‘That was my mother’s “eyrie in the sky”,’ said Rick when he saw where she was looking. ‘She had it built after her block-buster movie with Robert Porter. Said she needed a “place to breathe”. Dad was against it because it buggered up the look of the house, but my mother always got her way. She loved partying on the balcony with her hangers-on. So much for breathing.’
Julia could hear something in his voice. Resentment. Sarcasm.
‘As kids we weren’t allowed up there; she didn’t want us “crowding her space”. As we got older we didn’t want to go up. It was her domain and it didn’t feel right to even visit. But now sometimes I go and sit there just because I can.’
He was looking up at the balcony with such sadness. Instinctively she placed her hand on his knee and gave a slight squeeze. He glanced down at her fingers in surprise, then took them in his before she could snatch them back. He rubbed his thumb across her skin and warmth flooded her body. She fought to hold back the full-on blush rising to her cheeks.
‘It’s hard when you don’t know whether your mother loved you or not,’ he muttered.
She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to have heard, but when he turned to her she saw the vulnerability sketched across his face. His thumb was still doing its thing and frissons of pleasure spread through her. She sought for words to reassure him.
‘I’m sure she loved you, Rick.’
Elsbeth wouldn’t have protected him with such ferocity all those years ago if she hadn’t loved him. But Rick didn’t know what his mother had done.
‘Maybe … She was very self-obsessed,’ he added.
They both stared at the house. Julia noticed dark iron furniture on the balcony; it looked as if it had been abandoned. It was strange to see the chairs and table still there when the person who’d used them was gone, especially someone larger-than-life like Elsbeth Halloran.
As if Rick had read her mind, he added, ‘It’s like my parents have just … evaporated. They were such a dominating force. Some days, I just can’t get my head around the fact neither of them are coming back.’
Julia nodded. She understood that. It had been the same for her, especially with Rupert.
‘What about you? What were your parents like?’ asked Rick.
‘I told you. Crazy. Controlling.’ She didn’t add ‘abusive’.
‘Why did your mother stay with your old man if he was so bad?’
Julia had often asked herself the same thing. And – over and over – why hadn’t her mother protected her? She’d found only one conclusion.
‘She didn’t think she could leave, that she had a choice. And she was frightened of him. I yelled at her one day: why do you let him get away with it?’
It had been the day she’d left her family forever. Right after Henry had tried to beat her again, but this time she’d grabbed the riding crop he used and turned it on him.
‘What did she say?’
Julia remembered it vividly. The hatred that had burned in her father’s eyes as she’d stood over him. Bullies hated to be bullied.
‘She said, I’ve made my bed and now I have to lie on it.’
‘Geez,’ murmured Rick.
‘Yeah. So you weren’t the only kid with loony parents.’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘You’ve got that right.’
They stared at one another in sympathy and Julia could almost see Rick’s last doubts about her falling away. His grey eyes were soft and sad.
‘Have you got any kids?’ he asked.
Her skin broke out in a cold sweat. She shook her head.
‘Me neither,’ he said. ‘Never found the right girl.’
He was still holding onto her fingers, stroking them gently. Uncomfortable with the conversation, she wiggled them out of his grasp and reached for the water bottle lying on the seat beside her. She took a long swallow to calm herself, then offered the bottle to him. He took it and drank from where her lips had just been. A trickle of water rolled down the length of his tanned throat and into the gap of his open-necked shirt. Parts of her she’d thought dormant sprang to life and wondered what he would do if she leaned forward to lick the water away.
Oh God. She needed to get a hold of herself. She grabbed at the first question she thought of.
‘Why do you call your mother “Elsbeth” or “my mother” rather than “Mum”?’
Rick sighed as he returned the bottle to her. ‘She preferred to be called by her Christian name so she didn’t feel too old. And she said “Mum” was common. “Mother” was the compromise.’
In Julia’s opinion, to be called ‘Mum’ was one of the greatest privileges a woman could have. One she was unlikely ever to enjoy. She and Rupert had half-heartedly tried to have children, but she knew he didn’t really want kids. He’d said he was too old, but she wondered if he’d have felt the same way if Lydia were alive.
‘What about your dad?’ she asked. ‘How did he fit into all this?’
‘Two artists in pursuit of their own dreams – it was always going to be tricky. They had an all-or-nothing relationship. When they were getting on, it was like they were the only two people in the world. No one else existed, not even us kids. But when they were fighting, it was hell. Dad would lock himself away up at his cabin and paint like a man possessed. My mother would make him pay by courting the media and having affairs, making our lives extremely difficult. When she got particularly out of control Dad would hit the bottle. The more she played up, the more he disappeared inside himself. Ironically that was when he did his best work.’
‘It sounds awful.’
He shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘There were always film crews and journos trying to capture our every move. Last year, when they both died, the paparazzi descended on the place. They even hired boats and came out to my island –’
‘You own an island?’ Julia said, then remembered Charlie’s and Montana’s faces when she’d asked about the island visible from the tearooms.
‘Yeah, out there.’ He waved a hand towards the lake. ‘You should be able to see it from your new place. Hell, everyone can see it if they really look. But most people don’t realise I live there because you can’t see the house.’
‘How can you not see a house on an island, for heaven’s sake?’
Not that she’d seen it, come to think of it. Peering out the windscreen, she realised she couldn’t even see the island now, thanks to the glare coming off the lake.
‘I’ve built it underground. All you can see are the big windows, and they’re placed so you have to know what you’re looking for to spot them.’
Right. ‘So how did you get my car over there?’
‘I didn’t. It’s here, in the sheds.’ He pointed towards some outbuildings beyond the house. ‘As I told you, I tinker with cars in my spare time. I’ve got an old caretaker’s cottage I use if I’m onshore. Charlie looks after the place when I’m overseas.’
‘Overseas? You still ride broncs?’
Too late Julia realised she shouldn’t have known that piece of information. Rick was looking all suspicious again.
She hurried to explain. ‘I saw an article about your time in Canada in a magazine once, at the hairdresser’s. With our history and all, I read it with interest.’
With interest? She’d almost gobbled up the magazine, going so far as to surreptitiously tear out the pages. She wasn’t going to admit she still had them folded up in her wallet.
Rick relaxed. ‘Sorry, there I go again. Jumping at shadows. By overseas, I mean if I’m over on my island – silly habit. I need the peace to sculpt, and I find the water relaxing after working on the farm all day.’
She certainly understood that. It was why her dream cafe had originally been situated by the sea.
‘And then Elsbeth passed away from that bloody cancer, and Dad decided he couldn’t live without her, so he … Well, he ended his life.’ Rick swallowed. ‘It brought the paparazzi out in droves. They were trying out all types of conspiracy theories,
like they’d had some sort of suicide pact. Which didn’t make any sense seeing as Dad didn’t bugger off until a week after Mother.’ His tone held a whole world of hurt. ‘One of the tabloids even tried to hint that Montana and I might have done them both in to get to their fortune sooner! It just goes on and on. But I’m hoping that now Mother and Dad are dead, they’ll eventually go away.’
Julia doubted that. The media wouldn’t want to let go of a target like Rick, with his famous parents and his own artistic talent, not to mention his good looks. You only had to put his name into a search engine and you got millions of hits. She knew because she’d done it herself.
‘That’s why I doubted your story,’ he told her. ‘That night we were togeth– I mean, when we were young, your dream was to be a journo.’
She nodded, not knowing what to say. He had no idea that he was the reason she’d never followed through on it.
‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘Enough about the past. I’ll show you around.’
They got out of the ute and he took off towards the sheds. Julia cast a look over her shoulder at the mansion as they passed. Part of her wanted to look inside, but she also didn’t want to go anywhere near anything Elsbeth Halloran had touched.
Rick noticed her looking. ‘I don’t go inside that much, and Charlie’s got the keys today. He’s fixing a few things.’ He paused, then added, ‘To be honest, Montana and I don’t know what to do with it.’
‘What? The house?’
He nodded. ‘Neither of us wants to live there. It’s too big and cold, a real bastard to heat. We considered turning it into a B&B or a private hotel – make it pay for itself – but that would entail more publicity and we don’t want that.’
‘Why don’t you get someone else to manage it so you can concentrate on the farm?’
‘You offering?’ he quipped.
Julia hesitated mid-step. Was he serious?
Rick rushed on. ‘Maybe something to consider in the future. We’ll sort it out eventually, but in the meantime the house is just sitting there.’
Looking forbidding, lonely and unloved. Because, Julia suddenly realised, that’s exactly what the place was lacking – a family and love.
As they drew closer to the outbuildings, she saw a cream weatherboard cottage attached to a building that looked as if it had been extended multiple times. It was built of dark stone and had a pitched roof with a skillion roof to one side. Julia could see lots of smaller shed-like buildings had been tacked on, some of them with roller doors.
‘The original barn and stables,’ Rick explained. ‘My grandfather, then my father, then Charlie and I have added the various sheds over the years.’ He flung up one of the roller doors to reveal Rupert’s beloved Peugeot snug and safe inside. ‘See. Told you I had it covered. I’ve started working on it.’
She could see tools spread about the floor, and a garage creeper peeking out from underneath the car. She grabbed his arm as he went to walk towards another door, and felt the soft hairs on his skin tickling her palm. ‘Rick, I don’t think I’ve actually said thank you for doing this.’
He smiled and patted her hand. ‘No worries. It’s my pleasure … now.’
The emphasis on ‘now’ wasn’t lost to her but she chose to ignore it. ‘The Peugeot was my husband’s. He loved that car.’
‘I can see why. It’s a mighty fine piece of European engineering.’
Julia’s giggle caught her by surprise. ‘I’m not sure your friends at the pub would agree with you.’
He grinned, shrugged. ‘I can’t help it if they’re delusional.’
‘Hardly. They seem like good people.’
‘Yeah, they’ve stuck to Montana and me like glue, protected us as much as possible. Bluey once sent a van-load of paparazzi to the local tip. Mother was really pissed off – apparently they were from some high-flying magazine. When they got back to the pub and grumbled about losing their scoop, Bluey told them he’d thought by ‘scoop’ they meant the closest back-hoe. Old Bluey dined out on that one for ages. Yeah, they’re good people, and I try to look after them in return.’
In the harsh sunlight, Julia could see further evidence of the creases and lines that had appeared around his grey eyes. Due to a life spent in the sun and plenty of stress no doubt.
‘What was he like, your late husband?’ he asked suddenly.
The question came like a broadside swipe. What to say to the ex-lover she’d dreamed about for most of her married life? She considered her answer carefully. ‘Nice. He was nice.’ And staid, boring and predictable.
She’d married Rupert when she was twenty and he was forty-five; a whole generation’s age difference. But she’d been desperate to rid herself of her past, to break free from her parents, lurking like ghouls in Horsham. Rupert had protected her from them and from her previous life. And her parents had been so relieved to see their rebellious, harlot daughter safely married, they hadn’t uttered a word about how much older her husband was.
‘Nice? That’s it?’ He leaned against the shed wall, crossed his arms and waited.
‘Well, yes.’ What else did he want her to say?
‘And …?’ he prompted.
Julia was at a loss for a few beats, then, ‘And he was a lot older than me. I guess I married him to be safe. Secure.’
Rick nodded and stared at the ground, making lines in the gravel with his boot.
Suddenly she felt an overwhelming need to justify herself. The words came tumbling out. ‘He was lonely – he’d lost his first wife to cancer. And I wanted a family of my own so I could cut myself off from my parents. He was kind, and we … well, we suited each other.’
Kind of. Until she’d found herself longing for independence, passion and adventure. The power of that need had become all-consuming and they’d had that stupid argument about it. She’d wanted to spread her wings. He’d wanted things to remain the same. And now she could never go back and change the words she’d yelled in anger. Unfortunately.
‘So your life choices were affected too, huh?’
Julia looked at him blankly.
‘Both of us had parents whose behaviours significantly affected our lives.’
Julia thought about that. ‘I guess it’s true. After Rupert died, I didn’t cope well. I went to a counsellor because I wanted to be brave and start a new life. She helped me work out what I want to do.’
‘Open a cafe?’
There was something in his tone … she couldn’t quite pick what.
‘You have a problem with that?’
‘Well, I did have.’ His smile was slow and warm, and she felt her toes curl up with pleasure. Butterflies swooped in her tummy. ‘But I’m mighty pleased now,’ he added.
In order to deflect his attention from her blushing cheeks, she looked around and spotted a bright red bonnet protruding from a partially open roller door. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing.
Rick heaved himself off the wall, strode towards the bay and reefed the door up. ‘A 1957 Mercedes-Benz Cabriolet. It was my dad’s, and it’s the reason I love tinkering with old cars. Mechanics for me is like your counsellor: therapy for this sculptor and farmer. Can’t say it’s any cheaper than a shrink though.’ His tone was rueful, his smile was not. ‘Dad loved doing up old classics nearly as much as painting. I’m the same. Cars. Sculpting. Farming.’
‘I’m envious,’ said Julia. ‘That’s what I’m looking for with my cafe. A passion, something to love.’ Perhaps more.
They stood gazing at each other, as if discovering something new yet old, which may have somewhere to go. The thought was thrilling, and Julia realised with a start that she was physically leaning forwards, towards him, and he was doing the same. They were like mirror images of each other, until Rick, suddenly seeming uncomfortable, moved to close the roller door.
As he turned back to her, he said in a husky tone, ‘How about we start your agricultural education right now? I need to look at some water troughs. I’ve got a few that are leaking and
I think the cattle have pushed off the floats.’
Whatever that meant. ‘Love to,’ she said.
Welcome to farming, she thought. And to whatever the future had in store.
‘How many acres do you manage all up?’ Julia asked.
She was standing beside a water trough while Rick was lying on the other side on the muddy ground, checking the pipework.
‘Four thousand,’ came the muffled answer.
‘Gosh. How do you find time to sculpt?’
His reply sounded something like ‘Late nights’.
‘So is this all your land around us?’
She did a 360-degree turn. They were so far from the homestead she couldn’t see any sign of its imposing roofline. All around were paddocks of waving green-gold pasture; native species like kangaroo grass and wallaby grass, according to Rick, and chocolate lilies by the dozens. They’d driven through other improved pastures of sub clover, rye, cocksfoot and phalaris during the afternoon. Hours ago she hadn’t heard of any of them, but now the names rolled off her tongue as if she was a long-time grazier.
Rick’s rumpled head appeared and he stuck his hand into the cold water of the trough to fiddle with the fittings. ‘No. We’ve got two thousand acres here, a few hundred down on the irrigation flats, and the rest’s up the top.’
‘Top?’
‘Up there.’ He waved his free arm in the direction of the nearby mountains. ‘It’s more bush than anything.’
‘And just you and Charlie run it all?’
‘Yeah, mostly. We get contract labour in for harvesting silage and hay, mustering, fencing, weed-spraying, that sort of stuff. I’m lucky. Dad got it all well set up, and I can afford to bring in the extra help.’
He grimaced and pulled his arm out of the trough, causing water to cascade over the concrete sides. Julia jumped back. The stream only just missed her highly inappropriate slip-on shoes.
Lake Hill Page 9
