Claire nodded. ‘She made me sign it to try and stop me worrying about things for a while.’ She shrugged. ‘Bit silly, really,’ she said, quickly folding the note and shoving it back into her pocket.
‘Not at all. Whatever it takes. You’re lucky to have such a good friend looking out for you.’
‘I know,’ Claire said, looking down. Where Bernadette’s note sat felt warm and comforting. The feeling spread through her when she looked back up and noticed Derek’s expression.
‘Would you think about it if it weren’t for that?’ he asked, nodding towards the hand still in her pocket.
‘Probably,’ Claire admitted.
‘You never know – if it’s meant to be, it’ll be there for you in a year.’
‘Jesus, you sound like Bernadette.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Oh shit! I’m meant to be meeting her for lunch in twenty minutes.’ She still had to have a shower and drive the ten minutes into town.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ He turned the car on. ‘See you round,’ he called, waving as he drove off.
Chapter Sixteen
Claire was red-faced and beginning to sweat when she rushed into the small, cluttered café ten minutes late. Bernadette looked up from a battered women’s magazine with a knowing smirk.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘No worries, just catching up on two-year-old Hollywood gossip,’ Bernadette said, tapping the magazine.
Claire pulled out a chair and sat down with her bag on her lap.
‘Claire, put your bloody bag down and relax!’
‘Sorry, it’s just…’
‘I know, you hate being late. But it doesn’t matter – what’s ten minutes in a lifetime? And I was beginning to think you were slipping back into country life.’
Claire sighed and put her bag on the floor, willing the muscles in her back to loosen.
‘So, was it a tête-à-tête with that sexy man who came looking for you that held you up?’
‘Sexy! Derek?’ Claire snorted. ‘Hardly!’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Bernadette said, putting on a dreamy expression and fluttering her eyelashes.
‘You need to get out more, Bern.’
‘I thought it was Derek from the office – I only met him that once. So, what did he want – to ask you out?’
‘Are you girls ordering or are you just going to sit there making this place look untidy?’ David, the café owner, stood over them smiling, pad and pencil in hand.
‘David, hi. Sorry, I haven’t even looked at the menu,’ Claire said, becoming flustered again.
‘Well it hasn’t changed since you two were in last week. Usual, Bernie?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Tuna, lettuce and mayo baguette coming up,’ he said as he made a note on his pad. ‘I’ll give you a few more minutes, Claire.’
Claire looked up and noticed Bernadette had a strange flushed expression on her face.
‘Bernie!’
‘What?’
‘You do realise he’s gay, don’t you?’ Claire hissed. ‘Camp as a row of tents, that one.’
‘Well I think he’s gorgeous. Anyway, we don’t know for sure.’
‘You know they don’t just switch sides, so there’s no point fluttering your eyelashes at him!’
‘I wasn’t! Anyway, just because he’s the only well-turned-out man in town does not mean he bats for the other team. Why don’t you worry about ordering? I’m starving – you kept me waiting ten minutes, remember?’
Just as Claire folded her menu, David reappeared at the side of the table very near Bernadette. He smiled warmly at her, or was it sympathy for being kept waiting by her friend? Or had she imagined it? He was the café owner, it was just part of the service.
‘I’ll have the chicken, lettuce and mayonnaise baguette, thank you,’ Claire said.
‘Excellent choice. Drinks?’
‘Just water thanks,’ Claire said.
‘Actually, would you try my homemade lemonade? On the house, of course. I need some honest feedback before adding it to the menu.’
‘Sure,’ Bernie said, beaming at him. He was giving her special treatment – she was not imagining it.
‘Great, thanks. I’ll just go get some.’
‘You two are very buddy-buddy,’ Claire said when David had gone.
‘Just small business people sticking together. Anyway, don’t be jealous, you have Derek chasing you.’
‘I am not jealous, and I do not have Derek chasing me!’
‘So what brought him all the way up here, then?’
‘To offer me my old job back, actually,’ Claire said haughtily.
‘What did you say?’ Bernadette was eyeing her warily.
‘No, of course.’
‘What? Really! Why?’
‘What do you mean, why? I signed your contract, or have you forgotten already?’
‘Of course I haven’t forgotten. I just didn’t think you’d take it that seriously.’
‘You’ve never given me bad advice before, Bernie. Anyway, I’m enjoying being free of office politics and all the other crap.’
‘That’s great. I’m proud of you.’
They barely noticed when David put a glass of cloudy drink in front of each of them and disappeared without a word.
‘Thanks, Bern.’
‘So, how’s your dad doing? Not bossing him around too much, I hope.’
‘No complaints so far.’
‘And how’s Paycheque – settled in okay?’
‘A few problems there.’
‘Oh?’
‘We think someone’s beaten him, Bern – he’s a bit of a nervous wreck to work with.’
‘That’s terrible, what are you going to do?’
‘Just persevere – nothing else we can do. He just needs some understanding and a lot of time.’ They sipped at their drinks.
‘Yum,’ Bernie said.
‘Yes, very nice,’ Claire agreed.
‘Now,’ Bernadette said, pushing her glass aside and rubbing her hands together. ‘What are we going to do for the Cup?’
‘I’m not sure I want to do anything.’
‘Claire McIntyre, just because you can’t swan it up in some swanky corporate box doesn’t mean we can’t have fun. And I will have no sulking, understood?’
‘Yes, Mum.’ Claire offered a tight smile. What she wanted to do was just hide under a rock until the fireball that was the Melbourne Spring Racing Carnival had passed.
‘Well, we don’t have long,’ Bernadette said, ignoring her friend’s mood. ‘We could just go to one of the pubs, but I feel like doing something ourselves.’
‘I’m easy.’ Claire shrugged.
‘Don’t give me that,’ Bernadette laughed. ‘Claire McIntyre, easy you are certainly not.’
‘Why not?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, combination of genes, upbringing – usual reasons,’ Bernadette said, waving an arm.
Claire slapped at her hand waving about in the air. ‘Not that why.’
‘Oh well, let me see. Uptight, way too organised, incapable of spontaneity – shall I go on?’
‘Jeez, thanks best friend.’ Genuinely hurt, Claire sat back with her arms folded tightly across her chest.
‘I wouldn’t be a friend if I couldn’t see your faults and love you anyway, now would I?’
‘Well I’m learning to be a “go with the flow” girl.’ Claire scowled.
‘I know. So we’ll have the party at your place then,’ Bernadette said with a mischievous grin.
‘Yeah, why not?’
‘Really?’
‘I provide the venue, you provide everything else – fair enough?’
‘Oh well, I guess so,’ Bernadette stammered.
‘Only kidding.’ Claire laughed. ‘But seriously, it’ll be better for Dad – he’ll be able to wander off for a snooze if it all gets too much. He does that a bit nowadays.’
‘Good plan – but do you want to run it past him first
?’
‘I’m sure he’ll be cool with it. Anyway, I’m in charge now.’
Claire and Bernadette were hunched low over the table, trying to be heard over the lunchtime rush of the almost-full café. Claire was making notes on an old envelope she’d found in her handbag when David appeared.
‘So, does the lemonade get the thumbs up or thumbs down? Honestly.’
‘Absolutely thumbs up,’ Bernadette said, smiling up at him. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘Claire – verdict?’
‘Yes, two thumbs up – delicious.’
‘Brilliant, thanks. Hmm. This looks more like a meeting than a nice girly lunch,’ he said, pointing to Claire’s note. ‘Up to no good, I’m sure.’
‘Actually we’re just starting to organise our Melbourne Cup soiree,’ Bernadette cooed.
‘What fun,’ David said, clapping his hands. ‘If there’s anything I can help you with, just say the word.’
‘But you’ll be too busy here, surely,’ Bernadette said, waving an arm around.
‘No way – I’m having the day off. Can’t compete with two pubs – no one wants to be civilised on Cup Day, and rightfully so.’
Claire thought if he didn’t stop being so damn nice she’d throw up, right on his starched white linen. She drank the last of her lemonade in one large gulp. As she did, Bernadette’s next words nearly made her choke.
‘Oh, well why don’t you join us then? It’s just a small gathering – a few friends, lots of champagne.’ She giggled. ‘But of course, if you already have something else…’
Claire mentally crossed her fingers.
‘No, I’d love to,’ David said, beaming down into Bernadette’s face, which had the expectant glow and quivering eyelashes of a love-struck teenager.
Claire’s spine prickled with annoyance. David surveyed his café briefly before dragging a nearby chair over and seating himself next to Bernadette. Claire felt her jaw tighten and her hands clench around the pen.
‘So, where, when, and what can I bring?’
‘Well, it’s at Claire’s – her dad’s farm. I’ll give you directions later. And we haven’t organised anything yet. We’ve only just decided to do something.’
‘And you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?’ he asked, looking at Claire.
‘Of course not. Don’t be silly,’ Bernadette cried, slapping his hand playfully.
‘Claire?’
‘Not at all, more the merrier,’ Claire said, faking her enthusiasm.
‘Look, I’d better get back to it, but how about I call into the shop later and discuss it some more?’
‘Okay, that sounds great – we might have decided on what sort of food to do by then.’
‘I’ll bring some cook books just in case, shall I?’
‘Good idea,’ Bernie said.
‘Thanks for including me, it means a lot. Sorry, gotta go,’ he said, and left.
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ Bernadette crowed, still gazing after him.
‘Yes,’ Claire said. And she meant it. Why had she been so harsh on him? She didn’t even know him. She really must learn to be less judgmental.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Bernadette asked, suddenly aware of Claire’s silence.
‘No, of course not.’ Claire McIntyre wasn’t sure how she felt. But one thing was for sure: whatever form the day took, she had to have fun and not think about what she was missing in a corporate box in Melbourne.
Claire drove home, her head buzzing with ideas for decorations, menus and guest lists. But behind the excitement there was a dull nag of something else. She realised she was annoyed with Bernadette. But why? So what if she wanted to invite David? David was the perfect guest – he could cook, was charming and, as a respectable business owner, was highly unlikely to get really pissed and make a fool of himself. Was she just jealous?
Claire felt a deep sense of impending loss. Telling herself how much she missed Keith, she channelled her grief in that direction and then swallowed it. Keith was gone and that was that. She and Bernadette had survived men coming and going from each of their lives before.
Claire thought about what Bernadette must have gone through when she’d gotten serious about Keith. She had no right to be such a selfish cow. She should be happy and supportive, the sort of friend Bernadette had always been. And she would be, Claire vowed, giving the steering wheel a slap, and then turning up the radio.
Chapter Seventeen
Claire pulled off the bitumen and onto the long dirt driveway. For possibly the first time, she didn’t flinch at the pinging of small stones on the metallic paint she’d paid an extra eight hundred dollars for. She realised with a sense of both relief and misgiving that she must be finally settling into the rural way of life again. It was a little scary, but at the same time it felt nice not to have to answer to the bean counters and power-hungry corporate types. Maybe it was true what they said about taking the girl out of the country.
Claire noticed Paycheque off in the paddock, standing to attention with his ears pricked. She followed the direction of his gaze towards the house. Her foot eased off the accelerator as she processed what she was seeing: a battered horse truck, tailgate down; her father leading a bay off towards the stables; another man opening a divider and preparing a chestnut for its exit from the truck. As she rounded the corner to the carport, Claire noticed another head in the window. What the hell was going on? They couldn’t afford to feed four horses.
She parked and pulled the handbrake on hard. She turned the key off and counted to eight before taking three deep breaths and stepping out. Maybe Jack had taken on some paid agistment – that wouldn’t be a bad move. Yes, that’s what was going on. Ignoring her usual routine of changing before venturing near horses and farm, Claire strode over. For the first time she noticed the name on the open driver’s door of the truck: ‘T.D. Newman’. The bastard who’d almost cost Paycheque his life. She would not be involved with such a man. Why the hell would Jack be?
‘Miss,’ the twenty-something lad greeted her with a nod, leading the last of the horses off the truck.
Claire opened her mouth but shut it again, the words ‘no point shooting the messenger’ pounding in her head.
‘Hi,’ she grunted through a grim smile. She moved in three long strides past the truck to where her father stood, arms folded, appraising the horses in their yards. Jack McIntyre turned at the thud of her R.M. Williams boots on the tightly packed rubble.
He was beaming and had more colour in his face than she’d seen since his accident. Even from under his Akubra, the creases around his eyes showed his smile was genuine. If his face wasn’t shaded she knew she’d see the twinkle in his watery, weary, but still bright, blue-grey eyes. Her heart that had been stone cold since seeing the name on the truck warmed a little, and she took a deep breath.
‘Dad, can I have a word?’
‘Sure, Claire Bear. What is it?’
‘This might sound really petty, but I don’t want us doing Todd Newman any favours like agisting his horses. Remember, he was the one who…’
‘Paycheque. I know.’ Jack sighed. ‘But it’s okay, they’re not his.’
Claire was relieved. People borrowed or hired trucks all the time. She looked at the horses and for the first time noticed their starry, unkempt coats, and matted manes and tails. She hoped Jack had negotiated a good rate because this bunch sure needed a decent feed. She bit her lip as she wondered why someone would care enough to pay for agistment, yet not enough to brush a bit of mud off.
‘Dad, I’m really not sure if taking on three horses for agistment is a good idea right now,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘We’re not…’
Oh right, Claire thought, they’re in transit, he’s doing a favour for a mate or something.
‘…I’ve bought them,’ Jack said brightly.
‘You’ve what?’ Claire was glad she had the yard railing for support.
‘Bought them – they’re the next McIntyre m
arvels. What do you think?’ Jack said, waving an arm.
Mongrels, more like, Claire wanted to snap, but there were more important things to discuss, like where the money had come from and why the hell she hadn’t been consulted. She could feel her blood beginning to boil and her face burn. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, and began trying to picture palm trees on a perfect beach. She could not lose her temper in public and would not – thanks to all those middle-management courses she’d attended. She would wait until the office door was closed and they were in a ‘quiet room’ – metaphorically speaking, of course. She was vaguely aware of the truck tail-gate being wound up.
Claire watched, still in a kind of stunned haze, as Jack handed over a cheque and shook hands with the lad. ‘Pass on my best to Todd,’ he said, slapping him on the shoulder in a gesture that threatened to be the final straw.
The truck was backing up and then turning around. Claire had abandoned the perfect beach island and was now counting, the numbers rolling in her head faster and faster, louder and louder, her jaw tighter and tighter. Fifty-seven. Finally the truck had started back down the driveway and the driver was out of hearing.
‘Dad, what the bloody hell are you thinking?!’ Claire exploded.
‘It’s okay, Claire, just calm down,’ Jack urged, holding his hands up.
‘Don’t bloody “Claire, just calm down” me. You’ve paid God knows how much for three horses with God knows how many problems. The man’s a complete arsehole and just look at them!’
‘Claire McIntyre!’
‘Well he is. So how much have you spent?’
‘I wasn’t aware my funds were any of your business,’ Jack said, folding his arms tightly across his chest.
Claire stared at her father, her face becoming the shade of the brick that she felt had just hit her. Of course it was her bloody business. Who’d been running the place lately: cooking, cleaning, getting groceries, making sure the bills were paid? Unconsciously she adopted her father’s defiant stance.
‘Look Claire, I really appreciate you staying to help me get back on my feet, but I’m fine now, fit as a mallee bull…’ Jack continued to stand above her with his arms folded.
Paycheque Page 12
