by Autumn Dawn
Despite the hour, the air was already warm. Camille stared out over the backyard that revealed itself as even more of a jungle in the full light of day. It had marvellous potential, Camille thought. It had been so long since she'd been here she'd forgotten the scale of it. A stone terrace linked the veranda with the garden itself where generous stretches of lawn were surrounded by overgrown flowerbeds. Trees screened the garden from the beach path, but through the gaps, glimpses of aquamarine sea could be seen.
She now remembered Nanna Millie's love of gardening, which had always irritated Camille as a child, especially when Millie had been too busy tending to her shrubs and flowers to take her to the beach. She still loved the beach and when she'd bought an apartment four years back, she'd scrimped and saved to be able to afford a much-in-demand old art deco place just a block back from Sydney's famous Bondi Beach, with its great swathe of golden sands.
Since she'd opened her business, she'd had precious little time to spend swimming or surfing or enjoying the sun. Her instinctive visual feel, coupled with a gift for grasping and individualising the latest trends before they hit, had given her a steadily growing reputation as one of Sydney's hip young designers, and she was much in demand.
Camille wriggled her shoulders where a persistent ache still lingered from the traveling and wondered if everything was running smoothly back in Sydney. She wasn't so high profile that her customers wouldn't be happy to work temporarily with her two part-time assistants, Sally and Mark. She knew she could rely on them to keep things ticking over until her personal life was sorted out, but they were still relatively inexperienced.
Both had been curious about her need to take sudden personal time away from the young business, but they had jumped at the opportunity to take more of a leading role. Maybe she should call them just to check everything was all right. If she used her cell ... No, she couldn't risk it. These days there were ways and means of tracing even cell phone calls.
Still, she would have to think of a way to thank them if she got out of this mess with her personal and business reputation intact, she thought. Mentally, Camille amended the “if” to “when". After a reasonable night's sleep, apart from that one disturbance, she felt much more in control this morning.
As much as the artist in her itched to pull out her sketchpad and capture the wildness of the garden in charcoal, the house required her more urgent attention. The cool box containing essential food items still needed to be unpacked from the car, along with Elizabeth's toys and books, and the house—apart from the bathroom—needed a thorough clean. She would also need to make a shopping trip into World's End once she had drawn up a list of necessities.
First though, she needed to shower before Elizabeth woke. On her way to the bathroom, she listened at the baby's door but all was quiet so she quickly slipped under the shower, rapidly washing and conditioning her hair, and soaping herself from top to bottom. Stepping out onto the scratchy bath mat, she dried herself and applied body lotion before dressing in a singlet and a comfortable pair of drawstring pants. As she shoved her feet into casual rubber thongs, she heard the first wail of the morning from next door. Camille combed her shoulder-length hair, tied it back in a short ponytail behind her head and she was ready to face the day.
Elizabeth's face transformed from anger to smiles as she saw Camille.
"You certainly needed your beauty sleep,” she said as she picked up the baby, pressing a kiss to the fair, wispy curls on her head. “You must be ravenously hungry so let's find you a bottle, and then we'll get you ready for the day."
Within an hour, she had the baby dressed in a bright orange tee-shirt and matching leggings, and laid her out on a rug on the back veranda. For a moment, Camille studied her niece as she rolled and stretched out to grasp her favorite bear. Soon Elizabeth would be sitting, then crawling and she wouldn't be able to leave her unattended for even a few minutes. Her current lack of mobility was only a short-term blessing.
Confident that the baby wouldn't move from the rug, Camille whipped around the kitchen and dining room with spray cleaner and copious quantities of elbow grease until they were as spotless as an old house was ever likely to get. With the fridge and cupboards clean, she unpacked the cool box from the car. She would need to shop sooner rather than later but at least she had provisions enough to sustain them for a couple of days.
Then, thinking of the musty-smelling mattresses in both her own room and Elizabeth's, she dragged them both through the house and out to the veranda to air. Checking on Elizabeth, she found the baby asleep on the rug in the morning sunshine, evidently exhausted by the soft toys placed around her. Camille watched her for a moment before unpacking the rest of the car, and sorting her clothes and Elizabeth's into the old-fashioned chests of drawers in each bedroom.
Camille realized that her busyness around the house had kept anxieties from her mind, but she couldn't push them away forever. It was lunchtime, so she made a tuna sandwich and took it onto the veranda to ponder her plan of action. Her gut instincts were telling her it was a risk to stay in one place. With a baby in tow how long and how far could she run?
In the back of her mind lingered the hope that her brother-in-law would have no idea about her links with World's End, but it was a long shot to expect that Verity had not once mentioned the childhood holidays on the South Coast to her husband. But unless she had specifically mentioned World's End or Millie by name, it would certainly make his search far wider, something that would work in her favor.
She had also taken the precaution of not heading directly for World's End, even though it had always been her ultimate goal. In fact, she had deliberately taken the most circuitous route and nearly ten days to get here, hoping that if he had had the town staked out, her delayed arrival had put him off the trail. Nevertheless, she would need to be alert for any strangers in the area and be ready to leave at a moment's notice.
Camille stared around the rambling old garden and wondered if she would be here long enough to do anything with it. Not that she was a gardener by any stretch of the imagination, but she had a good eye for color and form, and she could see where pruning could help restore its former magnificence.
Her musings were interrupted by a sudden burst of wails from the veranda, and she went to feed Elizabeth, the baby full of energy after her power nap, waving her legs and arms wildly in the air, as though eager for something to happen. Camille quickly shoved a bottle into her mouth, and the baby sucked enthusiastically.
She really needed to clean the filthy windows and do countless other chores but the beautiful afternoon beckoned her. The sky was impossibly blue, the humidity was building, and through the trees, the ocean sparkled and glinted in the sun. Maybe a stroll along the beach was just what they both needed to blow away the cobwebs.
With a sunhat on Elizabeth's head, Camille popped her into her babypack, and hoisted it onto her shoulders. Grabbing her sunglasses, she set out for the beach, finding the old sloping cliff path with no problems. It was rough, sandy and littered with loose stones. Camille was careful to secure her footing in her light sandals. Thin, upright gum trees and low-growing temperate rainforest plants lined the path, and the air buzzed with insect life. In just a few minutes, they rounded the final bend in the path, and Camille's breath caught at the sight spread out before her.
No wonder this coastal stretch was known as the Sapphire Coast. From her aspect, sharply blue-green water gleamed and sparkled as the light breeze whipped up a light white froth against the pale gold sand. Large boulders, curved and smoothed by centuries of battering by sea and weather, clustered at one end of the beach, and in their shade, a small mob of grey kangaroos sprawled lazily, stretching and scratching their bellies. Their heads twitched in Camille's direction as she reached the sand, but once they realized there was no danger, they resumed their sunbathing and scratching.
Reaching for the shoulder straps of the babypack she wore, Camille swung her bundle onto the sand, lifting Elizabeth free. She pointed out the shy mars
upials to Elizabeth who stared, fascinated, at the animals and laughed out loud with glee. Kangaroos often made their homes along the coast, man's gradual incursion into their territory seeming not to worry them. In fact, in some of the small settlements along the coast, the animals would seek shade under the raised houses and supplement their native meals with scraps from residents.
Slipping off her sandals, Camille balanced the baby on her hip and strolled down to the water's edge. She gave a startled yelp as the chilly ocean splashed her toes. Elizabeth giggled at her reaction and Camille realized it was a while since the child seemed so happy. During their road trip, Elizabeth had seemed as anxious as Camille, evidently picking up on her tension, which exacerbated her grouchiness.
Rolling up the baby's leggings, Camille dunked the child's toes in the water, enjoying the sounds of the splashing and merry chuckles. God, she wished this really were an idyllic holiday, not just a brief interlude in a panicked, uncertain run from danger. Hoisting the baby into her arms again, she strolled along the shoreline, stopping every now and then to examine the time-worn colorful shells and stones along the water's edge.
As a child and teenager, the coastline had seemed to Camille a veritable treasure trove, and over the years she had collected piles of pebbles and shells, taking them back to Millie's cottage where she had rinsed them under the hose-pipe and left them out to dry. Inevitably some had seemed dull and ordinary by the time they dried and these she returned to the beach, but a few retained their jewel-like qualities and these she polished and kept in a small wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Camille wondered what had happened to that box.
She remembered that Verity had a similar box, stuffed to overflowing with costume jewelry, but Camille had been far more interested in her ocean treasures than any glitzy trinkets.
By mid-afternoon the sun had slipped a few degrees in the sky, shadowing the eastern edge of the beach. Time to get back to the house and get Elizabeth fed and bathed. On returning to where she'd left the babypack and flipflops, Camille noticed idly that the kangaroos had disappeared.
Slipping the baby in her pouch, she swung her up onto her shoulders and was tying the safety strap when footsteps crunched on the sand behind her. She spun round to find the policeman from the previous day making his way from the shade of the trees toward her. He was wearing jeans with a light blue cotton tee-shirt that outlined the breadth of his shoulders and intensified the color of his eyes.
"What do you think you're doing?” Camille struggled to get the words out as fear dried her mouth. “You should know better than to creep up on people! You nearly gave me heart failure."
"Hey.” The detective held up his hands in peace. “I didn't realize you hadn't seen me. I stopped by the house to check that you were okay, and when you weren't there but the car was, I thought I'd better check the beach."
"Why check up on me? I keep telling you I'm capable of looking after myself.” Camille realized her voice was rising and tried to keep her tone calm as the baby began to whimper.
"Look, I'm not checking up on you. I'm just doing what cops do.” He nodded at the water. “I didn't know if you realized that the tide comes in pretty sharply around here in the early evening, and stretches of beach get cut off.” He pointed north along the beach where the cliff rose steeply from the shore.
"A few years ago a kid was trapped. Tried to get up the cliff but fell and nearly drowned, so now I like to play it safe."
"Still, you could have let me know you were there instead of scaring me to death.” Camille stared at him mutinously, trying not to notice the way his eyes creased attractively when he smiled. As he was doing right now. “Anyway, I'm sure you have better things to do than check up on law-abiding citizens."
He shrugged and smiled again, but his blue eyes were more curious than friendly. “That's true but I was on my way back from a case at Lake Torrent so I thought I would stop by and see how you were getting on."
"I just don't need someone following me around.” Camille kept her voice even. I'm here for a break and I just want to relax,” she said. “You've done your civic duty and made me aware of the tides, so you can go now."
The detective's mouth turned up slightly at the corner in another half-smile at the dismissal, and his eyes crinkled again in the corner, making Camille's stomach drop as though she'd hit an air pocket. A lazy gleam lit their blue depths and his coolly detached expression for once was nowhere in sight.
He scanned her intently from head to foot, making Camille squirm inside, but whether he was looking at her as a cop looks at a suspect or as a man looks at a woman, she wasn't sure. Either way, it was bad news.
"I need to feed the baby,” she said and brushed past him to the start of the forest path, before feeling suddenly embarrassed at her lack of courtesy. Being on the run had turned her into a paranoid bitch, and she wasn't used to policeman who took an interest in the individuals they'd sworn to protect and serve. City cops were more impersonal.
"Must have been quite some bruises,” he said quietly behind her. There was no accusation in his voice, but a gentle concern that invited confidences. Camille spun around to see his eyes on the faint greenish shadows on her upper arms. He reached out as if to touch his hand to the faint marks and Camille stepped back, automatically raising her hands to cover the old bruises on her neck. But it was too late by then.
Turning back toward the path, she struggled with how to explain the marks. The bruises no longer throbbed now they were nearly healed and she had all but forgotten about them. Not expecting to encounter anyone today, she had worn a singlet that left her arms and throat bare. The fingermarks, though faint, were still harsh against her pale skin.
"Accident,” mumbled Camille, a little more sharply than she had intended. She began walking again toward the cliff path.
The detective paused momentarily before saying, “Bruises caused by another person are usually quite distinctive, and in my book being grabbed around the throat doesn't fall into the category of accident."
When Camille stopped walking but kept her back turned, he said, “I don't mean to pry but I'd like you to feel you can talk to me about anything. I'm trained to deal with victims of domestic violence."
"I'm not a victim,” she said tightly.
"No.” He cocked his head to one side. Studied her. “No you're not. But all the same, I'd say someone got mighty pissed off with you. Want to tell me who?"
Something in his tone made his words compelling, a command rather than a suggestion. He was obviously an ace at winning confidences thought Camille. Most people probably only had to listen to him for two seconds and would be falling all over themselves to confess and have him handle their problem.
She took a deep breath. She longed to confide in someone, but people who wanted to help might unwittingly prove just as dangerous as those who meant her deliberate harm. She knew she had to resist. For Elizabeth's sake.
"Thanks, Detective, but you're putting two and two together, and making five,” she said with as brisk a tone as she could muster. “I was mugged recently, that's all. Just a random street thing. Nothing you can do about it."
She turned again to head on up the cliff path but the detective wasn't quite ready for their conversation to end there.
"Your husband ... will he be joining you here?"
"I'm not.... “Camille fumbled for words, starting to deny that she was married but then recalled the wedding band shining dully on her left hand. She had acquired the cheap ring, thinking it might put anyone following her off the scent. “I'm not sure,” she said at last, unconsciously twisting the ring.
He nodded as if her response was exactly what he had expected. As though she were what he expected. It set Camille's teeth on edge. She hated seeing someone so in control, exuding such certainty, when she felt as though any step she took could send her hurtling off the edge into a huge black void.
"If you need anything, anything at all, you have my card. Just ask for Nathan Donnelly,�
�� he said.
Nathan, she thought, as she scrambled up the rough path. His name was Nathan.
When she reached the top, she brushed past his Landcruiser parked there behind her car, and hastened inside the house. She put the baby on the rug in her room and scuttled to the hall window where she peeked out. She wanted to see the nosy cop leave. It was a few minutes before he appeared at the top of the path, and when he did, he immediately got in his vehicle and switched the engine on. For a moment he sat there as if thinking, and then turned the ignition off, getting out of the car again. What was he doing now?
Camille cursed and drew back further from the window, expecting him to come to the door but when there was no sound of knocking, she peered out again. The car was there but the detective had disappeared. Wondering where he was, she ran to the back veranda, looking out over the garden. Still no sign of him.
She was about to return to the front when she caught sight of his head among the trees beyond her garden. What was he up to?
As Camille watched, he seemed to move slowly and methodically around the perimeter of her land. From a distance she couldn't tell what he was doing but just knowing he was doing something irritated her. When he disappeared from sight a few minutes later, she ran back to the front door just in time to see his vehicle start up and pull back onto the road.
She frowned to herself. What the hell had he been doing? She got the impression Nathan Donnelly didn't do anything without good cause, and she didn't like the thought of him snooping around. For a moment she wondered if he'd received an order from higher up, asking him to check her out, but she didn't see what that had to do with the land beyond her boundary fence.
Maybe it was nothing at all to do with her. God, she hoped so. She just wanted a few days to rest and plan, a few days without any drama, a few days free of fear.
Chapter Three
It seemed her wish was to be granted.
Two days had passed without sight or sound of the nosy detective and no interrupted nights. Camille and Elizabeth had begun to establish a routine at the old house. The baby usually woke before seven and Camille would feed her on the veranda as the local bird population put on a stunning display of aerobatics, swooping, diving, squawking loudly. In the background, the ocean sparkled under the early rays of the morning sun, and the surf crashed reassuringly on the beach below. Occasionally an inquisitive kangaroo or wallaby would visit the garden through one of the many gaps in the boundary fence, forage briefly for food and then hop back out again.
