by Maggie Brown
Eleanor’s hands began to tremble, her mouth clamped into a thin line. She fought the urge to order her from the house, or do something worse. But as she stared at her with aversion, the reality of what she had heard set in. “What did it matter to you?”
“Because…” Austen’s shoulders sagged, her eyes glinted with moisture, “because I was in love with you. But you never saw me, never gave me a chance.”
“You…you were in love with me?”
“Yes I was. But as soon as Princess damn Maria smiled at you, you went running to her. Dammit, Ellie, she was royalty…what did you think would happen. That she would leave her husband and her grand life for you. Now that was a scandal you wouldn’t have survived. It would have been the end of your career.”
All fight went out of Eleanor. She felt so drained, so confused. Had she been a blind fool all these years? Had she been simply one in a long succession of lovers for Maria? Not that it mattered now—it was very much in the past. But how could she not have seen how Austen felt about her. It had never occurred to her. “Why didn’t you ever tell me how you felt?”
Austen turned to stare over the ocean. “There were a multitude of reasons…we were young, had different careers, both trying to make names for ourselves. I told myself it was too soon for either of us to have a serious attachment, but I wish now I had listened to my heart not logic. I should have told you then how I felt.”
“It wouldn’t have done you any good, I’m afraid,” said Eleanor with a touch of irony. “I’m so reserved. It’s not that I’m fussy, it’s just that very few people interest me romantically. After that fling, I didn’t seem to have much libido.”
“Now you have.”
“Yes, it’s come back.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead absently. “I seem to have lost my inhibition at long last. It’s frightening but wonderful.”
“So, you’re hooked on the ol’ Soph?”
“I’m nuts about her.”
“Lucky you.”
“Now explain to me, Austen, when you only have to crook your little finger to get any woman you want, why are you set on taking her away from me.”
Austen turned back from the ocean view and regarded her with a twinkle in her eye. “You haven’t a clue about women, have you? She put me in my place as soon as we met. I haven’t gotten to first base with her. As much as you think I can get any woman I want, there are some out there impervious to my charms and Sophie’s one of them. So stop all your drama or you’ll lose her.”
“Oh!” said Eleanor, rocking back on her heels in relief. “So why did you want her to go alone tonight?”
“To piss you off. You’re getting too high and mighty for your own good.” She gave a knowing grin. “She’s not going to bow to your every whim, Ellie, which will do you good. She has a mind of her own.”
“I know and I love her for it. It’ll make life interesting.”
“Come on and walk me to the door. It’s time I went home. I promised Deirdre I’d sing next Saturday night so I hope you’ll come.”
When they reached the door, Eleanor hesitated before she gave her a peck on the cheek, as much a sign of forgiveness as a good night. “I’m sorry we lost each other, Austen. You really were a dear friend.” She bumped her affectionately on the shoulder. “And I’m sorry I didn’t realize how you felt about me. I trust those feelings are in the past.”
“Hell yeah. We’ve both moved on. Besides, Sophie said we never would have suited. According to her, we’re both alphas. Pretty cluey for a housekeeper, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is,” said Eleanor thoughtfully.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sometimes it was better to follow your impulses. Sophie reasoned that if Austen was giving a concert, she should support her. So the red dress was put back in the wardrobe in favour of her low tight jeans, hot pink tank and old black boots. She spiked up her hair with gel into a punk style and applied winged eyeliner. As she gazed in the mirror, she had to admit the outfit gave her a sense of freedom that not even her old daggy wardrobe had achieved. No wonder Austen dressed as she did. It must be satisfying for someone as talented and volatile to snub convention and mediocrity.
Eleanor was already waiting when she walked into the lounge. She was, as usual, immaculately dressed, this time in a pretty peach silk jacket and slacks that flattered her slim frame. When she saw Sophie, she let out a wolf whistle, which brought a smile to Sophie’s face. “I thought I’d get in the mood,” she said.
“Wow. You can put those boots under my bed any day.”
Sophie threaded their fingers together. “Ha! I might just have to do that when we get home, Ms. Godwin. Come on. I’ll drive tonight.”
Halfway down the hill, they stopped briefly to admire the view. The evening was drawing to a close, a reddish pink glow caught in the line of clouds on the horizon. It was always a special time, but as Sophie gazed over the seascape, a shiver walked down her spine. She felt cold, though the air was warm and balmy. Everything was too perfect. She’d have to tell Eleanor the truth tonight, for it couldn’t go on much longer. Their holiday had only six days to go. She’d never been a coward, but she had to make Eleanor understand. It was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.
Everyone in the resort must have turned up to see Austen, for the dining room was packed. Marcello appeared as soon as they entered and directed them to a table in front of the stage. “Ms. Farleigh has requested you be seated here.”
“Thank you, it’s most appreciated,” said Eleanor graciously.
A variety of instruments graced the stage, which meant Deirdre had hired a band rather than just having the piano as accompaniment. After an aperitif, she watched Eleanor peruse the menu with a frown of concentration, the pink tip of her tongue just visible as she scanned down the sheet. Sophie licked her own lips in fascination before she dropped her eyes guiltily. Hell, she was really whipped thinking reading a menu was erotic. She cleared her throat. “What will you have?”
“What about the seafood platter. We could share if you like.”
“Uh-huh. Sounds good.” Even the way Eleanor said share, sent little tingles across her skin. Then Sophie was lost again as she gazed into the hazel eyes that seemed flecked with soft golden highlights in the muted lighting. The dinner passed in a blur. Though unable to be affectionate in public, they still managed to brush fingers often as they reached for a delicacy on the large plate. When the lights dimmed signalling the show was about to start, Eleanor turned her chair next to hers to view the stage. With the soft thigh pressed against hers, Sophie sat back happily to enjoy the performance.
The stage lights lit up to reveal the band waiting for the singer’s entrance. With a burst of pyrotechnic magic, smoke exploded with a glitter of sparks and Austen swaggered to the microphone. Her tatts were a thing of beauty in the flashing lights. They writhed down her arm like living entities, coiling and uncoiling in streams of colour. Her clothes were the usual black, though this time sparkling. The tank top was tight across her chest, her jeans cut low over slinky hips, her boots mirror-shiny. She looked exactly how she wanted to appear—sexy, charismatic, self-assured, and bad to the bone.
Music exploded with a thrashing of drums and wailing of guitars. A collective gasp echoed around the room. Hell had just erupted. With a flick of her fingers, Austen killed off the raging storm. “Not the crowd for this shit yet, boys. Ya gotta work up to it,” she admonished. “Something softer, sexy to begin with. Whatcha say, folks?”
From the start, Austen had the audience eating out of her hand. She sang through a wide repertoire: metal, punk rock, old-style rock, love songs. Not all were hers, though her latest hits were included. Sophie thought her awesome in the true sense, magnetic as she bounced on the balls of her feet, tirelessly working the crowd. By the end of the performance, the sedate audience was cheering like teenagers at a pop concert. With a satisfied grin, Austen walked to the edge of the stage. “My finale will be a duet.” She squ
atted down and held out her hand. “Sophie, will you do me the honour.”
Sophie blanched. Crap, she couldn’t hold a tune to save herself. “I can’t sing,” she squeaked.
“Oh, I’ll get something out of you, babe. Come on. These folks are waiting.”
Having no way out, she reluctantly climbed onto the stage.
“Well, well. You dressed for the occasion. Verrrryy hotttt.” Austen signalled to the band then clutched Sophie from behind and began to sway. “All you have to do is say oh yeah when I nudge you. Got it?”
“Oh yeah.”
She shuddered to think what Eleanor was thinking, but she had to admit it was exciting, and arousing, with Austen pressed against her back, crooning a love song into her ear. They moved fluently together, Sophie’s oh yeah interjection, punctuated the ballad with more than a little spice. Sophie closed her eyes, swaying to the music, until another burst of glitter shot over the stage and it was all over.
Austen was panting, covered in perspiration and grinning like a Cheshire cat when she raised their clasped hands in the air. The room exploded into clapping and whistling. Sophie, with a smile equally as wide, looked down from the stage at Eleanor. She was on her feet, applauding enthusiastically with the rest of them.
“You gotta love it,” shouted Austen.
“Damn right,” said Sophie. “This is the biggest kick of my life.” She looked over the sea of faces, savouring the moment.
Then it all came crashing down.
One moment she was in utopia, the next in hell. There was no mistaking the man staring at her, three tables behind Eleanor. The Honorable Graham Fortescue MP, Shadow Minister for the Environment. And the woman hanging over him was definitely not his wife. She looked like a high-class escort, with long blond hair, perky boobs, and a lithe body, and half his age. The Member of Parliament had every reason to dislike Sophie. Six months ago, she had interviewed him and written a scathing article on his stance, or lack of it, on coal seam gas. He was furious, had threatened legal action and would most definitely remember who she was.
Panic sliced through her when their eyes met. Sophie looked away quickly. There was no doubt he’d recognized her, or thought he did. Whatever happened next was in the lap of the gods. If she kept her head, she reasoned, not all was lost. She might be able to bluff her way through this. She was under a false name and her appearance was considerably altered since the article, especially in tonight’s getup, so she must act as though she didn’t have a clue who he was.
Without a blink, she brought her eyes to Eleanor, careful not to look back in his direction again. She leapt down from the stage to join her, Austen close behind.
“Did I pass, Ellie?” asked Austen.
“You were wonderful. You deserve all the accolades. The two of us have come on. Not the green young women we were seven years ago.”
“I’d like it if we were friends again.”
Eleanor was silent for a moment then took her hands. “We’ll try again shall we? We can’t turn back the clock, but it’s time we moved on and forgave. Would you like to come to our place for dinner tomorrow night?” She dug Sophie in the ribs. “My girl mightn’t be able to sing, but she can cook up a storm.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. Are you ready for home, darling?” When Sophie nodded, Eleanor continued. “We’ll leave you to your partying then.”
After she walked away, Eleanor gave Sophie’s hand a squeeze. “We can have our own little private party at home.”
With a nervous smile, Sophie followed her to the door. Fortescue was nowhere in sight. After they stepped into the warm night air without a glimpse of him, she let out the breath she was holding, reassured the crisis was averted. Her relief was short-lived. With no warning, he stepped out from behind a buggy in the parking area and it all went downhill from there.
“What are you doing here, Marsh?” he snapped.
“That’s no business of yours.”
“I’m paying a fortune for privacy. Your kind isn’t wanted here.”
“Oh? And what kind is that?”
“A parasite.”
“Excuse me? What right have you to speak to an employee of mine like that?” asked Eleanor, looking confused.
He turned his attention to her for a moment, his eyes dilated with anger. “I’d like to know, Ms. Godwin, what the hell you’re doing with a journalist on this island? She works for the Brisbane Morning Globe. Are you completely mad?”
Sophie angrily interrupted. “Don’t speak to Eleanor like that. I’m not here with the paper.”
“Rubbish. You wouldn’t go on holidays just before the election. But maybe it’s for the best. You’re a poor excuse for a reporter anyway.”
“I made you sit up and listen though, didn’t I? And talk about the election. From the look of your dinner companion, it doesn’t seem like you’re on the campaign trail.”
“Why you little…”
“That’s enough…both of you.” Eleanor’s voice rang out with such authority that Fortescue took a step backward. “Please, get in the buggy, Sophie. And you sir, if you don’t go away at once, I can assure you I will take this further and that’s not an idle threat.”
Instinctively, Sophie knew this was not the time to argue. The MP must have realised it too, for with a parting glare, he strode away. Eleanor, without another word, shooed Sophie over with a wave of her fingers and climbed into the driver’s seat. The silence was deafening on the way home. She snuck a glance at Eleanor as they turned to climb the hill. The woman seemed as composed as an ice sculpture. By the time they reached the garage, Sophie was so on edge her legs began to twitch—she knew she’d be flat out talking her way out of this one. The best thing to do was to throw herself on her mercy. Grovel, beg, plead.
Inside the hallway of the house, Eleanor’s gaze rested on her for the first time since they had left the centre. “You’ve betrayed my trust, Sophie. Please leave.” And with quick strides, she disappeared up the stairs.
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to absorb what had just happened. She had been dismissed in a blink of an eye, without being able to launch a defence. Her first urge was to run up the stairs, to explain that it hadn’t been her idea she come, that she would never write anything derogatory about her. But in her heart of hearts, she knew it was too late. She’d had plenty of opportunities, but had left things drift. And her biggest omission was not to tell Eleanor she loved her. The chance had been there and she’d blown it.
Shattered, she walked to her unit. Where on earth could she go? There was no way she would set herself up for ridicule by asking Lisa or Austen for a bed. She had more pride than that. Then it came to her. There was a place where she could shelter for the night—in the boat shed. Doug had an old stretcher in the back and she knew where he hid the key. It was going to be a battle to drag her belongings there, but at least it was downhill. She’d worry in the morning how she was going to get off the island without a fuss. Deirdre wouldn’t be too happy to learn a reporter had managed to get onto the island, definitely nothing she’d want advertised among the guests.
It was well after midnight when her suitcase was finally packed, with the few extra miscellaneous items stuffed into the backpack together with her computer. Automatically, she stripped the bed and tidied the room before she pulled the door closed. As she hurried out of the courtyard, the feeling of loss was so acute, she barely held herself together. She tightened the grip on the handle of her case. There was no time for the luxury of tears, not with streaks of lightning out to sea. Already faint rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance and the wind was beginning to whistle through the trees.
It was difficult to manoeuvre the wheels of the case down the dark uneven track, but she managed somehow. By the time she reached the beach, she could smell the moisture in the air. No time to try to drag the bag through the sand, she’d have to carry it.
As she struggled along, her heart took a violent leap into her thr
oat when a bolt of lightning hit a tree on the headland. Light rain began to sprinkle. To her immense relief, she reached the shed before it pelted down. After an initial fumble in the dark, she turned the key in the lock and the door opened with a creak.
With a flick of the light switch, the fluorescent bulb lit up the interior. The place was tidy, Doug’s tools now packed away in a long grey aluminium toolbox. She walked to the back where the bed was pushed up against the wall, and with a sigh, stretched out on top of the old army blanket. As was her habit, she curled up on her left side to sleep, though she knew it would be useless. Thoughts of Eleanor spun round in her head, together with recriminations and regret. When the tears at last began to fall, it was only then that the full reality hit her. She had lost someone so wonderful that her heart would have a gaping hole forever.
Sophie woke to the sound of the door scraping open. Huddled on the bed, she looked up to see Doug silhouetted in the light.
“Sophie,” he said, clearly concerned, “what are you doing here?”
“I…I…” she began, and to her horror, couldn’t stop the tears sliding down her face.
He hurried over to sit on the side of the bed. “Hell, girl. What’s happened? You look a mess. What’s your luggage doing here? Going somewhere?”
With an effort, she sat up and wiped a hand across her face. “Sorry for using your bed but I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.” She slid her eyes away as she sucked in a deep breath. Damn it! She wished she didn’t have to tell him. He was the last person she wanted to disappoint. “You’re going to dislike me as much as Eleanor does when I’m finished, so be prepared.” She began to tell him her story, only leaving out that Eleanor and she were lovers. When she finished, he studied her for a minute, his eyes narrowed.
“So you’re a reporter.”
“Yes.”
“Do you intend to write about anything that happened on the island?”
