by Carla Caruso
She didn’t know why she’d thought Kingston was so desolate when she first arrived. In truth, it brimmed with colour, life and movement – so long as you were willing to hang around and scratch below the surface. She’d experienced so much in the town in the past two months and was eager to see what else she could discover in the months ahead.
Right then, it was the place she felt she belonged. Where she could be herself and enjoy being part of a real community. All the pain and drama had made her come out the other side a better person, had made her see things with fresh eyes.
Understandably, it was with reluctance that she dragged her feet to the office an hour or so later. When she did, Olive was waiting for her, one hip thrust to the side, a hand on it.
‘Is it true?’ The ad manager’s amber-coloured eyes flashed.
‘Is what true?’ Winnie asked, wondering what had happened now, still feeling the itch of sand behind her ears, despite her recent shower.
‘Someone rang about a job interview you had in Sydney. From some magazine called Panache. When were you going to tell me about it?’
She could have told Olive that it wasn’t her business, that they were only colleagues, but she didn’t. When there were just two of you in the office and it was a small town, things were . . . different.
Winnie hung her head. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you. From the get-go, I should have been up front about everything . . . about my intentions.’
‘Too right you should have,’ Olive huffed, swinging behind her desk, crash-landing her pert derriere in her seat. ‘And now if it’s okay with you, I’d prefer if we didn’t talk for the rest of the day.’
Swinging away, Olive turned up some country song on her PC about a pet dog dying and began madly tapping on her keyboard.
‘Okay,’ Winnie said in a small voice, slinking behind her own desk. She figured she deserved such treatment. She had lied. Maybe she was on a par with Bruna, after all. The zen feeling from her ocean dip earlier slowly trickled out via her fingers and toes.
Beach Life’s launch party was in full swing and Winnie could barely believe the afternoon had finally arrived. Of course, it was more of a sneak preview of the glossy for visiting media and locals than a fully-fledged launch. There was still one last story to slot in tomorrow: Eden’s wedding. Then the publication would be off to the printers and on shop shelves around the state before Winnie could say, ‘Kingston SE, lobster capital.’
In the meantime, partygoers were enjoying perusing the small run of mini mags that had been printed, as well as viewing the design on docked iPads. So far the response had been great. Fantastic, even. Maybe Winnie wasn’t such a fraud, after all.
Her brainwave of having young locals styled up as mannequins in shop windows had also gone down a treat. She’d had them perform a little fashion show in the closed-off main street – somewhat of a pec parade with all the footballers and farmers willing to participate. Olive had helped out on mike duties, with Winnie preferring to stay out of the limelight where possible. Public speaking wasn’t her thing.
Of course, media mobs didn’t usually like to promote other media, but they’d still had a fairly good turnout of reporters. A few had even committed to running some pics from the Allira Becci shoot in exchange for a small mention of Beach Life’s launch. The local-girl-done-good had even shown her photogenic face, pouring on the charm and swanning about in a mink fur vest, much to Winnie’s distaste.
Now guests spilled onto the street, enjoying the delights on offer, including red velvet cupcakes and local wine. One Adelaide newspaper journo, whom Winnie remembered used to secretly keep all the reader competition prizes for herself, had been positively stuffing her face with cupcakes.
Winnie waved at Mrs Mannix as she passed on her way through the throng – half the town had turned up. The old woman beamed sunnily in her direction. ‘Loved the article, dear. Thanks again for the interview.’
‘Oh, glad you liked it,’ Winnie exclaimed before Mrs Mannix continued on her way. She was relieved, especially as Christa had chopped the article to within an inch of its life, without consulting Winnie. ‘Enjoy the fame.’
Disappointingly, there was one person who hadn’t shown up: Alex. Winnie had casually reminded him about the launch during an earlier work call, but he’d cut her off by saying those types of parties weren’t his thing, especially if there were media crawling about the place. As though they were all – bar the photographers – vermin. Which didn’t say much for what he thought of Winnie as a reporter herself.
Not that she should care. Her weird fixation with someone who regularly spurned her advances was almost worthy of being on that My Strange Addiction show.
Her handbag buzzed – or, more precisely, her phone. Winnie reached in, locating the device. A check of the screen revealed it was Christa. For once Winnie’s heart didn’t leap into her throat at the prospect. Pressing the mobile to her ear, she walked away from the masses and took the call.
‘Sounds like you’re enjoying the launch,’ Christa trilled down the line.
‘Uh, yeah, it’s going great guns. Wonderfully, actually.’
‘Well, I won’t take up too much of your time. You deserve to kick up your heels.’
Winnie almost tripped on a cracked, uneven section of footpath. Just as the compliment dripped from Christa’s lips, Winnie saw Lorraine Burgess arriving on a motorbike, driven by a shaven-headed woman. The old dear had obviously chosen to come out of the closet – in grand style. She hoped Mrs Mannix saw, in case she needed any further confirmation about the so-called affair.
Christa’s ramblings dragged Winnie’s attention back to the phone call. ‘I know I’ve worked you hard, and the first-rate look and feel of the magazine has been the payoff. The launch issue’s looking even better than I could have imagined.’
‘Oh, uh, wow, I don’t really know what to say,’ Winnie said truthfully. ‘Thank you?’ It was almost like her mum praising her – as in, embarrassing.
‘You’re welcome – like I said, you deserve it.’ Christa cleared her throat. ‘Now I also wanted to apologise for something, too, if you don’t mind. I don’t usually like to bring up personal issues at work. I felt I should explain, though.’ It was the editorial director’s turn to stumble. ‘I’ve, uh, been doing rounds of IVF without any luck, which hasn’t helped my mood. It’s why I’ve been a little on edge lately.’ Her voice rose. ‘But I – I’ve finally had some success.’
Winnie reached a hand up to her throat. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful to hear. Congratulations.’ Strangely, she even felt a little misty-eyed. Who knew there was a heart beating beneath her boss’s snippy exterior?
‘Thanks.’ The steely tone had returned to Christa’s voice – she had never seemed one for emotional scenes, at least, not for long. ‘And, Winnie, before I let you go, a word of advice – refrain from doing silly things like kissing the executive chairman. You, of all people, can be a success without such tomfoolery. Keep up the good work for the next issue.’
With that, Christa vanished from the line, the dial tone resounding in Winnie’s ear. Winnie didn’t mind, though the abrupt end hadn’t given her a chance to explain that, actually, she wouldn’t be back for another edition. She’d made up her mind to go freelance – even when Panache had come calling with an offer for what would have once been her dream job. Things had changed.
Winnie had lined up some freelance work on the local vet’s newsletter and some PR work with a local wildlife conservation mob; she’d heard about the latter on the grapevine. For the moment, she’d tired of the ruthless fashion world. Her rent in Kingston wasn’t astronomical and she could survive on whatever scraps were thrown her way for now.
If the truth were known, she wasn’t really certain she could make a success of things. She could well end up old and alone covered in cat hair, but, hey, the fun was in the trying. Maybe she was a little bit of her mother’s daughter, after all. She might drift back to Adelaide eventually, but right
now she was content with the quiet life. It felt like that’s what she needed.
Later, once she’d properly gathered her thoughts, she’d send Christa a carefully worded resignation email. The woman still scared her a little, but Winnie did feel excited about her future. As hazy as it was. Not being at Beach Life, of course, meant she wouldn’t work with Alex any more, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But it was what it was.
Gazing at the crowd from the sidelines, she found herself squinting. It couldn’t be, could it? Not all the way out in Kingston?
Alas, her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. Bruna really was striding her way, wheeling a small suitcase behind her. And her former housemate was grinning as though the disastrous weekend in Sydney had never even happened. Bruna came in close for an air kiss, reeking of Victoria Beckham perfume.
‘You came!’ Winnie squealed at last, appropriate words again eluding her. It appeared her ex-friend would go to any lengths to be at the opening of an envelope. Clearly Winnie’s speedy exit from the Sydney apartment and her curt, rather pointed goodbye note hadn’t deterred her former gal pal.
‘Of course I’m here,’ Bruna said, annoyingly dazzling in a Shrek-green slip of a dress. ‘I said I would be.’
A little different to last time.
‘Yes . . . and, uh,’ Winnie scrabbled for words, ‘your hair’s different.’ Funny, she used to have so much to say to Bruna. Or maybe it just felt like it. Their conversations were usually held against a backdrop of deafening club music and fizzing champagne.
Bruna shook out locks that trailed past her shoulders. ‘I’ve gone bronde. The perfect shade between blonde and brunette.’
‘Indeed. It, uh, suits you.’
Bruna cast a glance over her shoulder. ‘Well, you’ve gathered quite the crowd here today. Well done.’ She leant in close again. ‘So where’s that gorgeous photographer?’
‘Gorgeous photographer?’ Winnie echoed faintly.
‘Yes, the one who was in the background of that pic from the Allira Becci shoot you put up on Facebook – woof!’ Bruna had the look of a hungry dingo, ready to pounce on her prey.
‘Oh, him. Uh, he’s not here tonight.’ Winnie watched her former pal’s face fall. ‘But how long are you down for? You might meet him yet.’
It wasn’t like she had any claims on the photographer. In fact, it was high time she got over him, once and for all. The prospect of his rolling in the hay with her former best friend – if it came to that – would surely do it. Proof of how unworthy he was of Winnie’s affections. As much as the thought hurt her.
‘Cool.’ Bruna smiled winningly. ‘I’m here until Sunday. Then it’s the bus,’ her nose wrinkled for a millisecond, ‘and plane trip back.’
‘Well, I’m sure I can have you as my last-minute plus-one at the wedding I’m a bridesmaid tomorrow. Alex will be there, taking photos.’
Winnie wasn’t Bruna. She couldn’t abandon a former mate outright, though this would be the last bit of generosity she’d be extending the Sydneysider’s way. Her anger towards Bruna had ebbed since the job-application incident. She now just felt indifferent about the whole thing.
‘Brilliant.’ Bruna excitedly clapped her hands. ‘Right, mind if I dump my suitcase so I can really enjoy the party? I’ll unpack it at your place later.’
‘Actually,’ Winnie paused, ‘I didn’t know you were coming. So I haven’t organised a spare bed. Nor do I have a proper couch.’ She shrugged. ‘But there is a three-star motel down the road. I can give you directions.’
Bruna barely concealed the shudder that ripped through her, as though creepy-crawlies were scuttling on her skin. Her lips pulled tight around her teeth in the semblance of a smile. ‘Perfect, thanks.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alex focused the camera lens from afar, allowing Winnie’s entire beauty to fill the frame. Chester Wyatt’s cattle property, a section of which had been done up like an enchanted forest with faux reindeers and birdcages, made an apt backdrop for the journalist. She looked like she’d stepped out of a fairy tale.
Alex knew bridesmaid dresses weren’t generally forgiving, but Winnie seemed to have a new sense of poise and confidence that made hers appear worthy of an Oscars’ red carpet. Then there was the matter of the way the red gown hugged her lush curves . . . He wanted her so badly he could barely see straight. In fact, he’d thought about Winnie virtually every second since he heard she’d been to Sydney for the weekend.
Maybe it had been a reminder of what he stood to lose, coupled with knowing those after him were closing in. Like the imminent weather change he could feel in the air, it suddenly felt time – time to give up on leading a double life and holding Winnie at arm’s length. Time to come clean and tell her what she really meant to him. Something had clicked in his brain. Just because he’d been wronged by a woman he’d loved didn’t mean Winnie was cut from the same cloth. She was different from what he originally thought. She was amazing.
And if he was unsuccessful in convincing her of how he felt? Well, didn’t they say you should let your failures refine you rather than define you? He knew he’d put Winnie through the wringer – he’d been up and down like a bride’s nightie, so to speak. But he couldn’t correct the past, only try to change the future, and this time there wouldn’t be any ifs or buts. No fuzziness or emotional ambiguity.
Letting the camera drop to his side, he summoned his courage and slowly headed in Winnie’s direction. Unfortunately, once he was only a few feet from her, he still didn’t know what to say. She stood under a gum tree, seemingly lost in her thoughts, nursing a flute of champagne. It was the first time all day he’d had the chance for a moment alone with her, despite being the wedding’s photographer. At other times, she’d been swept up in the whirlwind of the bridal party and Eden’s micromanaging. Or huddled in a corner with some Eurasian girl, who looked like a Sydney blow-in, when the friend wasn’t doing stripper moves on the makeshift dance floor.
Pausing at the edge of the tree’s shade, Alex shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and chanced a look at Winnie. Her eyes, though wary, seemed drawn to his.
‘Enjoying the day?’ Hey, it wasn’t Shakespeare, but it was a start.
She clutched the stem of her glass and nodded, her earlier self-assurance seeming to waver slightly under his gaze. ‘Yes. And Eden seems happy.’
He returned the nod, desperate to make her feel at ease again. ‘So far it’s all gone according to script, although,’ he squinted at the sky, ‘don’t think the rain’s going to hold off much longer. All the guests will be running for the marquee soon.’
‘Yeah, I think you’re right.’
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. He spoke first. ‘You look terrific, by the way . . . really beautiful.’ He let out a low laugh, feeling self-conscious. ‘Without wanting to sound too cheesy.’
She shifted her high-heel-clad feet, surprise in her eyes. ‘Oh . . . thanks. Well, you haven’t scrubbed up so bad yourself. Did Eden make you get rid of the stubble and cut your hair?’
It appeared their roles had been reversed and Winnie was now full of spunk again.
‘Yeah, I thought I should.’ Alex rubbed his smooth jaw. ‘Almost like starting afresh.’
A tiny smile brightened her features for a moment. ‘You could even pass for one of those A-listers in the gossip pages you so despise.’
He hid a wince. ‘Something like that.’ He tried to pluck some courage out of the air. ‘Look, Winnie, the reason I came over here was because I was hoping to explain a few things to you in private. Some things I should have told you a long time ago —’
But she wasn’t looking at him any more. Instead she was peering over his shoulder towards the distinct sound of helicopter blades. Alex turned as the noise grew louder, making conversation impossible and whipping up hair and hemlines. The chopper’s arrival added to the shift in electricity already in the air – and couldn’t be worse timing for him. Figuring it was anot
her of Eden’s wedding stunts, all he could do for the moment was look on like everyone else.
The silver helicopter settled on the ground. As its blades slowed and engine quietened, the passenger door finally swung open and the crowd held its collective breath as a suited man stepped out. For Alex, the sight of the visitor was like a punch to the stomach. He’d been wrong about the helicopter being a wedding stunt – it had been chartered for the single purpose of finding him.
The visitor didn’t even bother to remove his mirrored aviators, just kept his eyes trained on Alex as he threaded his way through the crowd, towards him.’We need to talk.’
Alex swallowed hard, feeling like he was caught in high-voltage ute headlights. It was the very last thing he wanted to happen right now, the very last way he wanted to be found. Especially as he hadn’t yet told Winnie.
But before Alex could even make a move or gather his thoughts, he felt someone fling themselves at him. He looked down to find Winnie’s friend hanging off his neck like it was a dance pole. ‘Ciro Ballas! I knew it was you from the Facebook photo – even half-disguised,’ she gushed. ‘I know my celebrities.’
Not far behind the brunette was Yasmin Cox from the Coastal Herald, wearing an inappropriate nipple-revealing white dress. She thrust her chest out even more as she scooted closer. ‘The runaway billionaire Greek shipping heir, who had his heart broken and was betrayed by his family,’ she breathed. ‘I want the exclusive – why you’re here and where to next!’
Just as he’d feared.
Lost for words, feeling like his windpipe had been crushed, Alex gently prised the girl’s fingers from his neck. He glanced over at Winnie. Shock and disbelief were written all over her face.
