by Alison Kelly
Kirrily knew only too well that, in the eyes of most hands-on builders, architects were glorified draftsmen who considered the dirt and grime of a building site below them. Not only that; often their sad lack of knowledge regarding the practicalities of building saw their grandiose plans and theories run way beyond budget and scheduled completion time. Knowing how scathing Bob Talbot could be about architects, even now that his son was one, Kirrily imagined that back then Ryan’s decision would have amounted to treason in his eyes.
‘Things were pretty tense between Dad and me for a while there,’ Ryan continued as he twisted a pen between his fingers. ‘But somehow Steve convinced the old man it’d be to the firm’s advantage to have an architect who understood the hands-on realities of the building game rather than simply the ivory-tower theories. Eventually he grudgingly agreed to pay my way through uni.’
‘What would you have done if he hadn’t agreed?’
‘Left home.’
‘And what?’ she asked, a little surprised at how certain his response had been. ‘Worked as a labourer during the day and put yourself through uni at night?’
He smiled ruefully. ‘I doubt it. I wasn’t the type to take on that much responsibility or that much hard work. Which was why university appealed to me: a light schedule of lectures and tutorials during the day, a heavy schedule of parties during the night.’ There was no hint of remorse or apology in either his tone or expression.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said flatly.
He shrugged. ‘It’s the truth.’
‘Really? So what saint is credited with the miracle of turning you from a layabout student and premier party animal to the highest passing graduate in your year and my self-appointed morality warden?’
Her tone was only a breath away from being downright scathing, but Ryan found her choice of words ironic; over the years he’d often felt he was trying to fill the shoes of a saint.
‘Not a miracle,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘A tragedy. A tragedy that could have been avoided, if I hadn’t been so obsessed with always having a good time.’
He paused, but Kirrily resisted the urge to prompt him; instead she collated what she could remember from that night years ago.
It had been a tradition that both the Cosgroves and Talbots spent every Easter break at a caravan park in the south coast town of Ulladulla. At nine, Kirrily’s excursions into the town had been accompanied and curfewed, so while Steven, Ryan and Jayne had thrown themselves into the local social scene her evenings had been spent with her parents and the Talbots, playing either cards or board games. The night Steven died had started out as no different than any other one that Easter, she thought.
It suddenly dawned on her that Ryan had resumed speaking; though she’d missed his first few words the pain in his voice stopped her from asking him to repeat himself.
‘I don’t know what they’d had the tiff over, but Jayne was sulking and Steve couldn’t talk her into coming to the pub with us,’ he said. ‘We had an arrangement-whenever the three of us went out together we’d take turns driving. It was Jayne’s turn that night, but since Steve had driven the previous night and Jayne wasn’t going I was the designated driver.’ He paused, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I had the dirts because I figured since it was Steve’s girl who’d stuffed up the roster he ought to be the reserve driver, but he just grinned and tossed me the keys, saying, “Yeah, mate, but she’s your sister!”
‘I’d more or less accepted the injustice of it all until it became painfully obvious the hot blonde I was putting the moves on at the pub was more interested in Steve. Steve! Who was so damn crazy about my sister he couldn’t even see he was cramping my style!’
Kirrily could only assume that her brother must have been way better looking than she remembered or else the blonde had been blind.
‘Anyway, the more of a battering my ego took, the more I drank. I was a long way from being plastered, but by the time the blonde’s ex-boyfriend turned up and started giving her a hard time I was more than ready to lay down my life to get her to notice me. To this day all I remember is landing the first punch and then…and then waking up in an overturned car and smelling petrol and burning rubber.’
‘That,’ he said, ‘and watching Steven and the hopes of everyone who loved him die in my arms. He’d hauled me unconscious from a pub brawl and saved my butt, but I couldn’t save his life.’
‘Oh, God…’
Though she’d known Ryan had pulled Steven from the smouldering wreck, holding him until he’d died, Kirrily had never stopped to consider the impact the event had had on his life. While her parents’ and Jayne’s grief had been highly visible and touched everyone she’d simply assumed that Ryan had survived the ordeal relatively unscathed. She’d been wrong.
Her gaze followed him as he rose and walked to the one-way glass window overlooking the company’s loading bay. The fabric of his shirt stretched across his wide, strong shoulders, yet how much stronger must his heart have been to have carried the weight of his guilt for more than a dozen years? For in that instant she realised that not only had Ryan assumed the guilt for what had happened but he’d also assumed the responsibilities that would have fallen to Steven had he lived: Jayne, the family business…her.
‘He was conscious the whole time I was trying to get him out—kept telling me the car was gonna blow and to get the hell away. I managed to get him clear of the car; it didn’t explode but, God, the smell! I’ll never forget that stench.’
When he breathed deeply, as if embracing the purity of the air in his office, she had to force herself not to go to him and wrap her arms around him—not because she needed to hear what he’d been through, but because she sensed he needed to talk it out.
‘People were starting to come out of their houses; I could hear sirens in the distance. I told Steve to hang in there, that the ambulance was on its way. “Good,” he said. “’Cos you sure look like you need one, Talbot.” He was so lucid, I figured he wasn’t hurt as badly as I’d thought. Even when he asked me to tell Jayne that he was sorry they’d fought and that he loved her, I told him he could do it himself, that I wasn’t going to sort out his romantic squabbles. And then he mentioned you…’
‘M-m-me?’ Her voice was choked and Ryan spoke over the top of it.
‘He said that though it’d probably be a case of the blind leading the blind he’d really appreciate it if I could watch out for you while you were growing up. “Keep an eye on her, for me, mate,” he said. “I reckon K.C. is going to be more than my folks can handle on their own.” Then he winked at me and said, “And Ry, mate, you’ve gotta stop being such a damn sucker for blondes.”’
‘I thought, Hey, if he’s cracking jokes, he must be OK. That he was…you know…in better shape than he looked…But he wasn’t…’ His shoulder lifted as he heaved an audible breath, then he turned back to her, his face contorted with the strain of reliving the past. ‘He was dead before the ambulance arrived.’
‘Oh, Ryan…’
The sob-strangled sound of his name and the tears coursing unchecked down her perfect face filled Ryan with a pain like none he’d ever imagined. His first instinct as she dropped her face into her hands was to take her in his arms and absorb every bit of her pain, but the sheer futility of such an action kept him immobile across the room. He was the last person to console her because her knowing what she now did meant that his very existence would only intensify her suffering. Still, the sight and sound of her sorrow ripped at the very core of Ryan and it seemed an eternity before her distress decreased from heart-rending sobs to weak, muffled hiccups.
It was still some time before she lifted her head to look at him. ‘So that’s what everyone’s been keeping from me all these years.’ The detached calmness in her voice both surprised and worried him; surely rage, sarcasm or blame would have been more normal reactions? His concern grew as she got to her feet and started straightening things on his desk, her actions agitated despi
te her efforts to appear casual.
‘Does Jayne know?’ she asked, not looking at him.
‘Yes.’
‘But she still blamed herself for what happened?’
‘It wasn’t her fault, Kirrily…’
‘I know that.’ Her gaze met his with steady directness. ‘But it wasn’t yours either, Ryan.’
‘I was supposed to be driv—’
‘No!’ Her denial was swift and tempered. ‘Jayne thinks she should have been driving; you said it yourself—it was her turn.’
‘Stop it now, Kirrily. Shifting the blame to Jayne won’t bring Steven back.’
‘Of course it won’t!’ she agreed. ‘Damn it, Ryan, I’m not trying to blame Jayne. Why would I when she’s spent the last fifteen years punishing herself? The same as you have!’
‘You’re talking rubbish—’
‘Bull! What the hell is it with you Talbots that you all want to turn yourself into whipping boys? Jayne was so desperate to atone for her imagined guilt and keep the memory of Steven alive that she had a phantom pregnancy and then became an emotional recluse. And you-you, Ryan—’ she rounded the desk moving towards him ‘—you tried to turn yourself into him!’
‘Like I said, you’re talking rubbish.’
‘Am I? Then why did you turn your back on the junior partnership at one of the most successful architecture firms in the country to run Talbot’s when your father retired?’
‘It was always expected that I’d take over—’
‘No, it was always expected that Steven would take over! Just as it was always expected that Steven would be there to look after Jayne and be a big brother to me. No one was more stunned than our parents when you announced you wanted to take over Talbot’s. I remember our dads saying they’d give you two years, tops, before you’d be champing at the bit to get back to what you loved best…architecture!’
‘Then they were wrong, weren’t they?’
‘No, dammit, they weren’t wrong! You hate what you’re doing! Don’t deny it!’ she exploded when he opened his mouth as if he was going to. ‘I’ve seen the hundreds of designs you’ve got buried away down at the house. I spent the better part of a week studying them and…’
‘And what?’
‘And they’re good. Excellent, in fact.’
‘You’re an actor, Kirrily; you don’t know enough about architecture to give your judgement credibility.’
‘Maybe not, but I know you. And every one of those plans explains and reflects a lot about you, Ryan.’
‘Cut the bull, Kirrily. They’re nothing more than drawings.’
She shook her head. ‘They’re your dreams, Ryan.’
His laugh was harsh. ‘If they are, then they’re pipedreams.’
‘But don’t you see? They don’t have to stay that way.
You’re a brilliant architect; you could probably sell them all tomorrow if you tried. But you won’t,’ she said. ‘Because that’s not what you really want, is it?’
‘You tell me; you seem to have it all figured out.’
‘Yeah,’ she said smugly. ‘I do. You’ll never sell those drawings because you couldn’t stand the thought of your concepts being butchered by someone who doesn’t really care about them, someone who’s only interested in making a quick buck. You aren’t from the “draw a pretty house and let someone else do the work” school of design, you’re a hands-on, “get in there and sweat it out” architect—one who wants the cement dust on his clothes and the splinters in his hands.’ She paused only long enough to give him a knowing smile. ‘If ever you decided to build those houses to sell you’d put every bit as much effort, care and commitment into each one as you did the one at Bowral.’
‘Which wouldn’t make a financially sound business venture since I haven’t had the time to finish the only one I’ve started,’ he said. ‘Nothing you’ve said is practical. Sure, I was hands-on with the house at Bowral, but only because it was a personal investment.’
‘Building it was emotional therapy, pure and simple,’ she countered. ‘Because the frustration of doing a job you yourself said could be handled by any half-decent builder was driving you crazy.’
‘Believe what you will, Kirrily; it doesn’t alter the fact that fifteen years ago my selfishness not only caused Steven’s death but a lot of deep, irrevocable pain to the people who most cared about him and me. I swore nothing like that would ever happen again and I’ve made it a rule not to do anything where I run the risk of letting those people down again. I’ve got responsibilities—to our parents, to Jayne, to—’
‘Shut up about your dumb rules and your responsibilities to everyone else!’ she ordered. ‘What about your responsibilities to yourself, to your own happiness? Like you said, the pain is irrevocable—nothing you do or don’t do can change it. This might come as a shock, Ryan, but you’re not God, you can’t be certain the accident wouldn’t have happened or would have turned out differently had you been at the wheel. Well?’ she pressed. ‘Can you?’
‘No, dammit, I can’t! But I do know the circumstances of Steve’s death are always going to be between us, and sooner or later you’ll end up hating me because of it’
The pain in his face and voice nearly crippled her heart, but the way he shrugged away from her when she tried to comfort him was far more debilitating.
‘Just leave, Kirrily. Your forgiveness only makes the guilt harder to bear.’
‘My hatred would be easier to handle, is that it?’ She answered her own question before he had a chance, her tone deliberately goading. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I guess it would be since you’ve had so much experience dealing with it; after all, you’ve been hating and punishing yourself for years.’
Kirrily knew she was treading dangerously, but she hoped that in anger Ryan would admit what she so desperately needed to hear. ‘For years you’ve assumed the role of not just a protector to all but that of a martyr too, by denying yourself your dreams and ambitions. And now…well, now you’ve taken it to new heights; you’re denying yourself love. My love.’
His impassive expression infuriated her. ‘Damn it, Ryan!’ she said hotly. ‘Admit it, why don’t you?’
When he stubbornly remained mute Kirrily knew there was nothing more she could do or say. Swearing at the tears again blurring her vision, she snatched his car keys off the desk and, storming to the door, pulled it open. It might have been only a last tenacious smidgen of hope that made her stop and turn to him one more time, but if so the remoteness in his eyes squashed it.
‘I’ve done some dumb things in my life, but falling for you, Ryan Talbot, takes the prize! But I will not-repeat, will not—give you the satisfaction of hating you! I…I hope you choke on your stupid rules and…and your precious responsibilities and misplaced guilt!’
The slam of the door on her exit was far louder than the one that had announced her entrance.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RYAN sat at his desk feeling as if he was in an emotional wind-tunnel being buffeted against one wall then the other, ricocheting back and forth between a sense of overwhelming relief that he’d finally unburdened himself and the terminal despair of knowing he’d driven Kirrily from his life.
At first he’d kept the truth from her because Steve had wanted him to take care of her, and he’d feared she’d have hated him too much to enable him to honour his promise to his best friend. Later…well, he’d simply told himself he was waiting for the right time, yet somehow the time had never been quite right. He’d found dozens of reasons to justify his ongoing silence: Kirrily was Jayne’s sole confidant—how would his emotionally fragile sister cope if learning the truth turned Kirrily against her? Or what if Kirrily’s own despair caused her to withdraw from life as Jayne had done?
Oh, he’d had countless excuses to draw on, and he had drawn on them, but the reality was that over the years he’d gone from being a well-intentioned but naive twenty-one-year-old to being a selfish, self-deluding idiot! He’d refused to consciously
acknowledge that Kirrily had developed from a tiny waif-like nine-yearold, whom he was supposed to guide, into a beautiful, sensual, intelligent woman who knew her own mind.
But his subconscious and his heart had been more astute, had known that what he was trying to persuade himself as only hormonal lust was actually the big L. Love. The “til death do us part’ variety.
And it had been he who’d let death part them. A fifteen-year-old death.
He’d sworn that if he ever truly fell in love with a woman he’d tell her the truth about what had happened and that if she loved him she’d understand and forgive him.
Kirrily had understood.
Kirrily had understood better and more than anybody.
Better than even he had.
She’d said there was nothing to forgive. That she wouldn’t hate him but that falling for him was the dumbest thing she’d ever done—hell, it probably was! he thought. But the dumbest thing he could ever do was let her out of his life!
‘Where are my keys?’ he bellowed, shoving files from his desk. ‘She threw them right—’ Damn, she had his car! No problem, he decided, hurrying to the door, he’d take the company van and—
He collided with a mass of male muscle.
‘Dammit, Nichols!’ he snapped, pushing past the man in the doorway. ‘What do you want?’
‘I came to discuss the plumbing stuff on that duplex I’m tendering for, but, judging by the way a certain young lady stormed out of your office not long ago, I guess now isn’t a good time, huh?’
‘You’ve got that right!’ Ryan rummaged around the desk of his senior sales rep. ‘Julie,’ he called, ignoring the amused Trevor Nichols. ‘Where the devil are the keys for the ute?’
His receptionist frowned. ‘At the mechanics, I guess, with the ute. It’s getting a new starter motor…remember?’
Ryan’s expletive should have peeled the paint from the walls, but it merely drew hearty laughter from Trevor Nichols. Overdosing on frustration, Ryan was mentally gauging how much of it would be released if he decked the guy on the spot, when a bundle of keys was jiggled under his nose.
