He didn’t stop me. He didn’t say a goddamn thing. He just watched me walk out of the room, closing the door behind me.
As soon as I got to my own room, with the door safely closed, I sagged. The tears which I had held in as soon as I saw that photo gushed out. I sobbed, burying myself into my pillow.
I thought of the wonderful day we had just shared, talking about his family history. I had felt so close to him; had seen the passion he had for Birrimba, and those who had built it. And then, tonight. Sweet words about the love he had for his country, his home. Had he confused that passion, just a little bit? Seen that I was there, obviously willing and able. Had I misread everything?
As I drifted off to sleep, sobbing quietly now, I resolved that this had to stop. I couldn’t stay here. I would see things through past Halloween, then I would leave. Go back to my real life, such as it was.
“You read the gravestone?”
I was talking with George, the next day. A catch up about the Halloween party. He was eager to hear about the excursion to see the ruins of the first house, and the old graveyard. And I was eager to distract myself from the terrible mistake that I had made with Zane last night.
“Yes,” I answered, pushing thoughts of Zane aside. “It was Florence’s grave. And her daughter’s, I presume. A two-year-old named Violet.”
“Interesting.” George stood up, going to the bookcase. He ran his hands over some books, before locating the one he was after. “Aha. Got it. When you asked the other day about the history of the station, I suddenly remembered this book. I haven’t looked at it before.” He extracted the book, passing it to me.
I looked down at it. It was an old book, called A History of Birrimba. A very old sepia toned photo of the homestead adorned its cover.
“Maybe there’s some information about Florence and Violet in there,” George said. “Go on, take it. A bit of bedside reading. I can tell you’re fascinated by the history.”
I ran my hand down the gilt-edged spine of the book. Why not? It would pass the time until I left, along with Florence’s journal, of course. I had to admit the story was drawing me in. I wanted to know more.
“I’m thinking we can use this,” continued George, tapping his pen against his notepad. “For the scavenger hunt. We could leave clues in the old ruins, and the graveyard. They’re not so far away, and the guests will have lanterns.” His eyes were shining. “It’s perfect! Ready-made spooky places to decorate and scare people. It will be like a ghost tour.”
I smiled. His enthusiasm was infectious. “Have you ever thought about quitting your day job and becoming a party planner?” I teased. “Or maybe a ghost tour guide. I think you might have found your true calling, George!”
He grinned. “I just enjoy organizing things,” he said. “Talking of which, have you tried on the old gown? Time is ticking.”
I sighed. “Not yet,” I said. “But I should get to it; it might need some alterations. That’s if it fits me, of course. It looks like the right size, but who knows? And let’s not forget it might start to break apart the minute I try it on. The dress is ancient.”
“Even more reason to try it soon,” he said. “Just in case you need to make something else.”
I smiled, then stopped. What did it really matter? I was putting all my effort into creating this party and Halloween for the kids, but who really cared if I dressed up or not? I was only the nanny, after all. Was I even allowed to mingle with the guests?
“The staff are welcome at the party,” George said, as if he had read my thoughts. “I checked. Mr. Connelly said that we were all welcome. He is going to hire some people from town to be the waiters for the evening.”
Mr. Connelly. The big boss. I saw now that is where I had made my first mistake. I had been over familiar from the beginning, calling him by his first name. And it had progressed way beyond that. I could still feel his hands on my body, making me melt like molten liquid…
I stood up, grabbing the book. I needed to distract myself. “Okay, I’m going to try on this dress,” I said. It was now, or never. Halloween was only a few days away.
The dress billowed slightly in the breeze where it was propped over a chair in the corner of my bedroom. I gazed at it, wondering how on earth I was going to wear it.
Oh, it fitted perfectly. I wouldn’t have to make any adjustments. It had been so well made, it had stood the test of time. Some slight fraying at the neck, and the hemline, were the only damage I could find.
It was late at night, and I had been reading for hours, unable to stop. Florence’s journal, and the book about Birrimba’s history. I knew now what had happened, and it wasn’t a happy story. In fact, it had made me cry. But then, I was feeling a bit lost and lonely anyway. Broken hearted.
Violet had indeed been Florence’s daughter. She had died in the fire at the old homestead. In her journal, Florence had described the desperate efforts to get to her, before they had been defeated by flames. She had only been two years old.
It had broken Florence’s heart, of course. She had battled on with her husband, starting over; building a new house, and having two more children. But the history of the homestead said she never recovered from the loss. One day, she walked from the house, and didn’t return. They found her body days later.
There was an old photograph, in the history book. A beautiful woman, in the lace dress that was now on the chair. And by her side, a little girl, with ringlets, clutching a porcelain doll. The same doll that Harper had claimed, which she had named Dora.
So sad. How could I wear the dress, knowing what had happened? I knew it was all ancient history. Florence and Violet would be well dead by now, anyway, even if their lives hadn’t been cut short by tragedy. It was the circle of life, after all.
Maybe I would just forget it, make my excuses and not even go to the party. Why would Zane want me there, anyway? I hadn’t even seen him today. And I assumed he was down the hallway, in his bedroom. He hadn’t made any attempt to talk to me, to reassure me. Nothing.
No, I wouldn’t go. And as soon as the night was over, I would make plans to leave Birrimba once and for all. Leave her sad history and my broken heart behind, forever. For I knew now what I had been trying to deny: I was in love with Zane. But he couldn’t love me. He was still in love with his ex-wife.
And I loved this place. I knew its history, and the land. Zane had been right: it had gotten under my skin. God knows, I even loved the children.
But I had to leave. For as much as I wanted to, I didn’t belong here.
Zane
I sipped my first cup of coffee for the day as I leaned against the veranda railing, trying to arrange my scattered thoughts.
The kids had been up early, bursting with excitement. Well, it had finally come. Halloween. Bianca had done such a brilliant job at rousing their enthusiasm for the event. The excitement was almost on a par with Christmas, their birthdays and Easter. I shook my head in amazement, at all she had accomplished in such a short time.
The old house was decorated with cotton wool cobwebs and skeletons, hanging from every doorway. A huge jack o’ lantern, which she had carved the day before, took pride of place in the living room. I had seen her yesterday, going to all the men’s quarters, doling out lollies to them to give to the children when they came trick or treating.
The costumes she had made for them were fantastic. No detail had been missed. I had even seen a grudging smile on Mrs. Price’s face when she had seen them.
And tonight, of course, was the big party. George and Bianca had had their heads together for days, arranging it all. There was going to be special entertainment, but they wouldn’t reveal what it was. I was in the dark the same as everybody else.
I could hear her laughing, from the kitchen, at something Max had said. It was nothing short of astounding how she had turned the kids’ opinion of her around. I believed that they were starting to love her, even Max.
But what wasn’t to love? She was an amazing woman, th
at much was obvious. Smart, talented and full of life. A catch, as my mother would have said. A woman that any man in his right mind would be crazy to let slip through his fingers. Especially when that woman and man had such an electric sexual connection. She matched me, there was no other way to describe it. Even now, my heart started pounding at the thought of her naked, moaning, in my arms.
Why couldn’t I go to her, this minute, and tell her that? Get down on my knees, and plead for forgiveness. For having fucked up things between us. For having let her walk out that night, after we had made love, without trying to stop her. For not talking to her since then.
I knew what she was feeling. I saw the devastated look on her face, when she had seen the photo of Jo and I on our wedding day. She thought that I was still in love with Jo. But it was way more complicated than that. It was so complicated I didn’t even know the truth of it, anymore.
But one thing I did know was that it was time to let go. Of the past, of Jo, of our marriage. I had been hanging onto it without even realizing. I had told myself that I was over it, but it wasn’t true. A part of me had wanted to return to our marriage, for things to be how they were. Even while I knew that it was impossible, that it was never going to happen. The marriage had been over long before Jo had met Billy Baker. That had been a symptom of our problems, not the cause.
I watched Bianca through the kitchen window. She was so beautiful. Could I go to her now, and tell her? But she was busy with the children. Today was going to be madness. No, I would wait for tonight, at the party. I would find her alone, and tell her how I felt. What she meant to me.
Resolved, I took another sip of coffee. It wasn’t too late. I would make sure of it.
“What do you think, Daddy?”
Harper was at the door to my office, smiling at me. I smiled back. My own little fairy princess, complete with wings and wand. She did a little dance into the room, waving her wand above her head.
I clapped my hands. “Beautiful,” I told her. “The most beautiful fairy princess I have ever seen.”
Harper ran to me, jumping into my arms. I hugged her tightly.
“Daddy!”
Poppy wasn’t far behind, walking into the room. She made a perfect Alice, with pale blue dress, white apron and patent black shoes. A black bow in her golden hair completed her costume. She looked at me, smiling hesitantly.
“Well?” she asked, twirling around so that I could see the stiff white petticoat underneath her dress. “Do you like it, Daddy?”
I put Harper down, walking up to her. “You are going to entrance the Mad Hatter, wherever he is,” I said to her gravely. Her smile widened. She proffered her cheek for a kiss, which I supplied.
“So, where’s Captain Jack?” I asked them both. “Is he ready yet?”
“Almost,” said Harper, rolling her eyes. “Bianca is helping him. She said he had to have eyeliner on, just like Captain Jack does in the movie. Max said that only girls wear eyeliner!”
“But that’s not true, is it Daddy?” piped up Poppy. “I’ve seen Billy wear it as well, before he has a concert.” She nodded her head. “Sometimes Mummy would draw it on him.”
I froze, but only for a moment. It really was alright, I thought to myself, in wonder. I could listen to talk about Jo and Billy and not be consumed with anger, anymore. I had turned a corner. It felt good; liberating, even. I was free of it. And I knew the reason why: Bianca.
She walked into the room, now, followed by my son. Or Captain Jack Sparrow, to be precise. The costume was perfect. She had even made a dreadlock wig from black wool; had twisted them so perfectly you would never know they weren’t real. Was there any end to the talents of the woman?
“Thank you,” I said to her. It wasn’t enough, for everything that she had done for these children.
She blushed, refusing to meet my eye. “That’s okay,” she answered, looking at the kids.
I wanted to reach out, take her hand. Tell the kids that they should leave us. But I knew it wasn’t the time or the place. Bianca was just about to take them trick or treating around the station. The time would come, I told myself. Tonight.
I thought about my costume for the party. George had approached me more than a week ago, saying he would take care of it. I didn’t have any idea what he had got for me, only that it was in my room, hanging in a clothing bag. I hadn’t even peeked. Well, I had been a bit distracted lately.
“Have a great time,” I said to the kids, giving each of them a kiss.
“Kiss Bianca too Daddy,” said Poppy, laughing.
I looked at Bianca. She blushed, again, quickly looking at me before lowering her eyes. “No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Come on, we should get moving! Halloween is starting!”
The kids rallied, gathering up their treat bags. I watched them as they left the room. She turned quickly, looking at me. I could see, then, how hurt she was.
I hated myself, in that moment. I didn’t want to be the man who let her down. How had it come to this?
The sun was setting when I finally closed my laptop for the day. I should start getting ready for this party. All afternoon I had heard people arriving, the temporary staff who I had hired for the evening. The party was due to kick off at seven.
I walked into my bedroom, unzipping the clothing bag hanging in my wardrobe. I frowned, staring at it. I had anticipated a mummy, or Count Dracula. Maybe even Marc Antony, again. But, no. George had selected a Victorian gentleman’s costume: long pants, blazer, top hat. Interesting.
There was a note attached. I pulled it off, opening it.
Mr. Connelly, it read. I hope you like my choice. Our theme for the party is going to be Victorian Gothic, so I thought you might like to be on trend with it! I thought it would be a good match for Bianca’s Victorian lady costume, as well.
Of course. The dress she had found in the attic, which had belonged to my great-great-grandmother, Florence. Bianca was very taken with her story. I had seen her reaction at the old house ruins, and the old graveyard. Bianca was one of those people who were very sensitive to the mood and history of a place. I loved that she was so responsive to Birrimba.
I smiled as I tore the plastic film off the costume. I could definitely play the gentleman lover to a lady. Especially if that lady was Bianca.
Bianca
I watched the children running around, weaving between the legs of the temporary staff hired for the evening. They were a bit over excited; we had just returned from trick or treating around the station. They had, of course, hauled away an extreme amount of candy. They would be suffering from sugar hangovers tomorrow, no doubt.
I looked with satisfaction around the homestead. George had sent away for decorations for the Victorian Gothic theme, and the staff had set up while I had been out with the kids. Lots of black and purple lace had been hung like cobwebs everywhere, and we had utilized some dusty old antiques lying in the attic. Spooky candle holders, swathed in black lace, were scattered around the place.
But the piece de resistance was the Gothic centerpiece on the dining table: a huge candelabra, complete with purple candles, and a chillingly realistic black raven perched atop it. Very Edgar Allen Poe. The combination of the decorations and the age of the homestead almost had me convinced that we had stepped into a haunted house.
Canapes and party snacks were being prepared, and a crate load of champagne was being unloaded. A hundred champagne flutes were being polished. It was almost ready.
But it would have to go on without me. As soon as it was safe to do so, and after I had settled the children to bed, I was planning to sneak away. Even though the atmosphere was infectious, I just didn’t have the heart for it, anymore. Not after what had happened between Zane and me.
“Bianca!” George hurried into the room, looking harassed. “Go and get your costume on, while you have a moment.”
“I’m not sure, George,” I said. “Is it really necessary for me to do it?”
He looked at me as if I had sudd
enly gone mad. “What are you talking about?” he barked. “It’s because of you that this party has happened. You have to dress up!” He started to walk away, then turned back. “Oh, and don’t forget the makeup. Everything has to be perfect!” He scurried away.
I sighed. I could just ignore him, of course, but I knew George. He would find me and harangue me until I had complied. I might as well get it over with.
I could hear many laughing voices drifting from the main part of the house as I finished my makeup. The party was already in full swing.
I didn’t recognize myself when I looked in the mirror. Florence’s white lace gown clung to me perfectly, but I wriggled in discomfort. Probably something to do with the white corset I was wearing underneath. Although the dress had fitted, the shape of it hadn’t been quite right. And then it had dawned on me that they had worn corsets to get the shape of their gowns back in Victorian times. Luckily, I had been able to order one over the internet, and it had arrived in time.
I laughed to myself as I thought of Mrs. Price hooking me into it. Well, I couldn’t do it myself; it had ties at the back. And did I imagine it, or had Mrs. Price taken a certain measure of satisfaction in lacing the thing as tight as it would go?
The ghostly white makeup and black eyeshadow completed the look of a Gothic steampunk lady, as did my upswept hairdo and Florence’s cameo brooch, pinned at the neck. Even though my heart wasn’t in it anymore, I still sighed with satisfaction. It was perfect for Halloween.
And it was also now or never. I took a deep breath, opened the bedroom door, and headed out to the party.
Zane was in the crowd, mingling. I saw him before he saw me.
The costume that George had ordered looked amazing on him. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn he was a Victorian gentleman, in his top hat and old suit. I caught my breath, thinking of his hands on me, the mind-blowing sensations that he had evoked in me.
Stranded: A Mountain Man Romance Page 54
