by Lyn Denison
“How are you, Fliss?” Bailey asked, her gaze meeting, holding Fliss’s. Her voice was low and husky, sending shivers of familiar sensations to the depths of Fliss’s body.
“Fine.” Fliss got out.
“We were lucky the rain stopped so you could walk over. I was going to ring you to tell you I’d come and pick you up.”
“Thanks, but it’s not far.” Fliss cringed. Of course Bailey knew just how far it was to Fliss’s house. “It’s still muggy outside though. And Joy Gayton down at the convenience store says it’s going to rain again.”
Bailey looked a little skeptical.
“The island depends on Joy’s lumbago for weather forecasts, so our forecasts come courtesy of Joy Gayton.” She knew she was babbling and she swallowed, trying to calm her nervousness. But her traitorous nerve endings were jumping about like marionettes gone mad. She turned and sank down into one of the leather chairs and it folded around her. “Mmm. John’s right. This is as comfortable as it looks.”
Bailey sat opposite Fliss, leaving the width of the coffee table between them. Fliss took a steadying breath again, deciding wryly that twenty feet apart would still be too close for her when it came to Bailey Macrae.
“Yes.” Bailey patted the leather armrest. “Comfort personified.”
Silence descended on them but fortunately, John rejoined them, balancing three glasses of wine. He held them out and Fliss carefully took one. “Hope red’s okay?”
“It’s fine. I like red wine and it’s supposed to be good for you.”
John sat next to Bailey. “Bailey said you used to drink red and I said you were just a baby when she was here all those years ago and were, therefore, far too young to be drinking.”
Fliss laughed with him. “Hardly a baby. But I do admit having a glass of wine was very exciting and grown up.”
“I hope Bailey didn’t lead you astray,” John said easily.
Fliss took a gulp of wine and coughed. She slid a glance at Bailey but she was giving her own wine her attention. She didn’t meet Fliss’s eyes but Fliss was sure a touch of color washed the other woman’s cheeks.
Then Bailey seemed to gather herself and she looked across at Fliss. “So did I lead you astray, Fliss?” she asked lightly enough.
“Very much so.” Fliss was pleased she managed to keep her voice just as light.
“And I’d believe it,” John put in. “But, you know, as a kid she was such a shy and timid little thing.”
“She was?” Fliss looked at Bailey a little doubtfully and Bailey rolled her eyes.
“Fair dinkum,” John persisted. “Our parents used to worry about her. Then she turned sixteen and they had a different reason to worry. Talk about blossoming.”
“I think that delicious smelling dinner of yours needs your attention,” Bailey suggested and John patted her knee.
“It’s all under control. I checked it when I poured the wine. But thanks for reminding me.” He winked at Fliss. “She knows how much I enjoy telling anyone who’ll listen about the sudden influx of gangly youths who began following her around, hanging on her every word.”
Bailey grimaced. “Enough. Don’t listen to him, Fliss. He’s exaggerating. You know what these writers are like. They’ll embellish anything for the sake of a good story.”
“Right!” John chuckled. “You can’t have forgotten those three young hopefuls who were at our place so often that Dad put them to work washing and polishing his car and digging garden beds.” John smiled across at Fliss. “When Mum came home one day and Dad had them up on the roof painting it, she decided enough was enough. Dad and I were laughing about it last time I visited them. And Mum was still chastizing Dad about it.”
“That story is getting really old,” Bailey said dryly.
“Funny, that’s what Mum said.” John laughed again.
“And I’m sure we’re boring Fliss,” Bailey added.
“Not at all.” Fliss knew Bailey and John’s parents lived on the Gold Coast. They’d even visited the gallery last time they were on the island. It was obvious both of the Macraes inherited their height from their father who was well over six feet tall. Although retired and in his early seventies, their ex-policeman father was still a very handsome man. Their mother, a fashion designer, was in her late fifties and had her own exclusive boutique on the Coast. She was a petite, slim and elegant woman and Bailey had the same dark hair and blue eyes.
“I’ll put some music on, shall I?” Bailey stood up and set her wineglass on the coffee table.
Fliss tried unsuccessfully to not watch the sway of Bailey’s hips as she stepped around the low table and crossed to the stereo.
“You know, I didn’t think to ask you if you had someone special you might have wanted to bring with you tonight.” John’s voice drew Fliss’s gaze from Bailey bending over to adjust the volume control. “That’s remiss of me,” John continued. “Is there someone special in your life, Fliss.”
She took a sip of her wine. “No. Not really,” she said, very aware that Bailey was listening to their conversation.
“I can’t believe the island guys are that slow.”
Fliss chuckled. “Maybe I’m just too choosy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” He nodded. “Looking about at some of the dregs around these days I can understand why you would be. What about”—John frowned—“that young painter? What’s his name?”
“Marcus O’Leary,” Fliss told him as the soft strains of violins came from the speakers of the stereo.
John nodded. “That’s him. Nice looking young bloke. I thought you might be seeing him.”
She shook her head. “No. Marcus is just a good friend.”
Bailey slipped back into her chair. “He’s certainly a very talented painter,” she said evenly. “As well as being pretty cute.”
“Yes. He is,” Fliss agreed. Did Bailey—? She pulled herself up. “We’re having a one-man show of his work in a couple of months.”
“I know you’re having a show of Petra’s artwork, too, so do you have regular shows throughout the year?” Bailey asked.
“Semi-regularly,” Fliss replied. “Whenever we get the opportunity to feature a particularly good artist, usually a local one. The last one was Mayla Dunne’s.”
“That was fantastic.” John turned to his sister. “Mum and Dad bought one of her pieces.”
“Mayla’s show went very well,” Fliss told them and they discussed art for a while before John got up to serve their meal.
They sat at a small table in the dining room and Bailey lit some tea candles floating in a crystal centrepiece.
“Not the promised fish, I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “John was too late to get anything down at the jetty so we’ve resorted to Plan B, one of John’s famous recipes.”
They made a picture of sociality, Fliss reflected. Outwardly, just three friends dining, drinking wine, talking. But she and Bailey had been more than friends.
How was she going to get through the meal, she asked herself, feeling the flutter of panic beginning in her stomach. Then John told them about something he’d seen down at the wharf and with his easy conversation Fliss felt herself relax a little. Before long, to her surprise, she actually began to enjoy herself. John was very entertaining with his travel and book signing anecdotes, making them laugh. Bailey’s take on the television industry was also interesting and only later did Fliss realize she never once mentioned her husband.
The headlights of John’s Aston Martin cut a swath through the darkness, the falling rain cocooning Fliss and Bailey in the car. It wasn’t a small car but as far as Fliss was concerned she was far too close to Bailey. Surely she was imagining the sultry heat that filled the car’s cabin.
Bailey reached out and adjusted the demister and Fliss almost laughed. She knew why the windows were fogging up and it was only partially due to the weather.
“Living in the street-lit city makes you forget how dark it can be at night,” Bailey said as she pee
red through the windscreen.
“We do have some street lights on the island now,” Fliss told her. “We have had for a couple of years. Down on the waterfront near the wharf and in the main street from the convenience store up past the gallery and Chrissie’s Café to the T-junction. The island’s hit the twenty-first century,” she added dryly, and out of the corner of her eye, in the dim light from the dashboard, she thought she saw Bailey smile.
“Were street lights a culture shock for the islanders?”
“Some of the seniors couldn’t see the point when everyone has a torch. We islanders are in no hurry to catch up with the rest of the country.”
“I should hope not,” Bailey said. “It’s part of its charm, the simplicity of life here on the island.”
Silence fell between them, a heavy, uncomfortable silence, as Bailey drove carefully along the black, wet road. And it was Bailey who broke that silence.
“You never considered—When you went over to the mainland to university, you weren’t tempted to stay?”
“Leave the island?” Fliss shook her head. “No. Not really. I enjoyed university but I always looked forward to coming home. Then when my mother became ill I stayed here to help her with the gallery. And after, well, it was never a hardship to continue running the gallery.”
Fliss wanted to ask Bailey about her life these past eight years. Not the life that was portrayed in those celebrity gossip magazines, but the real life of Bailey Macrae. She swallowed. The eight years of life without Bailey had been painful for Fliss and she wasn’t sure how to, or even if she was capable of broaching any subject involving those years. Yet if she didn’t, would Bailey think Fliss was still carrying a torch for her? Well, that torch had flickered and died, Fliss reminded herself. She drew a steadying breath.
“You’ve enjoyed living in Sydney?” she asked, fighting to keep her tone matter-of-fact.
Bailey shrugged. “Sometimes yes. Other times not at all.” She sighed. “The job certainly was more than I’d ever hoped it would be, especially when I moved to current affairs, but it was hard work. The few years I did on the morning show were really physically tiring. Getting up so early was something of a trial. It was a relief in that respect when I started the current affairs show but for a while my body clock was in a state of confusion.”
Fliss fiddled with her seat belt. “Congratulations on winning the Gold Logie. That must have been rewarding.”
“Yes. It was satisfying to know I’d been chosen by the viewers, the most important people in the industry, in my opinion. Not that that’s the universal opinion in some areas of the hierarchy.”
Fliss always watched the Logie Awards, Australian television’s night of nights, with that familiar mix of pleasure and pain. She wanted to tell Bailey that she had looked outstandingly beautiful, particularly at the last awards night. Her hair had been a little longer then and she’d swept it up in a chignon. The strapless sapphire blue dress she’d worn had clung to her body and Fliss had sat watching her with a lump in her throat and a pain in her heart.
Bailey slowed the car as the rain suddenly grew heavier. “Whoa! What a downpour.”
Fliss leaned as far forward as her seat belt would allow, her eyes straining with Bailey’s to see the white line on the road. The sound of the rain thundering on the car’s roof was deafening. “The turn-off shouldn’t be far,” she shouted, watching for the signpost. “There it is.” Fliss pointed through the driving sheets of rain.
Bailey turned to the left and they were both silent as they moved along at a snail’s pace. It wasn’t far to the Devon house and Fliss let out the breath she’d been holding as Bailey turned into the driveway.
“You can pull in under the carport.” Fliss pointed. “My car’s on the mainland being repaired.”
The noise of the rain lessened as they drove under cover. Fliss sat undecided. How could Bailey drive home alone in this down-pour? But how could Fliss invite her inside? Petra wasn’t home and the house was empty. They’d be alone.
It would be far too dangerous, Fliss told herself. And what makes you think she’s even interested, asked a scathing voice inside her. The thought irritated her but seemed to calm her a little.
Bailey was married, she reminded herself rationally. Her husband was as attractive, as well-known, as Bailey was. There was no way Fliss could see that she could compare. Therefore, there was no problem. Besides, Bailey Macrae had made her choice years ago.
“You can’t drive back alone in this,” she heard herself say, knowing her tone of voice was hardly hospitable. “You’d better come in until it eases off,” she added a little more graciously. Without waiting for Bailey to reply she opened the car door and climbed out. She’d walked around the front of the car before she realized Bailey hadn’t moved. The sensor light had come on and reflected on the windscreen so Fliss couldn’t see the other woman’s expression.
Then the door opened and Bailey slowly climbed out. “The rain seems to be even heavier,” she said, looking into the darkness.
Fliss nodded and opened her umbrella. With Bailey forced to huddle so close beside Fliss to get under the umbrella, Fliss almost ran along the path to the back veranda and even though the path was protected by the roof overhang, the spray splashed on their feet. They bounded up the few steps and crossed the wooden floor to the back door. Fliss used the pencil torch on her key ring to find the keyhole, swung the door open and reached in for the light switch. She left her umbrella open to dry in the laundry before leading Bailey down the hall, flicking lights on as she went.
When they reached the living room Fliss stopped and turned to look at Bailey. She was removing her jacket, glancing around for somewhere to put it. Fliss took it and hung it over a dining room chair. The rain continued its torrential deluge and Fliss motioned for Bailey to take a seat. “Would you—? I could make some tea.”
The light over the staircase to the upper floor came on and Fliss started. She heard Bailey’s intake of breath, too, and her body tensed until her young sister, Petra, appeared. She jogged down the steps wearing a short T-shirt, silk boxer shorts and hot pink bedsocks. She was taller than Fliss and her hair was darker, but there was a definite family resemblance between the two sisters.
“Did I hear you say you were making tea, Fliss? I’ll have a hot chocolate,” Petra said, and then she realized Fliss wasn’t alone. “Oh, sorry. I thought Fliss was talking to herself. I never even considered she’d brought visitors. She never brings anyone home.” She looked from Fliss to Bailey and her eyes widened in recognition. She glanced back at Fliss and Fliss felt herself flush.
She grimaced as she turned back to Bailey. “Do you remember my sister, Petra?” she said and Bailey smiled at Petra.
“Of course. Although you had cute pigtails the last time I saw you.”
“I did?” Petra gathered herself. “That was ages ago. I must have been about ten. Wow! Liam won’t believe me when I tell him Bailey Macrae was here.” She turned to Fliss. “He was going to stay with me till you got home, Fliss, but I made him go home before it started raining again. Liam’s my boyfriend,” she explained to Bailey. “He’ll go spare when I tell him he missed meeting you.”
Bailey laughed. “Then I’m sorry I didn’t drop Fliss home earlier.”
“John kindly asked me to dinner,” Fliss said, feeling an irrational urge to explain the other woman’s presence to her sister. “I was going to walk home but the sky opened up again.”
“And John and I couldn’t allow our guest to get soaked, so here we are.” Bailey shrugged. “Now you’re stuck with me till the rain eases enough for me to drive home.”
“That won’t be any time soon I shouldn’t think,” Petra remarked. “Joy Gayton told Annabel, Liam’s mother, that it was going to be raining heavily, nonstop, for the next few days.”
Bailey laughed. “And Joy Gayton’s lumbago is never wrong, so I hear.”
Petra grinned and shrugged. “Not often.”
“I’ll put the
kettle on.” Fliss moved towards the kitchen.
“Can I help?” Bailey asked but Fliss shook her head and Petra and Bailey sat down in the lounge.
“I really enjoyed your interview with the round-the-world yachtswoman a couple of months ago,” Petra was saying as Fliss filled the kettle.
“Thanks. She was such an interesting woman and sailing a small boat around the world solo is a mammoth feat.”
“You have a great job.” Petra laughed. “And everyone knows who you are. You know, you once made my brother and me a cup of hot chocolate when you were here last time. You were waiting for Fliss and Mum was held up at the gallery. When I was going to high school a few years later and you’d got famous I used to dine out on that story.”
Bailey’s laugh flowed over Fliss as she waited for the kettle to boil.
“No one would believe me, though,” Petra continued. “Not until I showed them the photo of you and Fliss that Fliss had in her room.”
Fliss paused as she was taking mugs out of the dresser. She knew exactly which photograph Petra was referring to. She’d put the photo in a frame and set it on her duchess so she could see it from her bed. But after Bailey left she’d put the photo in her duchess drawer—it was too painful for her to look at the happiness in their faces. She couldn’t believe Petra had taken the photo to school. She was absolutely livid with her sister for prying in her room.
“I was such a brat,” Petra was telling Bailey. “Fliss had the photo in her drawer and I sort of borrowed it. I didn’t ask her if I could because I knew she wouldn’t let me take it. I think it was her most treasured possession.”
Fliss dropped a teaspoon as heat washed over her. How could Petra—? Fliss sighed. Because Petra couldn’t know what Bailey Macrae had meant to Fliss.
“At least the other kids believed me when I produced the photographic evidence.”
“That must have been the photo we took out by the headland,” Bailey said and Fliss barely caught her words.
“Yes, I think it was taken on the headland. It’s the greatest photo,” Petra said enthusiastically. “You’re both smiling. You looked so happy.”
