by Jennie Jones
Uh oh. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, Sammy, but is it just him or will you have other guests?’
Sammy glanced over her shoulder and raised her russetcoloured eyebrows. ‘You don’t like Daniel?’
Charlotte didn’t underestimate the coyness in Sammy’s tone. ‘Let’s just say we don’t appear to be able to speak nicely to each other, as I think you noticed.’
‘Something already happened between you?’
‘We had a bit of a to-do the other day at the stock feeders’.’ And another on the hillside. And another tonight.
‘An argument?’
‘Not exactly, but he was rude.’ So had Charlotte been. He was so provokingly charismatic she forgot her manners when around him. ‘Well, he was sort of rude,’ she conceded.
Sammy didn’t respond.
Charlotte swallowed a sigh. She’d belittled a friend of Sammy’s and was behaving in a standoffish manner to what was obviously a genuine hand of friendship. ‘Although he’s nice to Lucy,’ she admitted, ‘and she seems to like him.’ Worst luck.
‘Everybody likes him,’ Sammy said. ‘Dogs, old ladies, drunks.’
‘He’s a hotshot charm-boy.’
‘I know. That’s what makes him so attractive.’
How lucky was Ethan to have captured a wife like Sammy? A bright, vivacious woman who oozed family joy and was obviously deeply in love with her husband. ‘You can say that safely,’ Charlotte said. ‘You’re married.’
‘Safely?’ Sammy stopped, eyes wide. ‘Has Dan made a pass at you?’
‘Certainly not. He doesn’t like me.’
‘Has he flirted?’
‘No—he doesn’t like me.’ He thinks I’m after your husband.
‘Come on, give. What’s happened between you?’
‘Well, when we first met at the stock feeders’, he seemed to be …’
‘Flirting?’
‘No. He twisted my words—’
‘Into some sort of flirty banter?’
‘More suggestive than that.’
‘Flirty suggestive?’
Charlotte gave Sammy a can-we-stop-now look.
Sammy grinned. ‘What were you talking about?’
‘Screwdrivers.’
Sammy wiggled her eyebrows. ‘Sexy stuff.’ She moved off down the street. ‘Do you remember what he was wearing?’
Charlotte followed. ‘A white shirt, a scratched leather belt and faded jeans.’
‘What shoes was he wearing?’
‘I didn’t look.’
Sammy glanced over her shoulder. ‘Didn’t get past those jeans, huh?’
Charlotte couldn’t still the deepening warmth Sammy’s offered friendship built in her chest. She wasn’t staying in town long, but so far it had been a lonelier road than anticipated. She decided to try out this offer of friendship. ‘He’s got a nice butt, I will say that for him.’
Sammy spluttered a laugh. ‘There’s nothing better than staring at a good-looking man in a pair of jeans.’
Charlotte gave in. ‘It’s a very nice backside.’
Sammy slowed her pace. ‘I’m trying to figure out if he’s keen on the committee, or keen on you.’
‘That’s a no regarding me.’
‘I’m not so sure.’ Sammy turned. ‘Did he give you his sparkly look? The one where lights flicker in his eyes?’
The dancing flecks of charm. ‘Do you see them too?’
‘Charlotte, there isn’t a woman in this town—or likely anywhere Dan’s been—who hasn’t been mesmerised by those lights.’
‘Except me.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Sammy leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘Picture it. You’re with him, close to him. It’s dusk. It’s so quiet you can hear the mice scuttling behind the skirting boards in the empty bar. The air is warm. He leans towards you, tips his head and …’
Charlotte’s breath hitched.
Sammy offered a grin. ‘I’ll let you imagine the next part for yourself.’ She moved off towards a big blue ute.
‘Believe me,’ Charlotte argued, following. ‘The spark between us is a follow through to instant dislike of each other.’
‘Yeah,’ Sammy said as she beeped her remote at the ute. ‘And I’m so not pregnant.’
‘You getting friendly with the new woman?’ Mrs J asked Dan.
Dan kept his sigh to himself, took his focus off Sammy and Charlotte standing by Ethan’s ute, and turned to Mrs Johnson. ‘Nope. I’m helping everyone out here, that’s all.’
‘You’ve got a grin on your face every time you talk to her.’
‘She likes arguing. I’m happy to oblige.’
‘Bit of a surprise, seeing you stick your hand up for the committee.’
Dan gave her a quick grin. ‘Surprised myself but sometimes I feel the need to help people.’
‘Something familiar about her but I can’t put my finger on what.’
Here we go. Dan crossed his arms and settled in for the duration of the post-mortem. Whenever there was an inquisition regarding some poor sucker in town who’d done something questionable, somebody always piped up and said they’d heard this or that tittle-tattle. Dan had learned fast that it was best to let people talk themselves into and out of it again.
‘Don’t want you falling for her until I know what she’s up to,’ Mrs J continued.
Falling for her? Where had Mrs J got that idea?
‘I’ve got a nose for the suspect, Daniel, and she’s prime.’
‘What do you mean?’ Dan wondered if the old girl had heard the one about the two-timing redhead hiding from her furious boyfriends.
‘Not sure yet, but I recognise her from somewhere. It’s her hair, something about her colouring.’
Or the one about Red tying up an intruder in her home and using him as her sexual slave for three days before turning him over to the cops.
Dan shook that tale from his mind. He didn’t like the sound of it now any more than when he’d first heard it over the bar. And anyway, he wasn’t falling for her.
‘Ted said the same thing,’ Mrs J said. ‘He recognises her too. And while I’m on the subject of Ted, please be aware Grace said he’s having a few of his space-and-alien turns.’
‘Right. But he hasn’t disappeared yet.’ Dan hooked a thumb up at the heavens.
‘Not yet—but you of all people will remember how hard it was for him and Grace the last time he … disappeared … seeing as you found him.’
Poor old Ted and his obsessions. He had too many problems on his plate. ‘I’ll keep an eye on him. Well.’ Dan uncrossed his arms and looked over Mrs J’s shoulder. ‘I’ll give them a hand with the trestle table and then it looks like we’re done for the night.’ He glanced down. ‘Nice of you to keep me informed of things, Mrs J.’
‘Don’t mention it. You’ve proved yourself a worthy and valuable addition to the town.’
Yeah. Dan nodded and shifted his stance. The old girl hadn’t spoken to him for the first six months—thought he’d be bringing showgirls to the bar or something equally outrageous. What the townspeople forgot—or didn’t care to consider—was that Dan was country born and bred, like they were. Different town though. Might as well have been a different planet, now he thought about his first few years in Swallow’s Fall.
‘And we look after our own,’ Mrs J continued.
Her words brought a sudden but pleasant warmth to his chest. ‘Thank you, Mrs J.’ One of their own, huh? Not bad for six years of effort … and patience.
Mrs J looked around Dan’s shoulder, out the open door and down the street. ‘Do you fancy her?’
Jesus. Why was everyone so interested in what he thought of Charlotte? He glanced out of the door as Sammy drove away, Red giving a wave and walking slowly, a little ponderously maybe, towards her B&B. Couldn’t a man hold a conversation with an attractive woman without it going to council?
He turned to Mrs Johnson and opened his mouth. Did he fancy her?
‘No,’ he said.
&
nbsp; Mrs J stared at him. Damn it. He’d paused too long and the old girl’s internal gossip receiver sparked the air as it charged.
Five
Charlotte squinted as the morning sunlight caressed her face. She leaned against the doorframe of her B&B, new screwdriver in one hand, the telephone in the other.
Early Monday morning in Swallow’s Fall and the town getting ready for its day.
It would be late Sunday night in Starfoot; maybe a few young people showing off with rowdiness as they made their way home from the local pub, giving the Yorkshire residents something to complain about the next morning as they queued for bread at the bakery and discussed the building of the new two-storey hotel on seventeen acres of good old English soil, a quarter of an acre of which had once been Charlotte’s.
‘So,’ Sammy said down the phone. ‘Dinner. Saturday night, six o’clock. I’ve got a roast planned and I’m going the whole hog since Ethan wouldn’t let me go to the barbecue last Friday due to my swollen ankles.’
A twinge that felt suspiciously like misery because she hadn’t been invited to Kookaburra’s first Friday night barbecue gripped Charlotte’s chest. Then again, nobody had needed invites, the notice had been plastered on the pub’s front window. Family barbecue, family fare, Friday night fun. She could have gone. Except who would she have spoken to or sat next to?
‘Did you hear me?’ Sammy said. ‘Saturday, dinner, our place, and I’ve told Ethan to make sure no animals get sick after five p.m. otherwise they’ll be answering to me.’
Charlotte smiled. ‘Does he always do what you say?’
‘I wear the pants around Burra Burra Lane. He knows it and the animals know it.’
‘I hope you don’t mind my asking again, Sammy—but is it just me and Daniel, or will you have other guests?’
‘Just you two.’
Charlotte lifted her eyes to the street as the man in question took the steps from the walkway outside Kookaburra’s two at a time and walked across the road towards the stock feeders’. Lucy trotted at his side. Traitorous four-legged friend.
Charlotte stepped back and behind the door.
‘You still there?’ Sammy asked. ‘You keep going quiet.’
Charlotte nodded.
‘Look, Charlotte,’ Sammy said, admonishment in her tone, ‘I know it’s hard but the only way you’ll get yourself accepted is to accept people first. Believe me, I know how this is done.’
‘If you say so.’ She hadn’t wanted to make friends but neither had she expected to be disliked. Having to befriend the townspeople was a setback but without doing so there’d be no progress.
‘Six o’clock. Don’t be late or I’ll get Dan to drive back and pick you up—in fact, that’s a brilliant—’
‘No, thank you,’ Charlotte said quickly. ‘I don’t need a lift from Hotshot. I’ll drive myself.’
Silence.
Charlotte nipped at her bottom lip with her teeth. ‘Sammy, are you planning on trying to push Daniel and me together?’
‘Yep.’
‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘The air bristles between us every time we meet,’ she argued. ‘You noticed that the other night.’
‘Yep.’
‘You’re not going to believe me when I say, again, that we don’t get on. We don’t like each other.’
‘Nope.’
Charlotte sighed. ‘You’re incorrigible.’
Sammy laughed—a merry chirrup. ‘Yep. See you Saturday if not before.’
Charlotte put the telephone and the screwdriver on the hall table. It seemed ungracious not to accept the blossoming of a friendship with Ethan’s wife, and Charlotte had a hankering for a friend, but she hadn’t intended to latch onto the hand Sammy was offering. Get in, crack on and get out had been her plan, although she’d known what she was getting into by buying the B&B and how much effort it might take to resell it. Not that she needed the money from the sale; she had enough money to see her through two lifetimes, courtesy of those hotel executives, and would return every penny to have her old life back—but that wasn’t possible.
Finding the B&B for sale had been fortuitous—she had no idea how she’d have stayed in town during her investigations otherwise, or what excuse she could have given for popping back every day if she’d booked into one of the neighbouring towns’ guest houses or hotels. But then she hadn’t thought her plans through properly. She’d simply waltzed into the real estate office in Canberra waving her cheque book and smiling at the amazement on the saleswoman’s face as she made a cash settlement, just below the already reduced asking price, for a property that had been on the market for over two years. Given the list of renovations she planned, including some that weren’t necessary but would certainly give the house a genuine sparkle, perhaps she’d also bought it for the challenge of bringing it back to life.
Disappointment at her lack of judgement thrust a wedge into her resolve to be unflinching and stubborn. She turned from the door, walked halfway down the hall and stopped. She leaned her forehead against a flocked peony on the wallpaper and braced herself against the wall. ‘You came here to get answers,’ she whispered. She’d never intended to charge in and ask Ethan the questions straight out—she’d hoped to discover more about him and how he was involved first. Now she knew the people in Swallow’s Fall, she understood her cautious approach had been the right approach. But she should be getting on with finding those answers—before she got too deeply enmeshed in the lives of the townspeople.
An image of Olivia Simmons’s caring face shone through Charlotte’s unease and she had a sense of her gran hovering around her in a cloud of comfort. She’d clung to the safety of Gran’s hand every day for the first three months after being whisked from Australia to that foreign place. Gran walked her around the village, introducing her to the pond where they fed the ducks and named each one, playing a guessing game the next time they visited to see if they could pick out Griselda from Giuseppe or Mozart from Miranda. And eventually, after months of counselling—walking with Gran to the red-brick Victorian junior school. Being handed over to the principal and left there for six hours, during which time Charlotte had learned with startling alarm how dissimilar she was from other children.
Face the fear, the counsellors and psychologists told her as she’d grown to teenage years. Remember the event without reliving it. They taught her to delve into her psyche and evaluate, almost as an outsider, the events that had harmed her and left her motherless, but nothing would erase the vision of the pictures she’d drawn as a six-year-old: stick figures in pools of blood; dark hands curling around wardrobe doors, ready to grab her …
‘No dream,’ she whispered. ‘Not in daytime.’ All the psychologists in the world could go to hell. She wouldn’t be over the nightmare until she knew the truth about Thomas O’Donnell.
She didn’t have her answers from Ethan yet, shouldn’t make any judgements, but when you faced the man whose father had killed your mother, the man who was probably your halfbrother—there were undoubtedly going to be a few shaky moments and any number of dilemmas.
‘Hi.’
Charlotte jumped.
‘Knock knock.’ Daniel rapped his knuckles on the open door. ‘What are you doing? Taking a closer look at that fancy wallpaper, huh?’ He ran his gaze over it. ‘Please tell me you plan to steam it off.’
Charlotte moved from the wall. She planned a lot of things and none of them were his business. ‘What do you want?’ she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
He gave her a lazy salute. ‘Mediation duties. Thought I’d start right in.’
‘How generous.’
‘Don’t mention it. Great to see you so enthused.’ He put one foot on the step to the house and a hand high on the doorframe. His height and the self-assured grin on his handsome face blocked the daylight.
Handsome? Had she decided on that? Sporty, lean, charm-mongering, six-foot-two Hotshot with incredible dancing lights in his eyes. She sighed inwardly. Yes. That’s wh
at handsome was and it was standing in her doorway framed by sunlight.
‘I nearly brought you a coffee,’ he said, ‘then figured you might like to see inside Kookaburra’s instead.’
He must have his coffee machine up and running already, or perhaps he’d been handling the beans, because the aroma of Ethiopian mountain coffee emanated from him.
‘Arabica?’ she asked.
‘Sweetest coffee berries there are.’ He took his hand off the doorframe and stepped inside. ‘Smell like blueberry jam and cocoa.’
She inhaled, clamping her lips together and sucking in her cheeks but the taste of a dark, strong, milk-topped flat white swirled in her mouth.
He pulled the door to behind him and did a double take at the bolt on the top, the brass chain in the middle and the bolt on the bottom. ‘Did the Cappers do this?’ He touched the new brass chain plate she’d just re-fixed to the door and wiped some of the flaked red paint off. ‘You did this?’ He turned, smiling. ‘You hiding the crown jewels in here? Is that why you left Britain?’
Charlotte put one foot behind her to ensure an even distribution of weight and to stop herself from stepping away from the waft of coffee and aftershave that was becoming too recognisable as heady. Sex and coffee. The combination and lack of both could make a girl giddy. ‘What sort of coffee machine do you have?’
‘Deluxe,’ he said with a caress in his tone. ‘Eighty-three kilos of metallic black, chrome-panelled action.’
Boasting now, was he?
‘Two steam wands.’
Show-off.
‘Five-thousand-watt power rating.’
Coffee. Real coffee. ‘So how does this mediation thing work?’
‘Atta girl.’ He stepped from the door.
Charlotte unfolded her arms, tipped her head and took a breath. Get this done. That was the way forwards. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you some notes on what I’m going to do, you take them to the committee and get back to me tomorrow. How does that sound?’
‘Tomorrow? It could be a whole year before they give you the thumbs-up.’
He had to be joking. ‘I don’t have to listen to what anybody says,’ she told him. ‘I own Bottom of the Hill Bed and Breakfast. I can do what I like as long as it’s within building regulations.’
