She didn’t want to go with the others. She wanted to stay with Rick Halloran – all night, the next day, the next week, the next month, the next year. In fact, forever would do.
She nodded. ‘I trust you. Let’s go.’
But, as she found out later, some promises were made to be broken.
Chapter 6
Julia woke the next morning to the sound of a massive semi-trailer toggling its air brakes outside her window. It had obviously pulled in to unload as presently a forklift started up. Was there any rest to be had around here? She pulled the hard, fat pillow over her head, to no avail.
Memories of that week with Rick Halloran all those years ago had pulsed through her mind until the early hours, and now she was as groggy as a drunkard. Maybe a walk in the sunshine would clear her foggy brain. She staggered to the bathroom and tried to make herself presentable.
Ten minutes later, wearing yoga pants, a T-shirt and sneakers, she opened the door of room four only to walk into Bluey holding a breakfast tray.
‘Gosh,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you so early.’
‘Kids. Jean’s unloading a truck and the brats have got sport this morning in Narree, so I have to deliver the breakfasts pronto. By the looks of that get-up, you’re an early riser too.’
Julia didn’t want to say this was part of the new life she’d planned with the help of her counsellor in Melbourne. She looked at the tray instead and was pleased to see everything she’d ordered – a bowl of muesli and yoghurt, a plate of bacon, eggs, tomatoes and toast – all nicely presented. The food was lacking a cover, though, so she’d need to eat it right now before it got cold.
‘Rick’s downstairs if you want to see him about your car,’ offered Bluey. ‘He comes in for a Saturday morning meeting with me and Jean to plan the next week.’
Curiosity got the better of her. ‘Does Rick own the pub?’
‘Yeah, this and a few other joints.’
It was obvious Bluey didn’t plan to say any more. He handed her the tray and headed back down the hall.
‘Can I eat this downstairs somewhere?’ she called.
She really didn’t want to see Rick Halloran looking like this – she hadn’t done her hair properly, her teeth felt like they’d grown mould and she was sure there was still sleep in the corners of her eyes – but she did want to get out of this place and on her way to Lakes Entrance. And the only way to do that was to talk to the man who was effectively holding her car to ransom.
‘Yeah, in the dining room,’ said Bluey over his shoulder.
Julia followed with her tray, dogging his heels so she didn’t lose him in the maze of passages that constituted the upstairs area. They ran into Rick at the bottom of the stairs.
He was wearing blue jeans that coasted down his long legs, a cobalt-blue workshirt, lace-up boots, and was just in the process of putting on his hat, a big broad-brimmed Akubra that shaded his eyes. Looking at him made her insides tingle. She’d forgotten again just how well his shoulders filled out a shirt. She could forgo Bluey’s breakfast; Rick looked good enough to eat.
Focus, woman! You don’t like him any more and you’re leaving town.
The farmer-cum-sculptor-cum-pub-owner-cum-mechanic and whatever else he did that she hadn’t found out about yet quirked his lips as he took in her neon-pink sneakers.
‘I didn’t take you for a lolly kinda girl,’ he said.
As she couldn’t see his eyes it was hard to tell if he was joking, and his flat tone gave nothing away.
‘And good morning to you too,’ she said. ‘I was just wondering if you could return my car, please.’
‘Oh yeah?’ He leaned against the staircase’s elaborately carved newel. ‘And how exactly do you want me to do that? If I start the engine, it’ll stuff it completely thanks to your buggered radiator.’
‘You could tow it here and I’ll get the RACV to look at it.’
‘And then they’ll ring me. The local blokes don’t have any idea about European cars. I, on the other hand, love them. I do them up as a hobby when I get time, which unfortunately I’m rather short on right now.’ He strode to the door, saying over his shoulder, ‘I’ve ordered you a new radiator. It should be here in a few days, but I can’t put it in until the end of the week.’
‘But I need my car,’ Julia pleaded.
‘And you’ll get it. Eventually.’
He walked out into the sunshine and Julia followed.
‘But I need to get to Lakes Entrance right now. Today! There must be something you can do?’
He was standing by his ute, about to get in. ‘I’m going to fix your car, aren’t I? Although by the looks of it, you’re going to miss a couple of appointments.’ He reached inside the cabin and pulled something out. ‘Here. Catch.’
Two books came flying through the air and dropped at her feet with a splat. Her soggy journal and her now trashed diary. The business cards of the editors and journalists she was meeting up with had flown out of the diary and were scattered on the ground.
‘Hey, watch what you’re doing!’ she said.
‘No, lady. You watch what you’re doing. I found these on the seat of your car. Seeing the page for this week was open, I had a little look.’
‘How dare you!’ she spluttered.
‘I thought I was doing you a favour bringing them here, but then I saw your appointments.’
Julia quailed. Saturday, Sunday and Monday weren’t an issue, but the rest of the week was. Tuesday, 10 am: Bairnsdale Advertiser & Lakes Post; 1 pm: The Gippsland Times; Wednesday, 10 am & 11 am: two local lifestyle magazines; and so on.
Rick saw her blanch. ‘Yeah, and you tell me you’re not a journo.’
‘I’m not! I’m just meeting up to –’
He talked right over the top of her. ‘I don’t want to hear your excuses. Now, I’m a very busy man. If you want out of town, catch the bus.’
Argh! How could she have thought he was attractive? He was incorrigible!
And he hadn’t finished. ‘In the meantime, there’s a walking track around the lake you might find helpful to work off your temper.’
He got into his ute, slammed the door and drove off.
Julia fumed as she huffed and puffed her way along the track. She was so angry she didn’t even take in her surroundings – until she stumbled over an exposed tree root and was forced to stop. It was an incredible vista. Soaring mountains and the vast silvery lake; native woodlands and blue-grey eucalyptus bush stretching as far as the eye could see. It was like a photo from a tourism brochure. She sat on the ground and just looked, scarcely believing the picturesque setting could be real. Why hadn’t anyone mentioned how beautiful Lake Grace was?
The anger hissed out of her body like air from a balloon. You just couldn’t stay cross while gazing at this.
‘Pretty damn nice, huh?’ said a voice from the scrub.
Julia scrambled to her feet. Where had it come from? She hadn’t seen anyone else out here.
‘S’okay, only me,’ said Charlie, appearing from beneath a bushy wattle. She noticed a pair of glaringly white sneakers on his feet, which didn’t match his grubby khaki pants and flannelette shirt. ‘Just checkin’ me cameras. Reckon I got your little trip on film. Might be handy if you want to sue the Parks mob, like if you’ve hurt your ankle or knee or something.’
‘You film everything that happens on this track?’ Julia was appalled. What if she’d snuck into the bush for a wee?
‘Most things. Makes good viewin’ in bad weather when we don’t get TV reception. You should see some of the chicks – I mean, some of the wildlife I capture on film.’
Hmmm, the white knight of the evening before was sounding more like a dirty old man now.
‘I guess you must live near here then?’ she said, looking around. She couldn’t see any houses.
‘Yep, that there’s my delightful abode.’ He pointed to a section of scrub a few metres in towards the lake.
Julia couldn’t see anything t
hat resembled a house. But as her eyes adjusted to the rise and fall of the undergrowth she realised there was a greenish shed amongst the overgrown trees. ‘What? That?’
He nodded. ‘The council think I live in a shack at Rick’s but I actually spend most of my time here. And you can see why, can’t ya?’ He splayed out his hands. ‘The view’s spectacular.’
Julia had to agree. The water drew your eye like a Tiffany diamond glinting in the sun.
‘Headin’ around the track, are ya? I could come with you, show you the sights?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. No need to trouble yourself.’
‘No trouble,’ said Charlie, loping energetically along the track beside her. ‘Need to try out me new sneakers.’
Julia sighed. So much for a quiet, solitary walk. At least his handbag – and snake – weren’t in evidence today.
‘Did you know Lake Grace wasn’t much more than a puddle originally?’ said Charlie, taking on the role of guide with a vengeance. ‘After the Second World War they decided to extend it to give the returnin’ soldiers somethin’ to do and to create a dam to irrigate farms downstream. Surrounding the lake is national park in some spots and private land in others. I got my bit, and Miss Finch’s got hers over that way.’ He pointed. ‘We were lucky to inherit our properties. There’s a few others roundabout like us, plus some large farms. And there’s a big caravan park in the cove up past Lake Hill. That’s where Ernie lives. He’s got a villa on the water.’
Julia couldn’t help herself. ‘And Rick Halloran? I believe he lives here too?’
Charlie pursed his lips, scratched his head. ‘Yeah, thereabouts.’
He was conspicuously silent after that, until Julia asked, ‘And what’s that building way over there? I can just see bits of it up high.’
Charlie squinted his eyes. ‘That’s Lake Hill.’
‘Which is?’
‘A cafe. Well, kinda a cafe. More like a tearoom really. Some bloke from the city bought the land off … um … a local. He was going to use it as an art gallery but at the last minute decided coffee might make him more money. He got it all up and runnin’, but then his folks got sick and he had to go home to Mansfield, so it’s been closed for a while.’
A cafe? Just like the one she was going to buy in Lakes Entrance …
Charlie was still talking. ‘Let’s head over that way. There’s a great view from the top of the hill, and I know the owner. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me showin’ it to ya.’
Together they walked around the eastern edge of the lake, leaving the eucalyptus forest behind and entering pastureland. Soon Julia could see the ‘kinda’ cafe on top of the hill overlooking the water.
Charlie opened a cute garden gate set into a picket fence alongside the walking track. ‘Here we go, just up this path a little way.’
They hiked up the gravel track and came to another gate that led into a garden.
Charlie stopped and said, ‘There you go.’
When Julia had first told her counsellor she was thinking of opening a cafe, the woman had suggested she make a dream board on Pinterest to help her visualise what her new business, her new life, would look like. The images had a consistent theme: the quintessential country cottage, with soft cream or green paintwork and a corrugated iron roof. A colourful garden spilling over with roses, seaside daisies, wisteria and lavender. Inside there would be ornate plasterwork, leadlight windows and wood cabinetry. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and a wide deep verandah with water views and furnished with wicker tables and chairs, fluttering flags and a blackboard announcing visitors’ arrival at ‘The Beach House by the Sea’.
Now, before her, stood the embodiment of her dream. The adorable cottage was painted soft green with a cream trim. On one side, a long, broad verandah faced the lake, with massive windows to take in the view, while towards the rear a set of wooden steps led up to a welcoming federation-style door that warmly invited you to enter. The glass panes each side of the door had old-fashioned scalloped-edge blinds complete with fringing. Finials and ornate trims curled across the whole cottage, completing the cute, English-village look. The garden was a delight of standard iceberg roses, box hedges and masses of hardy annuals.
This was Julia’s cafe by the sea – except it was in the mountains, beside a glittering lake.
And what’s more, there was a For Sale sign planted in the front yard.
Chapter 7
Rick Halloran was trying to get down on paper an outline of what he planned to sculpt for an upcoming exhibition. But instead of sketching the deer he’d seen whilst out walking the paddocks to check his stock this morning, he found himself drawing a face. His hands were showing him what was really on his mind. Julia.
He’d searched for her for days after their week together twenty years ago, checking out all the local haunts. But she’d vanished. They’d spent a wonderful one hundred and forty-four hours together, and then she was gone. He still remembered the number, had drawn it over and over in the sand as the days passed and she didn’t reappear.
Ben Norten had been vague when Rick quizzed him about where she might have gone, as if it didn’t matter, as if there were plenty of other girls to pick from. Ben didn’t seem to understand he had to find her.
It had started as a dare. Ben had challenged him to pick up the bartender, a woman of at least twenty-five. ‘You reckon you can pull any girl you want. So give the barmaid a try, lover-boy.’
So he had, except instead of getting an older woman, he’d got a voluptuous, chocolate-haired girl who, Rick guessed, was his own age. She’d been standing in, she told him later, while the real barmaid fetched more grog.
He even remembered his opening line: ‘Does the little bookworm know how to drink?’ He’d been smitten the minute she’d stared at him with those sparkling, sexy, vivid blue eyes. A range of expressions had flitted across her face – challenge, amusement, promise. Her lips were full and, when he eventually kissed her, tasted like strawberries dipped in milk chocolate. But it was her spark, her down-to-earth forthrightness, that had really captured his interest. Julia knew who she was, where she was going, what she wanted to be. For Rick, whose home life revolved around his mother, her moods and whatever role she was playing, and a father who was, more often than not, absent, Julia was a refreshing change. She was going to be a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, she’d said. He, on the other hand, had some vague fantasy of being a bronc-rider or a surfing champion. Anything so long as it took him away from his parents’ circle of influence.
And the sex. Oh God, the sex had been amazing. It had nearly blown his teenage mind. Young, stupid and full of grog and bravado, he’d filched a dinghy from out the front of the Metung pub. They’d motored across Bancroft Bay to Silvershot Landing and made love somewhere along the beach. She’d been like a drug in his system for weeks after. He’d never forgotten her.
And here she was, twenty years on, in Lake Grace. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognised her straight away. The sight of her should’ve been a thunderbolt drilling through his body, but she looked so different.
And she was a journalist. He hated journalists.
His mother, on the other hand, had courted them. Her affairs, the tempestuous break-ups and reunions with his father, were all fodder for the tabloids. Rick’s formative years had been as stormy as the Southern Ocean on a bad day.
‘Boss!’
Rick squinted into the blinding light coming off the lake in front of his house. Charlie was standing outside the glass doors, waving like a lunatic.
Rick glanced down at his sketch again. His unconscious mind had produced an image preserved for two decades: Julia Gunn lying on that deserted beach under the moon and stars. Except this time, instead of a chubby, laughing teenager’s face, a more mature woman stared up at him. There were lines around her eyes now, and her cheeks were thinner. The expression in her eyes was much the same though, calm and serene, although their mischievous glint had been replaced by a hint of weari
ness. Her hair was still dark, and he’d drawn it splayed across the sand like streamers of kelp.
‘BOSS!’
Rick threw the pencil down and stamped into the kitchen. A kettle whistled merrily on the slow combustion stove. He shoved it to one side and continued into a glass-walled corridor that arrowed along the front of his house. The passage was integral to the building’s design: it connected every room in the mainly underground house and acted as a huge natural light and solar panel.
‘What?!’ Rick said as he opened the front door. ‘Just what?’
Charlie stepped back a pace and swallowed. ‘You told me to come by this morning.’
Oh. So he had. He’d forgotten. ‘You’re late!’ he said, not knowing why he was so cranky.
‘Yeah, well, I got a bit waylaid.’
Rick grunted. ‘You’d better come in. I’ll get my boots.’
Charlie slunk into the corridor as Rick made his way back to the living area.
‘Kettle’s boiling if you want a cuppa,’ he called, trying to make amends for his surliness.
‘Nah, thanks. I just had one with Montana at the office.’
Rick halted midway through pulling on a workboot. Charlie never went to town on a Saturday. He always insisted on doing any town business during the week. He looked at Charlie and saw he was trying, not very successfully, to suppress a grin.
‘What were you doing at Montana’s office?’ he asked. ‘Spit it out.’
‘I think your girlfriend’s gunna stick around.’
‘What?’
‘The sheila that came in last night, the one with the Frog car? I think she’s gunna buy Lake Hill.’
Rick’s mind froze. Julia, buying Lake Hill? Surely she wouldn’t? He didn’t want a bloody journalist living right next door!
‘Get Montana on the phone,’ he told Charlie. ‘I’ll buy the place myself.’
‘You’re too late. She’s already signed the contract.’
‘She what?’
‘For the son of an actress, you don’t have much of a way with words.’
Lake Hill Page 6
