‘And a lamington.’ He was smiling. ‘They are your favourite.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Sneaky. I’ll have to watch for that.’
Chapter Thirteen
Ben
Ben set the two remaining lamington cakes out on a plain white plate and considered them with satisfaction. A spur-of-the-moment purchase that had reaped excellent reward. He wasn’t averse to sponge cake dipped in pink chocolate and rolled in coconut, especially with a layer of cream hidden inside. Who would be? No hardship to present for the pleasure of Holly’s company and he would have to say she was right. The strawberry one could be the best he’d ever tasted.
Possibly Holly’s Mrs F would be interested in planning some meals for him on his surgery days. He’d ask for her number.
He’d been doing that all evening while he waited. Thinking up conversations he could have with Holly if she was jumpy. Funny how he’d even think of Holly Peterson as anxious, but the elusive, driven, schoolgirl he remembered was hard to reconcile with this vulnerable aunt of twins.
He’d always admired her focus on her dreams, despite the fact her single-mindedness left him out in the cold in no uncertain terms. He wasn’t even sure what it had been about Holly that had captured his adolescent heart so strongly that it gripped him still. But there was no doubt he felt it. Unfortunately, her fragility made her even more attractive to him and the boys were no barrier. More a logistical quandary he would juggle for Holly’s spare time, but they were a lot of fun.
Maybe he’d offer to coach their soccer team.
He heard the sound of quiet footsteps on the stairs and stilled for a moment. One woman should not create such havoc.
He sighed.
But she did. He lifted his chin and stood.
He’d left the main door open and could see through the screen as she approached. Her head was down, as if too heavy for her, and she wore her bob scraped back off her face like she did at work. A thick ponytail shone in the pale evening light behind her and she looked like a dark-haired angel coming up his stairs. A tired one.
He pushed open the screen and cleared his throat. ‘Hello. How was rehearsal?’
She looked up. Smiled at him in a distracted way and shook her head. ‘I’ll be glad when they’re married.’
She passed in front of him as he held the door and her hair brushed his arm as she ducked. A drift of violet perfume, a scent he’d never forgotten from a trip to France long ago, now a perfume destined to be always associated with Holly, caught his attention and he acknowledged violet was the perfect note for her.
This new Holly resembled a violet, slender necked, easily crushed, and dusted with subtle depths.
‘This is lovely.’ She twirled and he smiled at the girlish movement as she examined the room from every angle. ‘Not lovely. That’s too feminine. It’s classy, and warm and masculine. Did you decorate it yourself?’
‘Not really. My things, but my business manager arranged it all. She’s one very efficient lady.’
‘Does she know anything about coffee shops? I’m fine with the physical stuff but I need to set my bookwork up in an easier way.’
‘If she doesn’t, well, she knows someone who does. That’s her forte. She even found a housekeeper for my grandmother.’
Their eyes met and they both smiled. ‘A woman of skills.’ Neither commented again.
‘Sit down. Or have a look at the balcony first.’ Good grief. ‘Whichever.’ But she looked so good standing in the middle of his apartment. Like she belonged there. Like she was happy to be here. Stop it. Go slow. ‘I’ll make the tea.’
‘Have you stocked something alcoholic?’ She rubbed the back of her neck. ‘I’ve scored an hour and I need a drink.’
He felt his eyebrows arch. That surprised him, but he was very happy to provide. ‘Red or white? Still or bubbles?’
‘Still white. I’ll take you up on the bubbles on a night I don’t have to get the boys to school on time.’
That made him smile. With an ignition spark from his planning mojo. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’ He stared into the fridge, applauding Mrs Burrows for including the wine in her organisation.
Holly wandered out to the little balcony overlooking the street and he glanced back to see her leaning on the rail, her profile achingly exquisite. She turned her eyes towards her own apartment. He’d done that a few times this week, he thought as he selected the South Australian pinot gris.
He wondered what mischief Jasmine had been up to. At school, nobody had understood the rapport between the unlikely pairing of studious Holly Peterson, focused on her dream of becoming a doctor, and wilful Jasmine Winters whose goal in life had appeared to be finding disaster and disgrace. Apparently she’d proved them all wrong with her mechanic’s apprenticeship, despite the fact he doubted wild Jasmine ever picked up a book.
On the other hand, Holly had been the brilliant student, coming from a hardworking single-parent family, but the girlfriend bond had endured and apparently thrived, to Ben’s misfortune. Ben had always thought Jasmine hard work. She’d certainly been a barrier to talking to Holly alone. Good job she was getting married.
He poured then stepped out onto the verandah with two glasses of wine. ‘Would you like cheese instead of lamingtons?’
‘No. Yes. Maybe.’ She shook her head and looked at him as she took the wine. Really looked, this time, and he wondered what she saw. He knew what he saw. A woman he wanted and had always wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The girl he’d walked beside for that summer of afternoons all those years ago was in there somewhere. It hadn’t been just a schoolboy dream that Holly was his home. His heart. But this time was it. He hoped she’d give them a chance.
Holly seemed to break from whatever thought had distracted her and then she looked down at her hands. ‘Thank you, though I’m not sure I merit the treat of being served fine wine and a warm welcome. But it’s nice to be here.’ Spread her hands. ‘You relax me. Always easy. My friend I don’t deserve. I appreciate your kindness.’
Was it kindness to want her so badly he’d do almost anything to make her his? He didn’t think so. ‘I’m doing myself the favour.’ His voice sounded deeper than he intended.
The night broke with a laugh somewhere and he looked down. Two pleasantly tipsy women strolled from the new high-end restaurant he wanted to take Holly to, and he felt the intrusion of the strangers into his night, to his space where he wanted Holly to himself.
He gestured inside. ‘Come in to the lounge. Sit down. Chill. I’ll get you the leftover soft cheese and some crackers. I even have grapes and quince jam. We can be decadent.’
So they sat, side by side, slicing cheese, creating crackers with tiny towers of cheese and quince jam and ate grapes and cashews and chatted again about the changes in town and the new wedding venue that had risen out on Wirra Station that Ben hadn’t seen. How it had revitalised a dying town. Created jobs and traffic and an influx of cashed-up clientele. And the need for a doctor. Or two, Ben thought, looking at the woman beside him.
When they’d finished the wine, Ben made tea and they savoured their lamingtons while Holly talked of the boys and her coffee shop and Mrs F. Ben swirled shred coconut around his plate with his finger when the sponge was gone and enjoyed the tone of her voice. Watching her beautiful mouth as she spoke.
He realised she’d stopped and struggled for something to add. But he had no idea what that last sentence had been. Distracted by his thoughts.
Scrambling for conversation he glanced at his empty plate. ‘A girl from Christchurch once told me lamingtons originated in New Zealand. She was particularly adamant they were not an Australian invention.’
‘Not true.’ Holly laughed. ‘Can I bore you and expound the true story?’
Ben waved expansively. Relieved he hadn’t been caught out. ‘You’re never boring.’ He meant it. ‘And I do remember you winning Trivial Pursuit at camp.’
They exchanged a look, and what looked like a b
rief flash of embarrassment on Holly’s part. ‘I was a pretentious twat. Especially to you. Always spouting facts in my teens.’
Ben patted his six pack. ‘Hey, no grudge, look at me. Remember.’ And she smiled, which was what he wanted her to do.
‘Wikipedia says…’ She paused and he shook his head sorrowfully.
‘Not acceptable without a source.’
Too many papers written by both of them over the last years to shirk on referencing. ‘There was a source. Records show lamingtons originated in Queensland, named after Lord or possibly Lady Lamington for a social event. The New Zealand furphy originated from an April Fool’s joke on radio that became an urban myth. Swallowed whole by the Kiwis.’
‘Stored in your brain because?’
‘Who knows.’
Suddenly the hour was gone.
And he hadn’t asked about her medical career or her plans for the future. Or the hundred other things he wanted to ask.
That’s okay. He should go gently. Slowly.
She drained her cup. ‘I have to go.’
‘I know.’ He put his own cup down. ‘But you don’t live far away and you’re welcome any time.’
He felt her eyes travel over him. A phantom touch and he wanted the more he wouldn’t get.
‘Thank you.’ She was leaving. Now.
‘And I’ll see you and the boys at the park tomorrow. Our last on the days my surgery is open because I probably won’t finish until after six.’
She shook her head. ‘You’ll have enough to do.’
‘I deserve some fun too.’ He stood up and reached down to help her up. Finally securing her hand to hold, the warmth a tingle between them, her fragile fingers folded under his and her body ending up close as he helped her to stand. He looked down into her face and desperately wanted to kiss the upturned lips in the gentlest of brushes. The wash of violets a heady spell enticing him. But she stepped away and he could tell she hadn’t felt the same.
She spoke over her shoulder, her gaze past him to the left, absorbed in a point that avoided his eyes. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’
‘My pleasure.’
She was out the door before he could reach it. And he stood, watching the automatic closer on the door slow motion the screen to shut.
‘Damn.’ Too slow.
Chapter Fourteen
Holly
Holly’s hand slid gently down the rail as she left Ben’s flat, the metal cool under her fingers, a small smile on her face as she trod slowly down the wooden steps. She realised this was the first time she’d actually relaxed since she’d moved from Sydney.
The coiled tension in her neck had lifted, eased by the pleasure of a good-looking man’s undemanding attention. A kind man. A man she could trust. Ben.
Maybe Ben was too trustworthy. For a minute there she’d thought he’d kiss her and she’d wanted it enough to make herself turn away. No. Platonic. Stay stable for the boys until they could handle change.
She glanced back across the shadows of Ben’s small yard to the lane behind the main street and the paddocks stretched into the distance that allowed a glimpse of the stars in the night sky behind the town.
One of those clear and beautiful summer nights, the moon not risen and the Southern Cross and pointers rising in the east. She hadn’t looked at the stars for a long time and suddenly she wanted to go somewhere she could lie on the ground and just stare up into the million tiny lights of other galaxies and forget the world she inhabited. Be outdoors, like Ben had mentioned today.
The boys would love it.
Camping. Sleeping bags. A fire and melting marshmallows. Maybe she’d ask Ben if he knew of a good place to go camping. In reality, she knew people with stations that would be welcoming if she wanted to take the boys to set up camp beside a creek one weekend. Elsa Hargreaves, or Maggie from Wirra. She’d skip Ben’s grandmother’s Brierly Park, but she couldn’t help thinking how much fun it would be with Ben and the boys together. But that was very unlikely.
*
On Saturday morning Holly woke in a strange bed. Gold and blue sunlight slanted through the stained glass of the new bridal cottage windows at Wirra Station and the first person she thought of was Ben.
This wasn’t good. She should be totally excited about her best friend’s wedding.
The cool air coming through the windows held the scent of roses, and as she pulled the covers back over her shoulder she grimaced at herself. She’d had an hour at Ben’s flat. Barely an event. A pleasant interlude, but it meant nothing.
This was the morning of Jasmine’s wedding!
She sat up and swung her legs out of bed and the smooth polished wood floor slid cool under her feet. The bridal chalet whispered the idea that all this luxury would calm nerves.
Holly didn’t feel calm, and she wasn’t even the bride. She’d never been a bridesmaid before, heck she’d never been to a formal dance—not her scene—and the only wedding she’d been to had been her sister’s registry office wedding, and she didn’t want to think too much of Susan today in case she ruined all the special make-up she’d be wearing by weeping.
But it wasn’t the wedding per se she was nervous about. She’d finally realised it was the fact Ben was coming and he’d see her in a strapless blue sheath with full make-up and hair and totally out of her comfort zone. That would be a first. He probably wouldn’t recognise her. She probably wouldn’t recognise herself.
She could hear gentle bridal snoring from the room behind her, which sounded peaceful enough. Jasmine had been remarkably sunny and content last night, still glowing from the romantic dinner she’d shared with her fiancé on the night of the rehearsal and Holly and Elsa had sighed with relief as they’d tucked their slightly inebriated charge into bed.
Just the morning to get organised and any ‘moments of interest’ to deal with. Though, sharing the responsibility with Maggie, who was also giving away the bride, meant everything here at Wirra Station would run like clockwork. Speaking of clocks, Holly lifted her wrist and studied her watch. Seven thirty. She reached out and lifted the bridal timeline sheet Maggie had given them.
The hairdresser was coming at eight to do Holly’s and Elsa’s hair, while Maggie would arrive half an hour before that—about now—with their breakfasts. Oops.
Holly couldn’t believe it was all finally happening. And despite the promise of a chapel and vows, she couldn’t wait till the ceremony was over and Jasmine drove away on a cloud of love and rainbows with her husband. Please, dear Saint of Smiling Brides, make that happen.
Then at the reception she would have time to compose herself to chat with Ben. Despite trying to withhold it, her mouth curved into that new secret smile she seemed to have acquired the night she ate lamingtons at his flat. She needed to keep that tucked away for only herself to look at, though it was Jasmine she had to thank for Ben’s inclusion in today’s event. She didn’t think Jason and Ben had ever met.
Elsa yawned and entered from the room on the other side. ‘It’s the perfect sunny day. Talk about memories. Boy did I miss my husband last night.’
‘He would have missed you.’ She glanced out of the picture-perfect window to the magnificent stone homestead in the distance across the rolling green lawns. ‘I can’t imagine all this organisation directed at me as a bride. Must be nerve-racking? I don’t think I’ll get married.’
‘You will.’ Elsa’s matter-of-fact statement made Holly stare, but it had been an off-the-cuff remark. Nothing deep and meaningful and Holly’s heart settled.
Elsa turned her face towards the window and sighed dreamily. ‘It doesn’t seem like more than a year ago since I had my wedding day.’ Then she picked up the run sheet Holly had put down. ‘Okay. Let’s go. There is never enough time. Bridesmaid and matron of honour now on duty. Is the bride awake?’
‘Not yet.’ They crossed fingers at each other. Jasmine’s nerves had taken a toll on both of them over the last weeks, and they hoped the last twenty-four hours of calm
would stay that little bit longer.
There was a knock at the door and Maggie appeared with a trolley laden with breakfast. ‘Good morning, attendants. Is your bride-to-be up?’
‘Just going in to wake her now,’ Elsa kept walking and Holly looked from one to the other as if they knew some secret code she had no idea about.
Her only frame of reference sat somewhere along preparing a patient for the operating theatre and this regimented organisation wasn’t that far from the clockwork needed for that. There were serious administration skills required as a wedding planner apparently.
The whole wedding venue radiated storybook moments and photo opportunities and she was glad for Jasmine. Quietly she decided if she ever got married, which was unlikely, she would choose somewhere private and quiet with the man she loved and very few others. Probably the twins would be old enough to give her away.
As she began to lay out the breakfast on the rustic table, she couldn’t help wondering what Ben would think of it all or if he’d been to dozens of such events in his time.
Chapter Fifteen
Ben
Ben stood under a tall gum tree as the early afternoon breeze drifted across the vivid green of the clearing. A lone guitarist began to strum the wedding march. To Ben’s left, rows of white chairs were filled to overflowing with guests, and those who opted to give up their seats, like him, hovered at the edge of the gathering.
In the distance, a large straw-baled wagon swayed into sight from the bend in the wide path opposite. Two impressive Clydesdale horses with silver harnesses pulled the rustic cart, and with agonising slowness it came into full magnificent view.
The cart stopped beside Maggie Walker-O’Connor, entrepreneurial owner of Wirra Station, and the attendant giving away the bride.
Ben’s eyes were irresistibly drawn not to the bride, or the beautiful matron of honour as she began to step down, but to the dark-haired bridesmaid waiting to alight. He felt his chest tighten as if someone had grabbed the front of his dress shirt and lifted him up, feet dangling.
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