Girl in a Vintage Dress

by Nicola Marsh

  Trudging up the stairs, he entered the centuries old sandstone building and turned right, heading down the end of a long corridor to the last door on the left.

  Ridiculous that he hovered, bracing himself, when he’d walked into hostile meetings many times before.

  Increasingly grim at having to do this, he knocked twice before entering, knowing from experience he’d be waiting outside all day if he expected a ‘come in’.

  When English professor Belinda Etheridge was in her office stampeding elephants couldn’t distract her from whatever dissertation she was working on. He knew, boy, did he know.

  As always, she didn’t look up from the paper she was poring over, her hair a messy greying bun perched on top of her head and stuck with a pen, her hippy clothes straight off the rack from the local second-hand shop.

  He cleared his throat to the usual response—nothing—and striding across the small office, he tapped her on the shoulder.

  ‘What—who—oh, it’s you, Chase,’ she said, flashing a quick smile before her gaze was already drifting back to her paper.

  ‘Hey, Mum.’

  He waited, playing this stupid game, waiting to see how long she’d take to respond. Futile, maybe. Childish, definitely, but it really irked to stand here and wait for his own mother to finish whatever was more important than him today to finally acknowledge him.

  ‘Just give me a minute to wrap this up—’

  ‘Sorry, don’t have the time today.’

  And he didn’t; didn’t have time for this any longer. He was here for one reason and one reason only: Cari.

  ‘You know Cari’s getting married in a few weeks?’

  He could’ve sworn her shoulders stiffened before she pushed back from her desk at a snail’s pace, making a great show of folding her arms and frowning, as if he’d interrupted research on finding a cancer cure.

  ‘Yes, I vaguely remember something about it.’

  Familiar fury shot through him but he damped it. He’d do the right thing and then he was out of here.

  ‘I’m throwing a hen’s party for her. It involves a dinner next Friday night. If you’re free, you’re welcome to come.’

  Her frown deepened. ‘Next Friday? Let me see…I don’t think…hang on…’

  While she rummaged through the mess on her desk for her elusive diary, the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. Shouldn’t it be a mother’s role to organise this kind of thing in lieu of bridesmaids? Shouldn’t Belinda be throwing Cari a dinner/shower/hen’s night? Shouldn’t she at least show some excitement that her only daughter was getting hitched?

  Then again, she’d barely acknowledged her only daughter existed growing up, why the hell should she change now?

  ‘Friday night, you said?’

  She flipped diary pages, landed on one and ran her finger down a full page. ‘No, sorry, faculty meeting.’

  He gritted his teeth at her blasé response, her almost relieved tone.

  How on earth had this woman taken time out from her busy schedule to have one child, let alone two?

  Giving it one last shot for Cari’s sake, he asked, ‘You can’t change it?’

  Or, better yet, miss it for once in your selfish life?

  She shook her head before he’d barely finished asking the question.

  ‘Too important. I’ll catch up with Cari another time.’

  He could’ve done what he’d always done: nodded, mumbled some lame-assed response and left before his resentment spilled out in a gush of temper.

  Not this time.

  ‘Bull.’

  Her mouth dropped open before quickly snapping shut in a thin, unimpressed line. ‘Watch your manners, son.’

  ‘Son? Son?’

  He laughed, a harsh sound with a maniacal edge. ‘That’s rich, coming from you.’

  Her eyes narrowed before she swivelled away on her ergonomic chair, the only modern touch in the office.

  ‘I haven’t got time for this.’

  ‘You never have time for anything unless it’s your precious bloody job!’ he shouted, furious with himself for losing control but needing to rattle her enough to get some kind of reaction other than the years of indifference he and Cari had put up with.

  ‘Don’t you get it? Your only daughter is getting married and rather than celebrating with her you’d prefer to be holed up in this mausoleum on a Friday night with a bunch of old cronies. It’s ludicrous.’

  She didn’t turn around to face him but he saw his accusations strike home in every rigid muscle of her neck, in her erect posture.

  ‘To you, maybe. But it’s important to me.’

  Dragging a hand through his hair, he shook his head. Why was he wasting his time? Nothing he said would ever get through to her.

  ‘That’s just it, isn’t it, Mum? It’s all about you. It’s always been all about you and stuff your kids.’

  He held his breath, hoping the truth he’d finally flung at her would get a reaction, hoping she’d give him some small indication she really did care despite her years of indifference.

  As the taut silence stretched, he knew what he was hoping to hear was on a par with the wish he’d had as a six-year-old—that Santa was real.

  He spun on his heel in disgust and headed for the door, his hand on the handle when she said, ‘We’re coming to the wedding. We had a class graduation on but chose to see Cari get married instead.’

  The small part of him, quashed deep down inside that still yearned for her attention, was grateful for that at least.

  But the rest of him, bristling with resentment and rage and disappointment, wanted to yell, It should’ve been no contest! as he opened the door.

  ‘Glad you can take time out from your inflexible schedule,’ he spat out before he slammed it behind him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LOLA had grown up in a large house, a sprawling Queenslander with cool white shutters, a veranda circling the house and enough rooms so she didn’t have to run into her narcissistic mum and sister too often, which had suited her just fine.

  Thanks to Shareen’s fame and the money her mum invested, they’d lived comfortably. But as she drove up the sweeping driveway towards Chase’s Mount Macedon hideaway and caught a glimpse of a huge sandstone mansion tucked between the towering gums living comfortably took on a whole new meaning.

  As the van rounded the final bend, her mouth dropped open at the sheer size of the place. The front of the architect designed house lay across half an acre, its creamy splendour highlighted against a backdrop of the muted green Aussie bush. Its huge wooden-framed windows ran the length of the house, ensuring stunning views from every room and, as the van bounced over a pothole and she over-corrected, she wondered what would keep a man shut away in that clinical penthouse when he could live surrounded by all this beauty.

  Towering eucalypts framed a garden filled with her favourite natives, bottle brushes and wattles, while a carefully maintained Japanese garden could be seen tucked off to one side, rich with bonsai and white pebbles and lanterns.

  Then again, from what she’d seen of Chase Etheridge, a go-getting over-achiever would rarely take time out to smell the banksias. Yet to leave this place vacant…

  Shaking her head, she pulled up near the back door, surprised when it flew open and Cari bounded out, a poster girl for casual chic in her designer navy velour leisure suit, the nautical scarf tied around her head like a bandanna another touch of vintage.

  She liked that about the businesswoman, how she found ways to add a little bit of retro to her modern wardrobe.

  ‘Hey, Lola, you found the place okay?’

  She nodded, slipped out of the driver’s seat and un-kinked her back.

  ‘Yeah, Chase’s instructions were spot on.’

  Cari’s eyes twinkled. ‘How is my brother?’

  Lola shrugged, hoping a blush wouldn’t undermine the professional image she’d hoped to maintain this next week. ‘I wouldn’t know, haven’t seen him.’

&nbs
p; ‘Really?’

  Cari’s mouth drooped in disappointment and Lola smothered a laugh. What would Chase think of his sister adding matchmaker to her CV?

  ‘I could’ve sworn he has a thing for you. Who knows, maybe he’ll pop down here this week—’

  ‘Is there anyone to give me a hand unloading?’

  Lola didn’t want to think about Chase popping in, not when she had a job to do. As for him having a thing for her, of course he was fascinated by her. She wore big boofy skirts and big hair and big accessories, the complete opposite of the sleek, slinky women he mixed with.

  ‘I’ll help.’

  ‘No, you’re the guest of honour—’

  ‘I’m also the only one here at the moment. Marta, the housekeeper, has been given the week off so you can have your run of the place and the rest of the girls aren’t arriving until this afternoon.’

  Cari flexed her muscles. ‘So let’s start unpacking.’

  Feeling guilty at taking Chase’s money and getting the hen to help her unload, she unlocked the back of the van with reluctance, unprepared for a loud ear-splitting squeal of delight as Cari caught sight of the first travel trunk.

  ‘Oh, my goodness! Where did you get this?’

  Buoyed by a fellow vintage groupie, Lola tapped the top of the trunk. ‘An old steamer in England was auctioning off its contents and they had a stack of these old trunks. Cool, huh?’

  ‘Wow! I can’t wait to see what’s inside them.’

  Cari’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, her expression rapt, and Lola knew that whatever she dished up for the bride-to-be this week she’d be happy.

  It made her job a heck of a lot easier when the people she ran parties for liked her stuff and while she’d had girls gush before she’d never met someone quite on her wavelength like Cari.

  Funnily enough, Cari almost intrigued her as much as Chase. The slick corporate lawyer she’d seen stride into Chase’s office when they’d first met was nothing like this bright-eyed, gushing vintage devotee.

  Was Chase like that too? All slick and corporate on the outside but with underlying depths she couldn’t imagine?

  Cari hoisted the first box. ‘Come on, let’s get a move on. I want to start playing.’

  Lola smiled and tsked-tsked as she slid two boxes into her arms and followed Cari towards the house. ‘Most of this stuff is supposed to be a surprise so you’ll have to wait.’

  ‘What, no preview?’

  Chuckling at Cari’s outrage, she juggled the boxes to get a better grip as they stepped up into the house. ‘Well, maybe I’ll let you rifle through one box.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘Take it or leave it.’

  Smiling, Cari led her into a big, airy mud room, big enough to hold all her trunks and boxes and then some. ‘Just my luck, I get the tough party hostess.’

  Amazed at how easily they were getting along, Lola dumped her boxes where Cari pointed.

  ‘I’m also the hostess with the mostest so you’re extremely lucky.’

  ‘Not as lucky as I’m hoping my brother’s going to get.’

  With a wink, Cari ducked back outside and headed towards the van, leaving Lola wondering what it was about the Etheridge siblings that had her so enthralled.

  She never took to people quickly, never had, probably born of years of being self-conscious about her weight and appearance next to the other gene-blessed females in her family.

  Shy, reserved, bookish, all terms she’d grown up with and even when she’d reinvented herself she hadn’t lost her reservations. If anything, having people suddenly pay her attention because of how she looked made her more wary.

  She’d taken a while to warm up to Imogen, her closest friend these days, so the speed at which she’d bonded with Cari left her reeling.

  As for her blossoming crush on Chase and how fast he had her under his spell… She stubbed her toe on the corner of a box, cursing the man with the power to distract her, bamboozle her and confound her.

  After seeing his mother last night, Chase had headed back to the office and pulled an all-nighter.

  He’d needed to work off his frustration, to focus on something solid and real and tangible, something he understood, and that definitely wasn’t his mother.

  Grabbing a two-hour nap at the office, followed by a shower, shave and double shot espresso, should’ve had him awake and ready to go. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t pulled all-nighters before.

  But this morning was different and as his distracted gaze drifted to the time on the bottom right hand corner of his PC screen for the umpteenth time, he knew he was kidding himself.

  Throwing himself into work last night may have worked where his mum was concerned but this morning, knowing Lola was at his house, preparing for the week ahead, made working impossible.

  Gritting his teeth, he pulled up the latest projections figures for the Spring Racing Carnival’s gala ball, yet another feather in Dazzle’s impressive cap.

  The figures danced before his eyes and he couldn’t concentrate on the spreadsheet for more than thirty seconds. He pushed away from his desk and stood, bracing himself against the window as he stared at Melbourne’s CBD sprawled out before him thirty floors below.

  He loved this view, usually found solace in the height, seemingly perched on top of the world, right where he wanted to be. And so far removed from his parents’ academia to make him feel vindicated about every choice he’d ever made.

  Being this high, being on top in his business, made him feel like a king. He worked hard, he partied hard yet the longer he stood here and surveyed the city that made his blood fizz with opportunity he couldn’t ignore the slight hollowness that insisted there was more to life than this.

  Dragging a hand through his hair he turned away from the million dollar view and glanced at his watch. Plenty of time to put in a solid day’s work and stop dwelling on the inevitable empty feeling and the niggling yearning for one iota of acknowledgement meeting with his folks always dragged up.

  Was that the only reason he felt this edgy?

  No, he wouldn’t think about Lola, wouldn’t wonder what she was doing in his house, wouldn’t contemplate driving up there to visit and oversee proceedings.

  He’d hired Lola to do a job. She was a professional, she’d handle it without his interference.

  But it was his house; he knew every nook and cranny. What if she needed a hand?

  The fact he had a very competent housekeeper flashed through his head for a second before he remembered Cari had insisted he gave Marta the week off.

  Besides, Cari was his sister, his only sibling, and he’d gone to all this trouble to organise a hen’s party she wouldn’t forget. Only seemed right he popped down there and made sure everything was going smoothly.

  Cursing himself for being a sad case, he pulled his laptop closer and concentrated on work. Having his voice of reason mentally slug it out with his impulsive side was a waste of time. All the self-justifying arguments in the world wouldn’t drive him to abandon his work for the day and head down to that hen’s party.

  No way.

  Four hours later, in this kind of mood, the last thing Chase should be doing was driving out to Mount Macedon.

  He avoided the place at the best of times, its welcoming homeliness a reminder of what he didn’t have and never would.

  Living in outer suburbia with the requisite two point five kids, golden Labrador and claustrophobic family commitments wasn’t for him. He’d decided that a long time ago when his parents had the expected family but ignored them anyway.

  So why buy the house in the first place?

  He’d deliberately ignored that question whenever it popped into his subconscious, citing all kinds of logical reasons why he’d bought the sprawling family home two years ago. A good investment. An opportunity to capitalise when the housing market was good. A sound business decision.

  All very acceptable reasons for purchasing a home he rarely visited but deep down, in tho
se rare times he allowed himself to stop running on overdrive, he acknowledged the whispered truth.

  That his Mount Macedon mansion represented what he’d wanted his whole life: a real home.

  Turning up the surround sound stereo in his Jag to drown out his annoying thoughts, he exited the freeway, trying to ignore his mounting anticipation.

  If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say he was looking forward to crashing this hen’s party.

  Crazy, as seeing Cari and her ditzy friends play dress up didn’t hold the slightest bit of interest. But seeing Lola Lombard again did and he allowed himself the luxury of a self-satisfied grin as he imagined her reaction when he rocked up.

  She wouldn’t be happy.

  She’d purse those ruby-red lips in disapproval, would pout and frown all she liked but he knew the truth: she too felt the buzz between them.

  And that was what had ultimately drawn him here.

  He wanted to rid his mind of his mother’s callous indifference, of the mountain of work waiting for him, and do something guaranteed to take his mind off everything. Flirting with Lola was it.

  Feeling like a ton weight had been lifted off his shoulders since he’d left Melbourne, he turned into his drive, the house giving him a familiar thrill as he caught his first glimpse. The thrill was tinged with a hint of bittersweet longing, a yearning for the family life he couldn’t risk having.

  Annoyed at the momentary blight on his anticipation, he swerved to a stop near the back door, right next to a decrepit lemon-yellow van with flowers stencilled down the side.

  The florists in town wouldn’t drive something so utterly appalling, which meant the death trap on wheels could only belong to one person.

  As he stepped from the car and gave the van a closer inspection—the rust speckles, the dented bumpers, the unlockable doors—he knew Lola was taking her love of old stuff to extremes.

  The fact she’d made it here in one piece in that thing was a miracle and, as he barged towards the back door, it hit him why he was so mad.

  He cared. Cared about what she drove, cared about her safety, cared too much full stop for a woman he was irrationally, increasingly attracted to.