – and the mouse droppings – seemed to have lightened the mood. He couldn’t help teasing her. ‘They do say you can’t take the city out of the girl.’
She laughed, plucking a carpet fibre with her free hand. ‘True! I’m actually going back to the city this weekend for a visit. Well, Adelaide anyway, which some think of as a big country town. Thought I should do the right thing and drop in on my mum.’ Her face contorted for a millisecond. ‘It’s been a while.’
She sounded about as thrilled as he would at the prospect of hanging out with his dad. Alex traced the rim of his mug with his finger, picking up drips. ‘Funny that. I could actually give you a lift on the way in, if you haven’t organised anything already. I’ve got a rare weekend off, with Walker away, and I’m using it to buy some camera equipment there.’
A few hours in the ute with her driving to Adelaide wasn’t the same as running to her aid, it was just one work contact lending another a hand. It would have looked bad not to offer.
Winnie cupped her hands around the warmth of her mug, her dark eyes shining. ‘Could you really? That’d be brilliant. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than do the boring drive there alone. I’ll catch the Greyhound home.’ She nudged him in the side. ‘Ever heard of online shopping, though?’
‘Nah, it’s not for me. I like to touch and feel things before I buy them.’ Touch and feel. Not the best choice of words given the circumstances, but Winnie didn’t flinch. Obviously she didn’t have a one-track mind.
‘I would die if I couldn’t indulge in some retail therapy just because I wasn’t near any shops,’ she said simply. ‘Shipping fees or no.’
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping their tea. Then Alex chanced a look at her. ‘So, feeling any safer? Think you’ll be able to get a good half-a-night’s sleep at least?’
‘Yeah, think I’ll be fine now.’ She smiled hesitantly over the top of her mug. ‘I know it was a big ask for you to come here. And I’m grateful. Sometimes I just find the silence deafening, strange as it sounds. I think that’s what I liked about Sydney, the whir of activity. There was no time for dwelling on things, feeling alone . . . abandoned. A shrink would probably say it’s my inner child reminding me of the night my dad left my mum and me.’ Her features, which had grown morose, brightened again. ‘So what’s your biggest fear then? Now that I’ve laid everything bare and made myself look like a right idiot.’
Alex only had to contemplate the question for a second. ‘Becoming my father.’ If his voice were a cologne, the top note right then would be bitter
.
Winnie nodded in understanding. ‘Funny, mine’s becoming my mother. What qualities don’t you like about your dad?’
Alex raised his eyebrows, blowing out a breath. ‘Where do I start? The way he does business, how he’s prepared to hurt people to get what he wants, the type of disastrous women he’s dated since my mum died, how he tries to mould people into something they’re not. Everything, really.’ He drew his mouth into a line, deciding he’d said enough. It was time to turn the spotlight back on Winnie. ‘What about you? Why do you fear becoming your mum?’
‘Gosh.’ She rested her mug on the carpet and leant back on her palms. ‘I guess I’m afraid of being as irresponsible as her. Of floating through life, leaving everything to chance. Of expecting everyone else to pick up the pieces when things don’t fall into place.’
Alex nodded. ‘Just swimming with the tide?’
‘Exactly. I mean, she has her redeeming features, but . . .’ Winnie shook her head as though lost for suitable words. ‘What can I say? She’s a head case, that’s for sure.’ Suddenly, she reached up and pinched her right earlobe. ‘Oops, think I got a bit carried away there – my earring just fell out. I mustn’t have put the back on properly.’ Immediately, she began feeling around on the carpet in the lamplight.
A diamante-like flash caught Alex’s eye. ‘I see it,’ he said, reaching for the small circular stud, just as she did.
They looked up at each other, neither moving their hands away. Alex felt some sort of spasm go through his stomach as she held his gaze. He couldn’t help noticing her face now had an attractive, pink-cheeked glow and the up-and-down movement of her chest beneath her striped windcheater had become more pronounced.
She was edging closer, the space between them narrowing. He felt blood rush to his nether regions and his mouth fell slightly open.
‘Alex, I —’
Hearing her say his name was enough to jerk him out of his reverie. He tore his hand away and pushed back into the stupid beanbag. But seeing the shock on her face knocked the wind out of his sails. He tried to keep his voice low, steady. ‘Like you said earlier, Winnie, I’m not a one-girl type of guy. It’s better you stay away from me. I’ll only hurt you.’
Winnie opened and shut her mouth, the tension in the room seeming to vibrate around them. ‘I – I . . .’ she tried, before her lips clamped shut again and her usually lively eyes dulled. Wordlessly, she scooped up the earring and clicked it back into place. Reaching for her mug, she scrambled to her feet.
‘I’m going to bed,’ she offered at last, taking off in what he gathered was the direction of her room. ‘Let me know if you need anything . . . or don’t.’ The door slammed, and Alex’s shoulders jumped.
He felt guilty as hell for for making her feel bad, but giving into temptation wouldn’t do. Rejecting her was the responsible thing to do.
Chapter Sixteen
‘It’s my pride and joy.’ Benson Starling smiled at Winnie as he patted the wing of the retro-style aircraft in his shed. ‘The very first aeroplane was made from wood, and if it’s good enough for the Wright brothers, it’s good enough for me. This one’s a new adaptation of an old design. My goal’s to use it as a light-sport aircraft.’
Winnie nodded, scribbling in her notepad in her usual mix of shorthand and messy longhand. All the info was going a bit over her head. Though it was kind of nice to be doing so many face-to-face interviews again. She’d even driven to the interview solo in the work car and only bunny-hopped a few times. Due to time and traffic constraints in Sydney, interviews were more often conducted over the phone or by email. Not that she wouldn’t rather be chatting about something more glamorous like fashion or beauty.
Of course, she was sure someone like Alex would appreciate the finer details of the plane, but she hadn’t invited him to tag along. No siree. She’d wait until Benson had put the finishing touches to his plane, then Alex could take pictures – alone.
Hopefully by the time her trip to Adelaide with Alex rolled around, she’d have gotten over the crushing embarrassment of nearly landing another kiss on him. She knew she’d have to face him eventually. It had just been another after-dark mistake – she’d gotten lost in the moment. The loneliness of being out in the donga. Thankfully, in under two months, she wouldn’t have to see him again – all going to plan. She clung to that.
Throwing herself at Alex definitely wasn’t why she’d invited him over last night, hence staying in her daggy home clothes: a shield of sorts. She didn’t need any more reasons to get the locals talking. She really had felt frightened, vulnerable. But then she’d undone everything in the heat of the moment by behaving foolishly. She’d made a mistake. Looking for love – scratch that, lust – in all the wrong places, just like her mum often did. It was obviously a design fault of her genes. Fortunately, Alex had left to go fishing before she’d gotten up. In some ways, it almost felt like she’d imagined the whole thing. Of course, cold, hard reality would hit when she saw Alex in the flesh again.
‘. . . It’ll be a dream to pilot around the sky . . .’
Ack. The old guy was still waxing lyrical about his aircraft, whistling through dentures as white as his hair as he did so. She’d lost her focus. All Alex’s fault, of course.
Winnie nodded more vigorously. ‘Sounds wonderful.’
A woman’s voice suddenly trilled through the air, interrupting their interview. ‘How are we doing out here?’
The welcome distraction came in the form of an older lady with unnaturally blonde curls and a petite frame. She wielded a chocolate cake in one hand. Home-baked treats seemed to be on tap in this far-flung town. Winnie’s thighs might not be saying thank you, but her stomach was.
She discreetly closed her notepad, trying not to salivate. ‘Actually, I think we’re just about done.’
The woman wafted the cake under Winnie’s nose. ‘I’m Doris Starling, Benson’s wife. You must be Winnie from Beach Life. Go on, take a slice, sweetheart.’
Winnie didn’t have to be asked twice. Swallowing a delicious mouthful, she brushed any errant crumbs from her lips. ‘Wow, that cake is incredible.’
Doris winked, revealing a smear of emerald-green eye shadow. ‘I’m getting ready for the bake-off at the South-East Field Days in Lucindale. Most of us girls from the local Country Women’s Association are taking part. It’s going to be stiff competition, so I’ve got to keep my game up.’
‘I can only imagine.’ The cogs in Winnie’s brain began to whir into action, perhaps due to the sugar kicking in. ‘You know,’ she began, thinking out loud, ‘it could be quite cool to have some old-school CWA recipes to run in the magazine. All the Gen Ys are right into the traditional, homespun cookery their nannas used to make right now. Maybe . . . maybe we could even get some kitschy-cool food shots done and include all your cooking tips and hints? It could be fun!’
Doris beamed at her husband. ‘Looks like you’ll have to get used to sharing the limelight, my love.’ She turned back to Winnie with another wink. ‘I’m sure the other ladies will love the idea. I’ll run it past them at next week’s meeting.’ Benson’s hand hovered near the cake and the woman’s grin slipped for a moment as she swatted it away. She leant in confidingly to Winnie. ‘I have to watch his diet – for his own good. A young thing like you, though, the choccy won’t even touch your sides.’
‘I wish.’ Winnie’s gaze was suddenly caught by a flash at Doris’s wrist. ‘Oh, your bracelet . . .’ She gestured at its delicate, white-gold charms. ‘It’s got the same fish design as a necklace Mrs Mannix always wears.’
Placing the cake on a nearby table, Doris held her wrist up to the light. ‘That rings a bell actually. This one’s a pretty old thing, isn’t it? Benson got it for me as a gift for our twentieth wedding anniversary. Though it’s certainly been a while between such flashy gifts. I tell you – it’s not long before the romance goes out the window, love, and anniversaries fly by without any fanfare. How do you know dear old Mrs Mannix anyway?’
‘Oh, I interviewed her about the museum’s maritime wing launch, and her prize-winning heirloom roses and vegetables, actually.’
‘Sounds like you’ve interviewed half the town, darl! Well, that woman certainly knows how to keep busy, so I shouldn’t be surprised she’s worth a story or two. Course keeping busy’s the best thing to do when you’re suffering a broken heart – even after all these years.’ Doris cocked her head to one side. ‘Did you know her late husband was a lighthouse keeper?’
Winnie nodded, scuffing the toe of her ballet flat on the cement. ‘I heard about his tragic accident, too.’
Doris arched a dark-pencilled eyebrow. ‘That’s not the only tragic part. Fifty-odd years on, June’s still convinced Peter used the weather as a pretext to escape their life together. No-one can tell her otherwise either. She’s certain he hopped in a boat and sailed away, pretending he was dead, so he could start a new life, a family, elsewhere.’
Winnie drew in a sharp breath as the older woman shook her head sadly. ‘Poor old June blames herself, too, for being “barren”, as she says. Somehow she got it in her head that another local was having an affair with her husband. All because she herself couldn’t have children. The other local disappeared from town around the same time as Peter, you see, and she figured they’d run away together, despite all the evidence pointing to him winding up in a watery grave.’
‘An affair,’ Winnie breathed, flabbergasted. ‘Wow, I had no idea.’ Fence-jumping knew no bounds. The plot thickened.
‘The local, Lorraine Burgess, only recently returned to Kingston,’ Doris continued, ‘even signing up to the CWA. Though no-one’s game to ask her if anything ever happened between her and Peter.’
‘Who knew so much could happen in a small town?’ It certainly explained why the usually well-mannered Mrs Mannix had been so abrupt with that Lorraine woman at the museum launch.
Doris’s eyes gleamed. ‘Ah, it can be quite the cesspool of scandal around these parts. I’ve heard of everything from partner swapping to even a secret nudist resort in Robe.’ She tsked. ‘There must be a queue at the confessional every Sunday, I reckon.’
