‘Charlie?’ said an elderly voice.
‘Struth. It’s Lottie,’ said Charlie. He looked urgently at Julia. ‘You’ve got Earl Grey, haven’t ya?’
At Julia’s nod, he approached the old woman making her way through the door. ‘Mornin’, Lottie. Didn’t expect to see you up and about so early.’
‘I thought I’d come for a walk around the lake.’
She gave Julia a vague smile and crabbed her way towards a table next to the picture window. She stroked the table linen with her arthritic fingers and gave a small smile as she waited for Charlie to pull out her chair.
‘You should turn the sign on the gate to open,’ she told Julia. ‘There are people waiting.’
Julia gasped and ran out the front door. Standing in the drive were Bluey, Jean, Ernie – still wearing that awful baseball cap – Harry the policeman, his wife Susan, and a couple of other people she’d never seen before.
‘Can we come in yet?’ asked Bluey, rubbing his belly. ‘Lottie jumped the gun. The smell’s making us all hungry.’
Julia sniffed the air and suddenly remembered she had cupcakes in the oven. Gasping again, she flicked the sign on the gate from closed to open, and belted back inside to the kitchen. Only to find Rick, an apron around his waist, removing the cakes from the oven. They were a tad brown but hopefully still edible.
‘I forgot about them!’ she said, grabbing a couple of trivets to rest the baking tins on.
Rick set them down and turned to face her. ‘The apron doesn’t quite fit,’ he said with a solemn face.
The floral-patterned garment didn’t fasten around his big frame and looked ridiculous. She giggled. Rick looked down at himself and chuckled too, and then they both were laughing until, once again, Julia was crying.
‘Tears for the second time this morning!’ said Rick, wiping a big thumb across her cheek. ‘I’m not sure I can resist a damsel in distress.’ He was so close, his body almost touching hers. His gorgeous eyes softened. ‘I wonder if you still taste the same,’ he murmured.
She watched his lips descend towards hers, felt his peppermint-scented breath on her cheek. How long had she daydreamed of this moment, never expecting it would ever eventuate. Blood thrummed in her head, through her whole body. The world beyond them didn’t exist.
And then his lips were on hers, tasting her, tracing down her exposed neck.
‘Ahem … I think your customers might like to try a coffee,’ said Charlie from the doorway, grinning. ‘I mean, that’s if you’re not too busy doin’ other stuff.’
Julia jumped back from Rick.
‘Nice outfit, boss,’ added Charlie, taking in the absurd apron. ‘Maybe you could serve the people out here rather than just Julia?’ He sniggered before turning back to the main room.
‘Shit,’ said Rick, ripping the apron off. ‘Think he’ll tell the others?’
‘I’m certain he will,’ said Julia with a smile.
But Rick looked thunderous. ‘I’d best get going. You right now?’
Julia frowned as he fled the kitchen. She touched her lips where he’d kissed her. The skin on her neck was burning from the rasp of his stubble. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Rick swung his head around the kitchen door again. ‘One more thing …’
Julie wondered what was coming next.
‘You taste exactly as I remembered.’
That night, Julia lay under the eaves of her attic bedroom thinking of Rick Halloran. She could still feel the warm imprint of his lips on hers. Twenty years on and every sensation the man had encouraged to life when she was sixteen raged through her tenfold. There was still that spark between them, glowing like a red-hot ember waiting to be fanned into a wildfire. It made certain parts of her body ache with desire and need.
Sleep wouldn’t come despite her exhaustion. Half an hour later she was still tossing and turning. Thumping at her pillows. Staring at the moonlight ghosting its way into the room. In an effort to distract herself she concentrated on the pattering of light rain on the corrugated-iron roof. It was rhythmic and soothing.
She gazed around the big open-plan room, her new home above the cafe. The walls were painted a warm white, thick neutral carpet covered the floor. Over to one side, her bed, a brass one she’d found in an antiques store years ago, had a cornflower-blue silky spread, and her dressing table was washed in soft hues. In its mirrors a bluebird ornament glinted; she’d carried the knick-knack with her all through her adult life.
The bluebird of happiness had been her talisman for as long as she could remember. A gold bracelet with a name-plate decorated with a bluebird, given to her at birth, had started the fetish. In fact, at fifteen she’d stupidly had a tiny bluebird tattooed onto her breast in a rush of bravado. She was in Sydney, supposedly for a religious symposium with her mother. But she’d skipped off and found herself in a tattoo parlour instead. Had written her own parental permission form and forged her father’s name.
Blue, in its varying shades, had become her signature colour and the rest of her choices of furniture showed this. The wide and deep couch on the other side of the room was covered in a soft indigo fabric, as was her reading chair, its overhead lamp sporting a cute duck-egg-blue shade. A coffee table, scattered with books and magazines, added other pastel hues, as did a small kitchenette along the outer wall. Only the tiny bathroom tucked under the eaves was stark white.
It had been quite an effort to get all her furniture up the stairs, something she wouldn’t have managed without the removal men. Thank heavens she’d sold most of the heavy antique pieces from the house in Armadale when she’d moved into a temporary apartment. Some of her girlfriends had been aghast at her sudden decision.
‘At least wait a year,’ said Tess, at the same time casting covetous glances at a mahogany sideboard. Julia had let her friend buy it at a drastically reduced price; it was the least she could do. Since she’d practically disowned her parents, Tess and Lizzie had been her ‘go to’ people.
It was Lizzie who really understood the reason why Julia needed to move. ‘You’re not happy, are you? It’s more than grief over losing Rupert.’
‘I can’t work out what’s wrong with me,’ Julia said. She’d felt like she was sitting on the sidelines watching life go by. It was disconcerting, this lack of connection to the world. When Rupert was alive, the emptiness hadn’t haunted her as much because she had kept herself busy looking after him. But now? The earth could have opened up and swallowed her whole and she would have just watched it happen.
‘What is it then?’ Lizzie asked. ‘And what are you going to do about it?’
‘If I knew the answer to the first question, I might be able to work out the second,’ said Julia. And, to her dismay, she’d burst into tears. ‘What am I going to do with my life?’ she’d wailed into her friend’s shoulder.
Lizzie had taken her immediately to a coffee shop and there, hands wrapped around the warm latte mug as if it were a lifebuoy, Julia had found out that Lizzie was seeing a counsellor.
‘She’s amazing,’ gushed her friend. ‘I wasn’t coping at all. Garry thought it was a peri-menopausal crisis but I knew it was more than that. I’d be paralysed with anxiety some mornings. I just couldn’t cope! But Zara’s given me strategies to deal with it.’
All that time Julia had thought Lizzie had the perfect existence: a hard-working and attractive husband who adored his wife, a house to die for with all mod-cons, and four beautiful, very active children. Lizzie always appeared to have complete control over her life. It was incredible to find out there was a tempest beneath that seemingly calm surface.
So Julia had met with Lizzie’s counsellor and worked out what she wanted for her future. And here she was, at the end of her first day running her very own cafe. The only deviation from her plan had been buying the cottage in remote Lake Grace.
Her mobile rang, startling her into full wakefulness.
‘How did the little country cafe opening go?’ asked Clar
ence with forced bonhomie.
‘Great,’ said Julia. ‘A huge success. Lots of people came and they ate all my cakes. The only downside was my coffee machine died, but we got around that. You should come visit,’ she added mischievously.
She could picture him in his inner-city apartment, lounging in his large overstuffed leather armchair, short legs sprawled out, one grey eyebrow quirked, the lights of Melbourne arrayed behind him. He thought Lake Grace was at the end of the world.
‘Yes, well …’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m rather busy right now, but perhaps in a month or two.’
Or three or eight, or possibly never. Somehow Julia couldn’t imagine the debonair Clarence enjoying Lake Grace. Surprisingly, that didn’t faze her. She didn’t need anyone else’s approval. Lake Hill Cafe felt right. Her new life felt right.
She refused to think how much that was helped by Rick Halloran and his tantalising kisses.
Chapter 13
Rick was woken by cockatoos screeching outside his studio window. He lifted his head from the desk and tried to work out where he was. It didn’t take long once his bleary eyes fell on the sculpture he had worked on all night. It was beautiful. Sublime even.
The woman was lying on a beach, her face replete, her arms flung wide above her head, her limbs sprawled. It was Julia, just as he recalled her on that night twenty years ago. An image he’d never, ever forgotten.
‘Thought you might like a cuppa,’ said Charlie from the doorway.
Rick turned his head to sniff at the air. Caffeine: the second most delicious thing on earth.
‘I tell ya, she’s got that coffee machine pumpin’,’ said the old man.
From his self-satisfied tone you’d have thought he was solely responsible. Which, Rick guessed, in a way he was.
‘Few tradies workin’ up at the caravan park called in. Word’s gettin’ around. You done good with that.’
Well, he’d tried. More to the point: ‘How’d you get the coffee over in the boat without spilling it?’
‘With my help,’ said a female voice. ‘I’ve been many things, but never a cup-holder. Until now.’
Rick got to his feet with such speed that the cockatoos outside squawked off in fright. ‘Lottie!’
‘Why have you put that little bird on her chest?’ asked Miss Finch, staring at the sculpture. ‘Mrs Gunn doesn’t have a tattoo.’
Rick wondered why people thought Lottie Finch was eccentric. When she was alert, she didn’t miss a thing.
‘No, not where you can see,’ mused Charlie. ‘Although Rick’d probably know if she’s got one elsewhere.’
Cheeky old bastard.
‘It’s been a long time since I saw Julia naked,’ Rick countered.
Charlie gave a sly grin. ‘So who did I see leavin’ the tearooms late a couple of nights ago?’
‘Oh,’ said Miss Finch, ‘that was me.’
Both men stared at her.
‘She had my book. I had to get it. I can’t go to sleep unless it’s safe in my hands.’
Charlie half-shook his head. ‘But, Lottie, what was she doin’ with your precious book?’
‘Just looking at it. Matthias gave it to me, you know. It’s a beautiful book.’
And as quick as that, Miss Finch’s piercing green eyes glazed over and her mind went to its other place. Just a mention of that damn book was like flipping a switch. She took it from her bag and looked at it like it was the very first time she’d seen it. Rick watched her furrowed, wrinkled hands caress the heavily embossed cover; so much love in that gentle touch. That could be him in years to come if he didn’t open his heart now.
‘Julia likes my book very much,’ Lottie said. ‘Rupert had one nearly the same.’ She turned to shuffle down the passageway, like a Japanese woman in a teahouse, Rick thought. ‘Matthias is calling me. Goodbye.’
‘Rupert?’ Charlie asked Rick.
‘Julia’s late husband. Don’t worry, no one’s trying to cut your lunch.’
Charlie looked offended. ‘I didn’t mean that!’
‘Yes, you did.’ Now it was Rick’s turn to grin. Served the old bugger right.
‘I need to go with her,’ Charlie said, his chin slightly elevated like he knew he’d been bested. ‘She might trip gettin’ into the boat.’
‘Hey, what about my coffee?’ Rick yelled after him.
Charlie’s reply floated down the hall. ‘Go get your bloody own!’
Rick grumbled to himself as he moored the tender. He didn’t really need caffeine, but the scent of baking emanating from the tearooms had been pushed by the south-easterly breeze straight onto his island. He finished roping off the boat and headed with purpose towards the Grange. He’d grab the ute, drive into town and catch up with Bluey and Jean. They’d feed him a decent pub lunch even though it was pushing two. Or he could grab a sausage roll from the corner store and head out to Montana and Owen’s, see what they were doing.
He could do those things. But who the hell was he kidding?
At the gateway to the Grange, he looked down the path. Sniffed the air. Freshly baked bread. Coffee. And something sweet he couldn’t put his finger on.
His feet were moving before he even knew it.
‘Hi there!’ called Julia from behind the counter where she was flipping switches, frothing milk and moving coffee mugs around seemingly all at once. Her voice was full of warmth and joy like she was so happy to see him. And then her eyes smiled at him too and he was lost.
He gave a nod in return and glanced down, hoping she hadn’t caught him staring at her like a complete loon.
‘Want a coffee?’ she asked him.
She was still smiling but there was a slight wrinkle to her brow, like she wasn’t sure whether she was saying the right thing.
‘Rick?’ She sounded puzzled. ‘What’s going on?’
He snapped his gaze back up to her face. She was looking at him with concern.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
No, he wasn’t okay. A whole bunch of feelings were warring within him. Flight or fight? Run or stay? What the hell should he do?
Man up, Halloran! Action, that’s what he needed.
‘I’d love a coffee, but let me help.’
He moved around the counter and stepped up to her side. Bad move. His nose caught the scent of her perfume, he felt the warmth emanating from her body. He moved a step away, seemingly to grab another mug but in reality to put a little distance between them.
She made him feel so vulnerable. She only had to look at him and his tightly laced control came undone. It was like she could reach into his heart, and then go further into his very soul and see the one thing he didn’t want anyone to see.
His loneliness.
Chapter 14
When she’d seen Rick at the door, Julia’s heart had lifted to new heights, but then he’d frowned and it had plummeted. Why come to the cafe if he wasn’t in a good mood? Couldn’t he see she was flat-out? Harry, in uniform, had been waiting ten minutes for his coffee, and there were others queuing behind him, but she’d had to run into the kitchen first to pull two chocolate cakes from one oven and a crusty cob loaf from the other. She wondered why on earth she’d decided to open before the cook arrived.
And now Rick was standing right beside her, distracting her. He smelled so good. She just wanted to –
‘A coffee, was it, Harry?’ Rick asked the policeman.
What was he doing?
‘Yeah, mate. Been waiting a while, but that’s okay. I can see she’s a bit busy.’
Harry had parked the police car right outside the front door. It was a wonder people didn’t think there was something amiss. But Julia was too tired to really care. All she could think about was that the cob loaf needed to be put on a plate with the spinach dip and delivered to table four, and the cakes needed to be iced.
And Rick … his nearness was making her burn with self-consciousness. She dropped a chocolate-coated spoon on the floor, followed by a marshmallow. This fumbl
ing was in total contrast to how capable she’d been only minutes before.
‘One cappuccino for our local copper,’ she said, handing Rick a takeaway cup to pass to Harry. She may as well make use of him since he seemed to be offering. Her thoughts flitted to the huge bed upstairs … No, focus. Spinach dip. Chocolate cakes. With extra icing to dribble over Rick’s muscled torso …
‘Who’s this one for?’ his husky voice whispered in her ear.
She turned her head, which was a mistake because it put her lips on a level with his. She stared at that delicious mouth and all thoughts of food and coffee fled. She felt herself drifting towards him, like flotsam on the tide.
He moved back quickly. As if he knew that in half a blink their lips would touch again.
‘I’ll just put this over here, shall I?’ he said, taking the mug to the opposite counter. ‘Until you’ve finished the rest. They’re for table three, I take it?’
Table three were the only people who didn’t have drinks. The man didn’t miss much, although it seemed he’d forgotten to do up some of the buttons on his shirt. And there were his shoulders. They really were to die for – so broad, and strong.
Focus, Julia. You’re being a mug yourself, longing for something you can’t have. She’d been doing it for years, ever since she’d seen him in that magazine.
‘Do you know how to make a spinach dip loaf?’ she asked him.
‘Nope, but I know how to make coffee.’
She tossed him a sceptical look.
‘What? You don’t think a grazier-cum-sculptor can have barista skills?’
‘Charlie said –’
‘Charlie knows jack shit. I can work this particular machine. It’s just that infernal new thing on my island that I haven’t come to grips with.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
He was already spooning coffee into the portafilter, placing it into the machine.
She shrugged. ‘Okay. I guess.’
‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. So now go do whatever you need to do with your loaf. I can hold the fort for a few minutes.’
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