by Lyn Denison
Fliss rolled her eyes. “I’m not looking for a partner.”
“Why not? Because of Bailey?”
“It’s—” Fliss raised her hands and let them fall. “It’s far too complicated.”
Petra was silent for a moment. “Does she know she broke your heart?” she asked softly.
The familiar need for self-protection kicked in and Fliss’s expression froze.
“Don’t close down on me now, Fliss,” Petra said earnestly and Fliss sighed.
“It was eight years ago, Pet. We all change. Our lives go on.”
“You are still in love with her, aren’t you?”
“Only a masochist would carry a torch for someone who, well, who wasn’t interested.”
“Why did—?” Petra frowned. “What happened?” Fliss shrugged. “I fell in love. She didn’t.”
“Is Bailey Macrae a lesbian, too?”
“Petra, she’s married.”
Petra gave an exclamation of disbelief. “Lots of gay people get married so people won’t suspect they’re gay. Maybe she did, too.”
Fliss had clutched at that particular fantasy herself but seeing Bailey and her husband together on TV and in magazines had shattered that small shred of hope. “I don’t think that’s so in this case,” she said evenly.
Petra nodded. “No. I suppose not. The paparazzi would have ferreted it out by now. Then she must have been just trying it out. Lesbianism, I mean.” She looked at Fliss and shook her head in sympathy. “That wasn’t very nice of her, Fliss.”
“I don’t think it was like that,” Fliss began and stopped. How did she know what it had been for Bailey?
“Did you ask her?” Petra uncannily tapped into Fliss’s thoughts and Fliss glanced at her in surprise before giving a faint shake of her head. “Then maybe you should simply ask her.”
“Maybe I should,” she said softly, part of her acknowledging it was so. The other part was quickly closing ranks, in protection mode.
“So why do you think she’s come back?” Petra asked.
“She said she needed to get away and relax. She needed a break.”
“I suppose I can understand that. Her job must be full-on and really stressful. Being a big shot TV star must be like living in a goldfish bowl. But why come here?”
“Why not? She told me her brother needed a housesitter.”
“Yeah right!” Petra exclaimed. “Since when? Up till now the Joneses have looked after things when John Macrae goes away. What’s different now?” Petra’s eyes widened. “Maybe she’s getting a divorce from her husband.”
“I don’t think so.” Fliss paused. Hadn’t John intimated that all might not be well with Bailey’s marriage?
“I guess not. It would be all over the tabloids. Unless”—Petra held up her hand—“they’ve managed to keep it quiet.”
“Either way it’s none of our business. Now I should be getting to work.”
Petra put a hand on Fliss’s arm. “As I see it, Bailey coming back has to involve you, Fliss. So you will be careful, won’t you?”
“Careful?”
“What if she just wants another fling?”
“She hasn’t given me any indication of that,” Fliss said carefully. “Besides, I’m not interested,” she added, suspecting she didn’t feel as confident as she sounded.
“Did you—? When she was here before, did you, you know, get physical?”
Fliss flushed. “Pet, I’m not comfortable discussing this with you.”
Petra grinned. “I take it that’s a yes. So she must be bisexual.” Petra sobered. “Or, as I said before, she just wanted to try it out for size.” She gave Fliss a concerned look again. “Which is even more reason for you to be careful around her, Fliss. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
As Fliss walked around the gallery later her sister’s words kept returning to her mind. No, Fliss agreed, she didn’t want to see herself get hurt again either. Luckily, Liam had arrived and brought that particular conversation to a halt. He’d come to collect Petra as arranged and he kindly dropped Fliss at the gallery. Marcus had wanted to get back to his work when Fliss arrived so he didn’t ask too many questions about her being late.
So, on her own again and slightly unsettled after the late night and early morning conversation with Petra, Fliss moved around checking the jewelry cabinets, rearranging a collection of pottery cases and even straightening Marcus’s paintings. No tour buses were booked for the day so Fliss knew it was a good opportunity for her to catch up on paperwork but she couldn’t concentrate. She was tired and completely drained.
She’d slept fitfully the night before, tossing and turning, disturbed by a mixture of unsettling dreams and bittersweet memories. It was getting more difficult to keep the past at bay. One unguarded moment and Bailey’s face was there before her and Fliss’s heartbeats would skip all over themselves.
Then there was her emotion-charged talk with Petra this morning. In retrospect it was something of a relief to have it all out in the open but all in all, her emotions had taken something of a battering. And with customers being sporadic it left her with far too much time for thought.
When Marcus appeared again Fliss was genuinely happy to see him.
“Have you had lunch?” he asked and Fliss glanced at the clock.
“Is it three o’clock already? No, I seem to have forgotten to eat.” Food had been the last thing on her mind but now she realized she was feeling the sinking pangs of hunger.
“Me too,” he said with a grimace. “I could eat a horse and chase its rider. I’ll be back in a minute with sustenance.”
He went next door to Chrissie’s Café and came back with a selection of sandwiches and they sat in companionable silence while they ate them.
Fliss decided Marcus was mulling over his work and was therefore in one of his quiet moods. That suited Fliss just fine, she thought, allowing herself to relax a little. If he was focusing on his work then, hopefully, he wouldn’t probe too deeply about her evening with the Macraes. She’d been more than a little uneasy about how she was going to handle his inquisition.
“So how was dinner?” Marcus asked before biting into his second sandwich, making Fliss pause, her unease returning.
“Dinner was delicious,” she replied cautiously. “And the company was good too,” she added quickly in the hope that it would stave off any more questions.
“It absolutely bucketed down here. The street outside was a river. Did you get home before the deluge?”
“Almost.” Fliss told herself to simply answer in the affirmative and that would be the end of it, but of course, she chastised herself—she was too honest. “Bailey gave me a lift and it started teeming halfway home. It was a nightmare, we had to crawl along.”
“I can imagine,” Marcus commiserated. “I don’t think it eased up until the wee hours of the morning.”
“No. The rain was so heavy Petra and I decided Bailey shouldn’t drive home so she stayed the night.” Fliss hoped she sounded more casual than she felt.
“Sensible.” Marcus grinned at her. “What a shame John didn’t drive you home. That could have been cozy.”
Fliss shook her head. “I’m not interested in John Macrae,” she said exasperatedly. She supposed she should be grateful Marcus was on the track he was on. But what with Petra that morning and now Marcus, this fixation they had with John and her was getting very old. “And just for future reference, I think I should make you aware that leering is very unbecoming and totally unattractive. Apart from that, did you know you can be a pain in the neck sometimes?”
“But you secretly want me, don’t you?”
Fliss raised one eyebrow and tried to look haughty. “I do? That’s such a huge secret even I don’t know about it.”
Marcus rested his chin on his hand. “You know, I really like you, Fliss. I wish we, well—” He shrugged.
“You wish there was a spark between us?”
He sighed and nodded. “It would make thing
s so much easier for both of us, don’t you reckon? Life’s a shit, isn’t it?”
Fliss looked at him. “What’s up, Marcus? It’s not like you to be maudlin.”
“Oh, nothing really. I’ll work it out. Just feeling a bit down. Who wouldn’t in this rain? It’s grey and depressing.” He stood up, paused, then sat back down again. “I met someone the other night. At the tavern.”
“You did?” Fliss was surprised. “Do I know her?”
“I think so.”
“And?”
“I’m a lot older than she is.” Marcus played with a stapler, not looking at Fliss.
“You’re only twenty-six, Marcus. She can’t be that young.” Fliss paused. “She has left school, hasn’t she?”
“Yes. But she’s just nineteen. It was her parents’ wedding anniversary and they were having dinner at the tavern.”
Fliss sighed. “So are you going to tell me who it is or do I have to guess? Because I have no idea so I’d have to start down one end of the island and go through the entire population. That could take a while.”
“Jodie Connor.”
“One of the Connor girls.” Fliss frowned. “Jodie would have to be the fourth of the six sisters, wouldn’t she?”
“She is. Can you believe it? She has five sisters?”
“I see no problem.”
“Her father must be a saint.”
“There’s one boy.” Fliss supressed a grin.
“Yeah, right. He’s two years old and a real little prince, going through the terrible twos, if his behaviour the other night was any indication.”
“Marcus, how serious is this?”
Marcus sighed. “I think it’s, you know, really serious.”
“Then relax and enjoy it.”
“Do you think when I ask Jodie’s father if I can take her out he’ll just be grateful for me to take one of his girls off his hands?”
“Absolutely. Except I hear Mr. Connor is very strict with his daughters.”
“He is?” Marcus looked worried and Fliss chuckled. “I was having you on.”
He grinned crookedly. “That was cruel.”
“I’m sorry.” Fliss patted his hand. “Jodie’s a lucky girl.”
He beamed at her as he stood up. “On that note I’ll take myself back to the salt mines.” He paused. “Thanks, Fliss. For listening, and for being you.” He leaned down and kissed her gently on the corner of her mouth. Then he disappeared into his studio.
Fliss watched him go, more than a little surprised at Marcus’s confidences. She really had no idea what Marcus did after she left the gallery. Still, the Connors were a very nice family and she hoped it worked out for him. Just lately, she thought guiltily, she had been so self-absorbed she probably wouldn’t have noticed Marcus’s mood.
Her life was so complicated now that Bailey was back on the island. Fliss sighed. It was unfair for her to blame Bailey. It was Fliss’s problem. Not Bailey’s.
She looked absently at her computer screen and then made herself settle down to work. She’d just started when the bell on the door jangled announcing the arrival of a customer. Fliss stood up, turning with a welcoming smile and then felt her face grow warm.
“Can you believe it’s still raining?” Bailey asked as she put her umbrella on the mat by the door.
Today she wore a pair of tailored sage shorts and a fitted, pale yellow cotton shirt that hugged her feminine curves. As she lifted her hand to run her fingers through her hair, Fliss caught a tantalizing glimpse of her flat, tanned midriff. She felt her legs go decidedly weak and she leaned on the counter for support.
Bailey crossed the floor and set a cardboard tray holding two takeaway coffees in front of Fliss. “Quarter strength skinny mugacchino. Chrissie assures me this is your favorite these days.” Fliss looked at the coffee, felt the aroma tease her nostrils. “You shouldn’t have. But thank you,” she added quickly, not wanting to be rude.
“No. Thank you,” Bailey replied. “For letting me stay last night.”
“It was the least we could do after you braved the elements to drive me home,” Fliss said just as lightly while part of her seemed to stand apart, wondering at the banality of their conversation. How could they just talk about the weather when Fliss wanted to—Wanted to what? Mull over their sordid history?
For months after Bailey left the island Fliss had wanted to ring her, ask her to explain why she’d thought their relationship was so disposable, why it meant so little to Bailey. How could she laugh with Fliss the way they had, talk the way they had, make love so incredibly, if it meant so little to her? How could Bailey simply turn and walk away?
“I was hoping you’d make time for afternoon tea,” Bailey was continuing, “So I thought I’d come bearing a thank you gift of coffee and to offer you a lift home later.”
“Again?” Fliss tried to smile to soften the brusqueness of her question. “And thanks, for the coffee. You’re spoiling me.”
Bailey lifted her own cup of coffee and gave it her studied attention. “Well, I needed to go down to the convenience store to pick up some groceries and, of course, check the weather forecast with Joy Gayton, so”—she gave a quick smile and shrugged—“by then it will be closing time and I thought I could collect you on my way home, save you a walk. I do have to pass your house anyway.”
Her gaze met Fliss’s and Fliss couldn’t seem to look away. Her throat went dry and her heart constricted. She realized her knuckles were turning white where she still clutched the countertop. Why was Bailey doing this? She’s just being friendly, said a charitable voice inside her. If it’s not simply a friendly overture then what could it be? Was she trying to make amends for what she’d done? If Fliss was sensible she’d just ask her but—It was all too difficult.
“All right, but if you finish your shopping early, don’t worry about it. I usually walk home anyway.”
“Even when it’s raining, so John tells me.” Bailey said with a wry smile.
“It keeps me fit and it’s not all that far.” Fliss made herself follow Bailey’s lead and she lifted her coffee cup out of the tray, took a sip, trying to regain her composure.
“Fliss, I—” Bailey’s voice seemed to catch in her throat. She gave a soft cough. “I—Would you—I notice the tavern serves meals now and John tells me they’re quite good. There’s a buffet or a la carte. And I wondered if you’d like to perhaps go down there for a meal. For dinner. Tonight.”
Fliss could see the pulse fluttering at the base of Bailey’s throat and she watched a slight flush wash the other woman’s cheeks. Bailey was nervous. Fliss’s heartbeats accelerated, thundered in her ears, and she fought to quell the heady hope that Bailey still cared. Could she be asking Fliss out or just asking her to share a meal? Either way Fliss knew it would be foolish to accept, knew she should refuse. It would be so easy to fall under Bailey’s spell again. She could almost laugh at that. She had her tenses wrong.
“Sure,” she heard herself say. “The meals are pretty good and relatively inexpensive. Sounds nice.” Nice? Fliss cringed inwardly. Sharing a meal alone with Bailey Macrae could never be called nice. Exciting. Exhilarating. Hardly nice.
Bailey smiled and all thought seemed to leave Fliss’s mind. “Great,” Bailey said. “Do we need to book a table?”
“Only at the weekend.”
“Shall we go straight from here or do you want to go home first?”
Fliss shook her head. “No, we can go from here if that’s okay with you.”
Before Bailey could comment the phone rang and Fliss excused herself to answer it. One of the tour companies was inquiring about scheduling an extra tour and Fliss opened the diary, a goodly part of her aware that Bailey was moving around the gallery looking at the artworks. She stepped behind a tall display cabinet just as Fliss hung up the phone. She went to follow Bailey but the bell on the door jangled again. Fliss turned back to welcome another customer.
“Hello, Fliss, love. How’s tricks?”
Fliss smiled broadly. “Mayla. When did you get back?”
“Yesterday,” replied the other woman, gathering Fliss in an enveloping embrace. “And no comments about bringing the rain with me. I’ve just had that discussion with your father. Of course, I totally deny it.” Mayla laughed her throaty, infectious laugh.
Fliss chuckled as she stepped back and ran her eyes over her friend. Mayla was a ray of sunshine on a dull day. Her spiky hair was an unusual shade of red-brown with bright purple streaks. Her body was all curves in three-quarter denim pants and a peasant style blouse that was a swirl of vibrant rainbow hues. The drawstring neckline sat low across the swell of her breasts, accentuating their lush fullness.
It was difficult to believe Mayla Dunne had just celebrated her forty-seventh birthday. She had an ageless face and carried herself with such youthful vitality.
“So how did it go?” Fliss asked, knowing Mayla had been on the mainland visiting her family. She was very aware that Bailey was still in the gallery, that she would hardly be able to help eaves-dropping on their conversation.
“Just the usual.” Mayla shrugged. “Everyone’s fine. My ex-in-laws are still embarrassing me by making it quite clear they prefer me to their own son. Heck, I prefer me to my ex-husband.” She laughed easily.
Mayla and her husband had been divorced for years, after Mayla decided to come out as a lesbian. The period before and after her divorce had been rocky, Mayla had told Fliss, but now she and her ex-husband seemed to get along reasonably well. And as far as being a lesbian was concerned, Mayla didn’t advertise it nor did she deny the fact she preferred women.
“When most couples divorce,” Mayla continued, “they make a break with their in-laws. Not me. They still treat me like their daughter after all these years, even if my ex-mother-in-law keeps insisting my lesbianism will be cured when I find the right guy. Be still my beating heart.”
Fliss tried to see if Bailey was listening. How could she help but hear. She should warn Mayla they weren’t alone.
“Then again, I did give them two grandchildren. They really dote on Joe and Megan so they’re probably just grateful.”
