PENELOPE JANU lives on the coast in northern Sydney with six wonderful children and a distracting husband. She enjoys exploring the Australian countryside and dreaming up travelling and hiking breaks. A lawyer for many years, she has a passion for social justice, and the natural environment. Whether coastal or rural, Penelope’s novels celebrate Australian characters and communities. Her first novel, In At The Deep End, was published by Harlequin in 2017. Nothing makes Penelope happier as a writer than readers falling in love with her smart and adventurous heroines and heroes. She loves to hear from readers, and can be contacted at www.penelopejanu.com.
Also by Penelope Janu
In At The Deep End
ON THE RIGHT TRACK
Penelope Janu
www.harlequinbooks.com.au
To Peter
Contents
About the Author
Also by Penelope Janu
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Acknoweldgements
CHAPTER
1
Pepper kicks up leaves and bark as she gallops through the stand of grey gum trees. The scent of eucalyptus is crisp and sharp. When a log crosses our path I have barely enough time to spring forward in the saddle and stretch my arms either side of her neck before she jumps. Her glossy black coat is damp with sweat, but as soon as she lands she’s off again, plunging through the shallow water in the creek bed before flying up the hill towards home.
My knee protests when I sit straighter in the saddle but I grit my teeth and throw my body weight to the right. Finally Pepper canters and then she trots, in smaller and smaller circles around the solitary ghost gum near the stables.
Grandpa Saunders planted the tree fifteen years ago. He took the sapling out of the ute and carried it through the gate and into the paddock. I must have been eleven because it was only a few weeks after my father died. ‘Repeat after me, Gumnut,’ Grandpa said, as we took buckets of water from the bore tap and tipped them into the newly dug ground until the tree was surrounded by a muddy brown moat. ‘Corymbia dallachiana.’
I must have mumbled a few syllables because he laughed, scooped my hat off my head, and plonked it back down again. He always did that when he was pleased with me.
‘Golden!’ My half-sister waves her hand above her head as she steps out of her car.
It’s eight in the morning but Angelina is dressed in a red slinky dress and matching strappy shoes. Her lipstick’s red too. She probably hasn’t been to bed yet. When her heels sink into the ground she stops, inspects one and frowns. Then she walks on tiptoes. Her pale copper hair is a similar shade to mine but wavy like our mother’s. It bounces on her shoulders when she moves.
I steel myself before taking my left foot out of the stirrup iron and easing my leg, a centimetre at a time, into a semi-straight position. Even though I expect the pain that shoots from my ankle to midway up my thigh, I can’t hide how much it hurts. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes water.
Angelina winces in sympathy. ‘If Dad was here he’d be furious,’ she says. ‘So would Mum. Why were you galloping like that? And where is your hat?’
As I’m waiting for the pain in my leg to subside I run my fingers through my hair. I weave it into a plait and toss it over my shoulder.
‘Why are you here, Ange? It’s Monday. I’ve got a client coming soon.’
She takes a backwards step when Pepper stamps her foot because she’s wary of horses. ‘Just wanted to say hello to you and Pepper,’ she says. ‘And … I brought someone with me.’
When she looks over her shoulder I follow her gaze. The man walking towards me is tall and dark-haired, his gait is long and athletic. I can’t see his face because he’s looking down, stepping around the blocks of sandstone that line the driveway. He extends his hands when he gets close, and Pepper sniffs them tentatively. They’re strong hands, capable.
The man looks up. His eyes are grey—steely grey, like an iron-bark trunk in the rain. High cheekbones, strong jawline, firm chin, straight nose. His gaze moves slowly over my face, taking in all of my features. I can’t read his expression. That’s unusual, and unsettling.
He’s wearing a suit—no tie, but the type of shirt that goes with one. His face and throat are lightly tanned, or maybe that’s his natural skin colour. He raises his brows. I must’ve been staring.
‘Tor Amundsen,’ he says, holding out his hand. ‘I apologise for arriving unannounced.’
I wipe my hand on my jodhpurs before I take his hand, as cool as mine is warm. I might have ignored his calls and emails, but I did look him up. He works for the UN so it’s not so surprising that, even though his mother tongue is Norwegian, his English is almost perfect. I look down at him and wonder, again, why someone who works on the international stage would be interested in my family.
‘I don’t have time to speak with you,’ I say.
‘Your stepfather believes you should make time.’
‘I don’t much care what Eric thinks.’
Tor looks at my house—a ramshackle weatherboard with a corrugated iron roof. Vibrant crimson bougainvillea climbs up the front porch posts and trails over the gable. The verandah at the back runs the length of the house, and overlooks the ten hectares of land my grandfather loved.
‘You live on Eric Latimer’s land,’ Tor says.
‘It’s mine.’
‘Not until you pay Eric what you owe him.’
I can’t keep the tremor out of my voice. ‘Aren’t you a diplomat?’
His gaze goes to the yellow banksia rose that grows up the verandah post, follows the line of the gutter and tangles in the lattice near the chimney. Then he looks at me again.
‘I’m currently with the UN. I’ve had diplomatic postings, yes.’
‘Suggesting I’m sponging off Eric isn’t diplomatic.’
‘I need your help.’
‘What happened with my family is over.’
‘It’s only just begun.’
The day before Grandpa went into palliative care, we sat on the verandah together. It was springtime, and bright yellow wattle flowers were scattered through the bush like confetti. He wasn’t afraid of death but he was worried about me. I took his hand and recited the botanical names of every eucalypt or gum I saw, or imagined I saw. Blackbutt, red gum, stringybark, grey gum, spotted gum, box.
I don’t want to speak to Tor here, not at my home. When I look at Angelina she must suspect what I’m thinking. She takes a few backwards steps, and then she shouts something about putting the kettle on.
When I give Pepper a nudge with my good leg she pricks up her ears and walks towards the stable yard. I don’t need to loo
k over my shoulder to know that Tor is walking behind us.
Pepper drinks at the trough as Tor runs his hands up and down her neck, pitch-black like the rest of her. He’s waiting for me to dismount, but I’m still working on straightening my knee and getting feeling back into my ankle. There’s no way I can put weight on it yet and I refuse to hobble around in front of him.
‘Why don’t you go to the house,’ I say. ‘I’ll meet you there.’
‘I’ll wait for you.’
After Pepper raises her head, Tor strokes around the base of her ears and tugs at her forelock. She’s over sixteen-hands high so when I’m on the ground I can’t reach that far. After a while she flirts with him and leans into his hand. When he steps back she nudges his chest with her muzzle, leaving a wet patch on his jacket. He sees it and smiles.
‘She’s beautiful,’ he says. ‘Ex-racehorse?’
He’s watching me as he waits for my response. I’m suddenly flustered. ‘She’s Peppercorn Black. Three wins in her maiden season. Her final race was in Group 1.’
‘What happened?’
‘She broke down.’
It’s always difficult to stretch my leg out after a ride and it’s impossible to rush the time it takes to do it. Particularly when I’ve ridden hard. Like Angelina said, her father would be furious if he knew. He’d tell me I’m my own worst enemy. This, according to my sister, would be proof that he cares about me.
‘Go find Angelina,’ I say.
Tor frowns. ‘Let me help you dismount.’
‘I don’t need help. Please go.’
He stays where he is but I ignore him, and in tiny increments I lift my right leg and inch it up and over the top of Pepper’s neck. Eventually, shaky and clammy, I’m sitting sideways in the saddle, facing Tor. I watch him unfurl his fingers, and then I look towards the mounting block on the far side of the stable yard. It’s a metre-high disk of pine that’s been there since Grandpa found it at the timber merchants and brought it home. I nudge Pepper with my right heel, willing her to move towards it. She’s skittish and steps sideways—away from the block. When Tor reaches for her rein, she shies.
My smile is only a stretch of the lips but it’s the best that I can do. Strands of hair have come loose from my plait and I shove them behind my ears.
‘I should have positioned Pepper closer to the mounting block,’ I say. ‘D’you think you can tip it onto its side and roll it over here? It’ll be heavy but my grandfather managed to manoeuvre it.’
He follows my gaze to the block. ‘There’s no need. Let me assist you.’
Pepper is quivering with tension. I stroke her neck. ‘Easy, girl.’
Tor holds out his hands. ‘Take them,’ he says.
A flock of cockatoos rise from the gully and fly up the hill. Squawking and screeching they circle and swoop, then perch on the boughs of the ghost gum. As Pepper prances I tighten her reins, but have no hope of settling her, sitting as I am. She lunges forward and then skitters to the side. I lose my balance and fall.
He catches me. His hands and arms are bands around my ribcage and back. I feel the movement of his chest as he breathes against mine. Neither of my feet are anywhere near the ground. I’m not much over five feet, and slender. But even if I weren’t I’m sure he’d hold my weight easily. I think he’s angry. I see something in the flash of his eyes before he masks it, turning his head to the side.
I speak between my teeth. ‘Put me down.’
‘To watch you fall again?’ He jerks his head towards the mounting block. ‘I’ll do it over there.’
I look around him to check on Pepper, standing quietly now, as Tor scoops me up into his arms. I’m wearing a T-shirt that’s been washed a thousand times; it only just reaches the waistband of my jodhpurs. One of his hands is on the outside of my shirt and the other is on my skin. I wish his touch were unpleasant, uncomfortable. It isn’t.
‘Put your arms around my neck,’ he says.
My left leg is still locked up and I don’t think I could stand, but I remind myself he’s not here to rescue me—he wants something from me. His stomach is hard, unforgiving.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Very well.’ His speech is measured ‘Am I hurting your leg?’
‘No.’
He walks silently to the mounting block. I’m aware of every one of his heartbeats, thumping against the side of my breast. He smells fresh and clean. Masculine.
When he deposits me on the block I sit on the edge and grip the timber with stiff tense fingers; my feet don’t touch the ground.
He dips his head. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes!’ I lower my voice. ‘Thank you. I can manage from here.’
He pushes the hair off his face and I glimpse a widow’s peak. There’s an underlying threat in his quietly spoken words.
‘I’m not going anywhere, Golden. You might as well accept that.’
‘Coffee’s ready!’ Angelina shouts from the verandah.
Tor walks to Pepper, waiting until she extends her muzzle and nudges his outstretched hand before taking her rein. He strokes around her ears again, and her neck. He loosens the girth of her saddle.
‘Shall I put her in a stable?’ he says, as if the last few minutes never happened. ‘Which one?’
‘On the left. Thank you.’
‘I’ll take her gear off while you sort yourself out.’
He strides towards the stables as Pepper, held loosely by her rein, walks calmly by his side.
CHAPTER
2
Tor has taken his jacket off and is brushing Pepper down by the time I walk stiffly to the stables and peer over the half door. I fill her hay net with lucerne and measure out scoops of grain in the feed room. He’s checking her hooves for stones when I return. It’s not until we’re fastening her cotton rug that either of us speaks.
‘You’re good with horses,’ I say.
‘I don’t ride, but my cousin keeps horses.’ He smiles. ‘He’s very particular about how things are done.’
As I smooth the rug over Pepper’s rump I feel Tor’s gaze on my back. I can’t imagine anyone telling him what to do. When I look over my shoulder our eyes meet.
‘What?’ I say.
‘I’d like to speak with you before we go into the house.’
‘Because Angelina will be there? There’s nothing I’d say to you that I wouldn’t want her to hear. How do you know her?’
‘We met at a cocktail party last night.’
‘It takes at least an hour and a half to get to Lilydale from the city. Did you ask her to bring you?’
‘She offered to do so.’
‘What do you think of her?’
‘Your sister is amusing, likeable.’
‘Also well connected and beautiful. She’s twenty-four. You’re what? Early thirties?’
‘I’m thirty-one.’
‘Isn’t she too young for you?’
He hesitates. ‘I was warned you could be unpleasant.’
‘By my stepfather?’
‘Not only him.’
Pepper has plenty of water but I carefully examine the level in her trough. I shouldn’t let his statement worry me. I’m the shade to Angelina’s light, everyone knows that.
He speaks quietly. ‘I’ll leave you alone once I’ve told you what I need.’
‘How many languages do you speak?’
‘Fluently? Five.’
I count on my fingers. ‘Norwegian, English … what else?’
He shrugs. ‘French, Russian, German. You’re a speech pathologist, aren’t you? Is that why you’re interested?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Do you study everybody’s faces like you’ve been studying mine?’
‘You have a talent for languages, and a tendency to hide what you’re thinking. Is that why you became a diplomat?’
‘You ask a lot more questions than you answer. Is it my turn yet?’
I focus on my riding boot. ‘I don’t want to help you.’
‘Can you look at me, please?’
When I look up he frowns. Then holds out his hand, palm up. ‘You haven’t given me an opportunity to tell you what I want,’ he says.
The stable faces north and the early morning sunshine, filtered by the ghost gum foliage, seeps over the bottom half of the door. Pepper, her nose buried in her feed trough, munches on her breakfast. I think I hear Angelina’s voice.
‘If my stepfather approves of what you’re doing,’ I say, ‘I’ll be bound to dislike it. My father and grandfather are dead. Why can’t you leave them in peace?’
Angelina must be in the garden. Her shouts are getting louder. ‘Golden! Hurry up! Sam and his mum are here.’
I close my eyes in relief. Tor stares into them when I open them again. My eyes are an unusual colour—‘The shade of a gum leaf,’ Grandpa always said.
‘I can’t talk to you,’ I say. ‘My client is here.’
‘Your client will have to wait.’
I walk to the stable door as quickly as my leg allows and I’m fumbling with the latch when Tor puts his hand next to mine. My breath catches in my throat.
‘Golden, we have to talk. Now.’
I turn around. He’s even closer than I expected him to be, so I press my back against the stable door, just as Angelina opens it from the outside. If Tor didn’t grasp my arm I’d have fallen through it. I stagger a step, gasp and clutch my leg. Immediately I get my balance back, I push him away.
Angelina grins as she looks from me to Tor. ‘Sorry to break up the party.’
It gives me a chance to escape, to hide my flushed face as I limp to the house while Angelina and Tor follow me inside. My client Sam is blind. Even so, he runs like a tornado, sprinting down the hall and embracing me around the hips. I bite my lip so I don’t cry out.
‘Easy, sweetheart.’ My eyes are watering so I blink as I loosen Sam’s hold. ‘I’m happy to see you too. What shall we do this morning?’
He points towards the back door and the stables. Then he points to the front of the house and my office.
‘I don’t understand what you mean, Sam,’ I say. ‘I want to hear your voice.’
Sam’s mother appears. She has little family support and her English is poor. ‘Golden want words,’ she says to Sam. ‘Do talking.’
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