She closed her eyes lest he sense her longing. She was almost in tears. He was so considerate, so genuinely caring. Nicole’s a lucky woman. What business of hers was the company James kept?
They made it to the elevator. Too soon, it opened and she had to enter it without him.
It was like leaving part of herself behind. The best she could do was turn awkwardly and hold out her hand for a farewell shake.
James held it alright, a touch too long, long enough for that pulse of interest to flicker and deepen between them, but as he leaned forward, the doors closed.
As she descended, alone, Stella counselled herself to get back to her patch of the mall as quickly as possible and literally mind her own business. Thursday was all of four days away. Anything could happen.
Chapter 16
Back at her stall, Stella laid out her wares in as tempting a fashion as she could without having to hop too far. Some browsers approached, including a diminutive older woman with a large black bag.
“Something for yourself?” Stella asked.
“I don’t know.” She was like many of her customers, those with time on their hands, window shopping and happy to chat.
“This one reminds me of when I was a girl,” the woman said.
“Oh?”
“Except it was much smaller. It had little opals inside. There was a matching set of earrings. It was my mother’s, bought for her by her mother, bought right here, at Huntleys. I’ll show you. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”
“I’d love that,” Stella answered, intrigued. How she loved her work. At times like this, her imagination flared. She could create a series of tiny globes, each with different jewels inside, and there could be sets to mix and match.
She’d been dreaming of different pieces, of a set inspired by fruit, and another of various animals. She’d love to create a flower set, an alphabet set, and a set for the four seasons. She’d even wondered about some space jewels, inspired by the planets.
It reminded her she’d dreamt up some “get well pieces” while at the hospital. Swinging pill capsule earrings and a stethoscope brooch. She reached into her bag for her notepad to jot down her ideas. She pushed her hand around inside the bag, feeling for it. Where was it?
Had it disappeared when she’d rushed to save the child? Her heart pounded. All her ideas! Lost!
She fought to still her rising sense of panic. They were just ideas. They came out of her head. She could sketch them again.
For now she must think only of her customers; forget the missing sketchpad; forget James Huntley. Only Stellar mattered.
...
That afternoon, a vaguely familiar woman appeared with a stroller. Holding her hand was a small boy with a bright bunch of flowers. He thrust them at Stella.
“We can’t thank you enough,” the woman said, eyeing Stella’s bandaged ankle uneasily. “You saved Lucas’s life.”
Stella bent down to accept the gift.
“Thank you,” he said, looking up at his mother to check he’d said it right.
Stella smiled. He was angelic. Contrite.
“They’re so beautiful! Thank you, Lucas.” And to his mother. “That’s really not necessary. But I appreciate it.”
The woman was still staring at Stella’s ankle, frowning.
“We’re so sorry you were hurt. Lucas has promised not to run away like that again.”
“Well, that’s a good idea,” Stella told him, reassuring his mother she was okay before they moved away.
...
“You have another admirer, I see.” James stopped by on his way into Huntleys, nodding at the bouquet.
“Lucas. He’s three.” Despite her reservations, Stella actually found herself laughing and fluttering her eyelashes at James. She couldn’t help liking the way he was making her feel special. He noticed, amusement flickering in his eyes. Was he flirting with her?
“I hope he’s not invited for dinner as well...” Definitely flirting. She liked the way she and James were testing the distance between each other, like a bird stretching its wings before taking flight, or the sun slowly rising. Yes. She always wanted to be closer to him.
“Nope. Just the two of us.”
James leaned towards her. Was he going to touch her forearm? Was he actually a little shy? He pulled away, but he held her eyes with his own.
“Looking forward to it.” He swung his hand up in farewell instead, but the smile they exchanged made her catch her breath.
Oh.
What was she going to wear?
And she still hadn’t solved the problem of where they would go. With her credit card debt, swanky wasn’t possible right now. For an instant, a vision of fish fingers hovered in her imagination and she laughed. Absolutely not.
With her ankle still in a boot, high heels were out of the question. Amused, she remembered all the missing shoes of her childhood. This would be the one time in her life when just one shoe would be perfectly appropriate.
Stella suddenly knew the solution. A picnic! Flame made an artform of picnics. They’d enjoyed one at least once a week when she was growing up. They required little preparation and no washing up.
“Let’s dine in the great outdoors,” Flame would say as she’d picked the girls up late from school. They’d find their way to a lookout, or a beach or a park, with fish and chips or a pizza, or sometimes just dips and crackers and a bag of carrots. One tub of hummus could go a long way.
Flame even knew how to picnic in the rain. Stella remembered them all whisking away broken glass and rusty bottle tops and hiding under a picnic table in a park as rain plummeted down around them. Even now she couldn’t eat corn chips and salsa without remembering the smell of rain.
She might need something more sophisticated than corn chips for Friday night, but she liked the idea. Would James?
She texted him before she changed her mind.
Picnic dinner on Friday. Meet me at the stall after 7pm.
Looking forward to it, he replied.
Good. So was she. Though strange nerves pulsed through her. That was silly. She was just thanking him for being so nice to her when she’d hurt her ankle, wasn’t she? It wasn’t like it was a date.
...
Next day, Stella closed her stall for a few minutes to visit Donna.
“Need your help, Donna. What’ve you got? I need something really...”
Donna held up her hands for more clues.
“Sexy? Date?”
“Sort of. Something fresh. For a picnic. I want to look ...”
“Sexy.” They laughed. Did she? She did.
“But subtle.” Stella wasn’t ready for another relationship. Or was she? She certainly didn’t want things to move too fast. She’d jumped into becoming Damian’s mistress without a second thought. Surely she was wiser now.
The two of them rummaged, Donna finally holding up a silk scarf in black, purple and crimson. It was much more frivolous than the simple outfits Stella usually wore. When Donna tied it around her waist, Stella did a light twirl and felt the power of the thing. She clicked her fingers, like a flamenco dancer, or Carmen. It had a holiday vibe, and if James felt like a flirt, she’d be ready. So far, he’d only seen her in simple cotton frocks. This could be fun.
At the last minute, she selected a pair of flat slip-ons studded with diamantes, for $30. They were practically plastic but they added some glamour and had plenty of room for her super boot. Then Donna threw in a short black cardigan, beaded, for her shoulders. It was classy. It would sparkle in the dark.
“No, no. You keep it,” she insisted. “Stallholders’ deal.”
“Well, I owe you your pick of earrings, Donna.”
As Stella paid up, Donna frowned.
“You know, Stella, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“Oh?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t say anything. Maybe it’s nothing.”
“Tell me?”
“Well, my cousin works at the council. He tells me things
sometimes. He said he saw something. About your stall.”
“What?” A cold chill washed over Stella in the balmy afternoon.
“Apparently, even with a licence, we can be closed down if one of the permanent traders launches a complaint.”
“But I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“I know you haven’t. It’s probably nothing. Forget I said anything. Have a great night, Stella.”
Stella pushed Donna’s comments out of her mind, dashed around to buy a basket and a couple of glasses and small plates and a platter, then found some delicacies. Finger food. Stuffed olives. Dolmades. Prosciutto. Fancy crackers in a tin from Fortnam and Mason, and creamy blue cheese. Liqueur chocolates. Would it be enough? Sultana grapes. Cold white wine.
They’d need something to sit on. In a homewares store, she headed for the beach towels, thinking she could use one as a picnic rug, deliberating for a moment or two, then snatching up the purple one to match that flamenco scarf cum skirt.
“I adore this one,” said the sales assistant as she rang up the purchase. “Lush purple. The color of seduction.”
Stella laughed, then blushed, and rushed to the bathroom to change, give herself a squirt of perfume and a few dabs of makeup, and pull her hair up into a high bun. Purple Antoinette earrings completed the ensemble. Why not.
...
James turned up at 7pm on the dot, in casual trousers and a fresh cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Casual James was like something out of a David Jones catalogue - designer understated - yet he wore the clothes with complete ease.
His eyes lit up as he took in her face and outfit, lingering in just the right places. Good. It thrilled her, made her heart pump. It was a thank you picnic, and she wasn’t interested in a relationship right now, but that was no reason she shouldn’t enjoy it.
Besides, maybe that was just standard Huntley charm - the way he enticed his customers to pay so much for their baubles. For an instant, she wondered whether Nicole knew about their outing, then pushed her out of her mind.
“So. Where are we going?” he asked, eyes holding hers as if it were the most important question in the world. “I’ve got the convertible.”
“Harborside picnic?” she asked. She tried to hide her own sense of anticipation, to keep her expression neutral, but his smile was intoxicating. How easy it would be to simply lean into him and kiss those lips! If she was honest with herself, spending time with him would be no hardship, none at all.
Not. A. Date.
So now, with James swinging his keys, she was ready.
Adrenalin was surging. The prospect of a picnic had never been more appealing.
“Where to?” he asked. This time when he looked her up and down, and she shivered, she cautioned herself. The man’s brother was a playboy. Maybe they both were. Just a thank you picnic, and she could go back to designing her planet set. Or maybe the season set. That was it. Keep her mind on her higher calling.
“You know this city better than I do. Somewhere scenic. I’d love to see the water, James. I haven’t actually seen much of Sydney. I mostly just make jewelry and sell it...”
It was a beautiful evening, beginning to cool down. She studied his handsome profile as he considered some options. Evidently there were quite a few, and she wondered for a moment just how many picnics he’d had with how many women. Then again, she was hardly a blushing teenager herself anymore. Or was she? Had she ever been this excited about a date? Not a date.
“Been to Parsley Bay?” he asked. “South Head? Beach Paddock? I’d take you to Bondi, but swimming at sunset’s best left to the sharks, and if we’re after somewhere secluded... it’s the opposite.” His eyes were liquid with possibilities. They drifted to her lips.
“You choose,” she said. “After all, this is all about thanking you for caring for me after the accident. Remember?”
He took the picnic basket from her and ushered her towards the convertible, a little vintage E-type Jag, British racing green, auto shabby chic.
“Mother’s,” he offered by way of explanation, as he opened the door for her and she slid in. The smell of leather enveloped her, the walnut dashboard a work of art. Stella ran her hand across its smooth surface as James leapt in on the other side and started up the engine, a throaty throb that sounded like adventure.
“She’s in France,” he added, glancing as her fingers caressed the wood.
How easy it would be to drop her hand to his thigh, she thought. Maybe later.
“Mmm?”
“I promised I’d give it a run now and then, but it’s garaged in Bowral, a couple of hours south. Have to take it back again tomorrow. Feel like a country run?”
“Maybe. I ought to work. Saturdays are quite good.” What she really needed to do was create and sell enough stock to pay off her debt, not goof off with a playboy.
“Pick you up after the lunchtime rush, then?” he said, both hands halting on the wheel, turning to give her his full attention before pulling out of the kerb.
For a moment she remembered Donna’s comment. Was there really another great cloud hanging over her business? Big debt, and now, some question about her stall? She didn’t want to think about it. Not right now.
“Hey. We don’t have to talk about work. It’s a beautiful night and you’re about to show me Sydney Harbour in this fabulous car. Your mother has great taste. You grew up here, didn’t you?”
“Born and bred.”
“Come on then. Give me the tour.”
Chapter 17
James swung them down Ocean Street under a glorious green canopy of plane trees. When they stopped at lights, Stella was acutely aware of his hand resting on the gearstick, so close to her knee. She calmed herself by turning the other way and admiring the classy home wares and fashion on display in the windows of the small shops.
As they accelerated again, her hair escaped the bun in the mild evening air, she clutched it to hold it out of her eyes, and he glanced across at her with a grin.
James’s 10 out of 10 smile was catchy. The corners of her lips floated up in an answering grin, and she threw back her head and laughed. It was lovely being driven around by James in this extraordinary car.
He looked across and laughed along, as they scooted along the edge of Rose Bay past mansions on one side and the yachts and pleasure cruisers on the other.
The car engine sang like Shirley Bassey as James changed gears and they vroomed up the “s” bends of New South Head Road.
...
James couldn’t remember when he’d had so much fun lately. How relaxing it was to leave his work worries behind. He could finally let himself dwell on Stella and that incredible kiss.
“Family home was up that way,” he shouted above the sound of the engine and rush of air, pointing up to the top of the ridge.
“‘Was?’”
“Sold it a few years after my father died, when we’d all left school.”
“Sorry. To hear about your father.” He tensed as her hand touched his thigh, then relaxed. Yes. This Stella...
They’d stopped at a set of lights. He put his own hand over hers, gently.
...
When he lifted it to change gears, its absence was a loss, so she removed hers from his thigh again after giving it a quick squeeze. It was firm, muscled.
“Do you work out?”
“Runner. I don't run as much as I used to do. Ran all the time when I was a kid. Ran to school, ran to soccer training, ran to see friends, to the library, to the shops. Represented the State in cross country for a few years there. I know this area so well. Strange to show it to a newcomer. I keep forgetting to point things out, like the playing fields, the golf course. We’ve already passed my old school.”
Suddenly he pulled off the main road and dived down a side street, past more manicured gardens and fancy fences, then down to a park on the edge of the water.
“Lots of places I could take you, but that ankle’s still sore. You won’t want to walk too far
. This place is good. Great view. Quiet. We’ll have it to ourselves.”
When he shut off the engine the silence roared. She was doing better without crutches now, and he drew her arm around him and put his own supporting arm around her shoulders. Slowly they walked together down a path towards the edge of the water. Crickets stilled and resumed their chirrups again as they passed. At last, with a welcoming whisper, came the hush of gentle waves against the shore.
The cut grass smelled sweet, so far from the traffic. All lit up, a huge cruise ship slid out of Sydney Harbour, lights reflecting in the glossy water in front of them, as it headed back to sea. The breeze brought wafts of jazz from the band on deck.
Stella flicked out the beach towel on a flat patch of soft grass, and James placed the picnic basket on one edge, suddenly grabbing her around the waist and clasping her close. He swayed her to the beat of the band, and when she laughed, he pulled her off her feet and spun her around with him. A good dancer as well! Bonus. Her flouncy scarf-skirt swung out as he set her down.
“Enough of that. I promised to take you to dinner, and really, you’ve taken me. The least I can do is offer you some wine for starters.”
“Sure. Thank you. Need a hand?”
“Screw top. Easy. Margaret River Sauvignon Blanc, sir?”
“Why thank you. Pretty good restaurant.”
“Best table in the house, for you.”
“Best company for sure.”
“Flirt. Fairly limited menu, though. Stuffed olive?”
“Love a stuffed olive.”
“Antipasto? Fancy crackers? Cheese?”
“Love a fancy cracker.”
They touched their glasses together before they sipped.
“Beautiful wine.”
“You’ve had it before?” Dumb question. Playboy family.
“Not this one.”
“I suppose you’ve been to Margaret River.”
...
He had. With Helene, as it happened. She’d complained the whole time she couldn’t get decent phone reception. For him it had been part of the charm of the place, escaping everything else. Just being there.
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