She finally took her seat opposite him at the table. Except now she had no choice but to look at him. She broke the silence, hoping her voice wasn’t as breathless as she felt. ‘I’ve been trying to think what information the letter might contain about Libby.’
‘Ella …’ The low, deep way he said her name confirmed that something wasn’t right. His expression was too grave. His gaze too intent. ‘This isn’t about Libby.’
‘There’s nothing else it could be … unless …’
She hadn’t realised he’d placed the letter facedown until he slid it over to her. She flipped over the envelope and frowned. She didn’t need to see the United Kingdom stamp to know who it was from. She lifted her hand away from the envelope. The letter was addressed to A Quinlivan.
She’d stopped being Arabella the moment she’d boarded the plane home to Australia. Charles had moved on with his life. She’d thought he’d forgotten all about her, let alone about the unfinished business between them. She glanced up.
Saul’s dark gaze hadn’t left her. ‘You look like you know who it’s from.’
She ran a hand through her hair. ‘Charles. The hay bale publicity must have made it to London.’
Saul didn’t answer, only took out his phone. He typed something and then held up the screen. A simple internet search of her name flooded the screen with pictures and links to their hay bale castle.
Saul searched her face before he pushed back his chair. ‘I’ll leave you to read your letter.’
She hadn’t realised she’d grabbed his hand until she felt the heat of his skin beneath her fingertips. ‘Please stay. I’d appreciate the company.’
Saul being there would help keep her emotions in order. Just like when she’d had no plan at Violet’s, she’d draw strength from his calm and steady presence. He’d also not ask her any unwanted questions.
When he glanced at where her hand gripped his, she let go. He settled back into his chair.
She ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. She shouldn’t be surprised to see the impersonal letterhead of Charles’s London lawyer’s firm. Her attention focused on the illegible flourish at the end. At least he’d signed it. That had to count for something.
She started at the beginning.
Dear Arabella,
You are a hard person to find. All these years I’ve been looking for the wrong person in the wrong place. I see you go by your shortened name now.
I’ll keep this brief. Sophie and I have two daughters. Fatherhood has made me reconsider some of my past actions and hence the reason for this letter.
The accident wasn’t your fault. I hope you don’t still believe it is but I fear that could still be the case. You always took your responsibilities very seriously. I need to set the record straight about my intentions that night as well as my relationship with Sophie.
Arabella, I wasn’t intending to ask you to be my wife. I had considered your reservations and could see their merit. I was instead intending to talk to you about us going our separate ways because, as you said, we did come from different worlds. I’m not proud of never revealing this in the aftermath of what happened but I believe you’ll forgive me if I wasn’t thinking straight.
As for Sophie, the truth is we didn’t reconnect when she came to visit me in hospital. I’d met her three months before at a London fundraiser.
All of this might come as a shock, or might now be inconsequential, but I wanted to set the record straight. I did love you. You just didn’t love me in the same way. I was right to set you free.
Yours,
Charles
Ella stared at the final paragraph before reading it again. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to feel as she read the letter but she’d never have expected to have a moment of intense clarity. Charles had put into words what she’d never admitted to herself. She hadn’t loved him in the same way.
All these years she’d put their relationship on a pedestal and envisioned the perfect future they would have had if she hadn’t been so young and foolish. It was as though the fog of memories and heavy emotion had lifted and she could finally think clearly. The reality was their relationship had been far from a fairytale.
Without meeting Saul’s eyes, she slid the letter over to him. ‘I’d like to know what you think.’
While Saul read the letter, she leaned down to stroke Duke’s soft grey-and-white back. ‘You’d never have liked Charles. He hated dogs.’
Once he’d finished reading, Saul laid the letter on the table. ‘Let me guess … Charles didn’t like you getting your hands dirty being a vet.’
‘I just thought he was set in his ways since he was older. And I was naive … I thought he’d eventually accept me for who I was and be okay about waiting until I was ready to settle down.’
‘That’s not being naive. Any relationship should be about give and take. As for Charles wanting to set the record straight, this letter’s more about clearing his conscience.’
‘We didn’t part on the best of terms. The day he announced he was with Sophie, I flew home. I was devastated that he hadn’t told me we were over, let alone that he’d moved on.’
‘You’re right. Duke wouldn’t have liked him.’
Her fingers shook as shock kicked in along with self-doubt, guilt and anger. She’d maintained a constant vigil beside Charles’s bed while he was in a coma. She’d visited every day afterwards, even when some days to walk had been agony. All that time he’d already been with Sophie. No wonder her perfume had lingered in his hospital room. As for his response that he was tired and had to sleep when she’d asked if anything was going on between them, he’d had a chance to be honest with her and he hadn’t.
The kitchen walls closed in around her. She came to her feet, needing air and to move. She had some more boxes to pack for Violet.
Saul too stood. ‘Ella?’
She gave a laugh that even to her own ears sounded hollow. ‘You know what else he didn’t like … my shortened name.’
Saul slid his hands into his jeans pockets before he answered. ‘Charles wasn’t the right man for you.’
‘He mightn’t have set me free when I left, but this letter does, even if it was written to serve his own interests.’ The tremor in her fingers spread and she wrapped her arms around her chest to stop herself from shaking. ‘What will take me a little while to process is that everything I thought to be true wasn’t. And why couldn’t I see that?’
‘Because you look for the decency in people.’
‘Which is nothing but a liability.’ She bit her lip as her voice wavered.
She’d lost almost five years holding on to a dream she should have let go. She’d held on so hard to the perfect version of her relationship when the reality was she and Charles weren’t good together. So much for being in control of her life.
Saul’s arm lifted and he smoothed the hair that had fallen on her cheek behind her ear. His touch barely brushed her skin but the care in his gesture only reminded her of how, when broken and adrift, Charles hadn’t even held her hand. Her foolishness extended far beyond not trusting her instincts about him and Sophie.
She didn’t make a sound or move, but Saul must have sensed her composure crumbling. His arms enfolded her and he drew her to him. Surprise held her still and then she relaxed, resting her head in the curve in his neck. She fit against him in a way she never had with Charles. Emotion formed a tight wedge in her chest but she refused to let her vision blur. She’d cried enough for what she’d thought she’d lost. She wasn’t shedding another tear.
Saul’s hand came up to clasp her nape to hold her closer. He smelled of soap and sun-dried cotton. He felt warm, solid, real and safe. The unsteadiness of her knees now had nothing to do with Charles’s letter and everything to do with the man holding her. She could spend forever in his arms and it still wouldn’t be enough. It wasn’t just her hormones but also her feelings that wanted to renegotiate their friendship agreement.
She stiffened
and edged away. The irony was that the one man who didn’t find her attractive was the one man she was drawn to. But as his arms fell away from around her, in his eyes she caught a flicker, a glint, of something that could only be described as need. Even though the spark disappeared as quickly as it appeared, relief rushed through her. She’d never been so happy to know that a man was aware of her. Saul wasn’t as immune as he appeared.
She took a step backwards. ‘Thank you. I’m feeling less overwhelmed now.’
She rubbed her hands over her jeans, feeling the outline of her scar through the denim. She’d spoken the truth. Her feelings regarding the letter were subsiding. Except it was the emotions associated with the man standing grave and silent in front of her that were making a mockery of her composure. She needed the conversation to end before she said or did something they’d both regret. Saul hadn’t yet asked about the accident and she couldn’t take the risk that he might. Not even Violet knew all the details.
To prove she’d pulled herself together, she sat at the table and took a sip of her coffee.
He too resumed his seat. ‘You know where I am if you need to talk.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Charles wasn’t only not right for you, Ella, he simply didn’t deserve you.’
She took another mouthful of coffee to hide that the sincerity in his words touched her as though he’d again held her close. It meant so much that he believed she deserved better than Charles.
When she replied, self-preservation kept her voice light. Saul couldn’t know how much his support moved her. ‘Which is exactly what I’ll be saying in my one and only reply.’
Could the afternoon drag any slower? Saul rubbed at his tight forehead as he waited for the kettle to boil for his coffee.
It was only the day after Ella had received Charles’s letter but it felt like an eternity since he’d held her. He’d barely slept before the guinea fowls had woken him. And now his thoughts continued to race like a bison bolting out of a squeeze chute.
Not only had he initiated physical contact, his restraint had cracked wide open. The feel of Ella’s silken hair tangled around his fingers and her soft breaths feathering over his skin had tipped his common sense over the edge. Her dignified strength and her ability to find humour amidst her distress had stripped away the rest of his willpower.
When she’d slipped out of his arms he’d been powerless to repress how much she affected him. He could only hope she hadn’t read too much into what his expression would have revealed. If she had, it was critical he reinforce the message that she was safe with him. Now, more than ever, she needed a friend.
Realising the kettle had clicked off, he turned to pour boiling water into his mug. He’d been so emotionally invested in making sure she was okay, he’d rendered himself vulnerable. Her anguish at finding out that things hadn’t been what they seemed had only magnified his own pain of having made a similar discovery. His instincts had been spot on. He and Ella were no good for each other. But it was too late to retreat, he couldn’t desert her when she needed his friendship.
While last night appeared to bring closure about her relationship with Charles, Ella had said herself she now had some things to work through. He also didn’t miss the way she hadn’t made any reference to the accident or her error in judgement that had resulted in her scar. There was still a longer version of her past that she wasn’t yet comfortable sharing.
He returned the kettle to its base and glanced over to where his phone lay on the bench. He couldn’t give in to the need to message her. He’d already called that morning before she’d left for work. She’d sounded tired but otherwise her tone had been buoyant and words cheerful. He also hadn’t picked up on any awkwardness or regret about talking to him or accepting the comfort he’d offered.
He sighed and went to cut a small slice of carrot cake from the piece he’d earlier taken out of the freezer and thawed. What he should be doing with this Ella-free time was working out how to guarantee his self-restraint wouldn’t splinter again. For the rest of the afternoon he’d concentrate on farm work and hope that when he wasn’t thinking about Ella, his subconscious would repair his focus.
He put the sliver of cake in Duke’s dog bowl. Duke wolfed it down and looked at him for more. When he didn’t move, the Australian shepherd padded across to the bench to fix his bright blue stare on the remaining piece.
He cut Duke another tiny portion. ‘Just as well this is the last of Ella’s cake, otherwise we’d have to start jogging twice a day.’
Saul finished what was left of the slice and savoured the final mouthful. Carrot cake had always been a favourite as it reminded him of laughter-filled birthdays. His mother had used a recipe that had been handed down through her family.
He carried his plate and coffee mug over to the bench. The water troughs had been cleaned and the gator pressure washed so the next thing was to move the water tank that had blown over the fence from the small hobby farm on his western side.
He’d sent through a photo to the city-based owner, who only used the farm as a weekender, and he agreed the tank was irreparable. The almost new corrugated iron tank had been empty and not tied down. In the recent wild winds the tank had rolled down the hill, over the boundary fence and had come to a stop against a gum tree. Thankfully there hadn’t been any bison nearby.
By the time he’d used the tractor to drag the tank to the front paddock ready for a local waste management company to collect it for recycling, the sky was more orange than blue. The cool change had been superseded by another heatwave and while the sun had lowered, the temperature hadn’t followed suit. After he’d fed the horses and bison, he headed inside to swap his jeans for rugby shorts and his everyday boots for an old pair. Instead of cooling off like he usually did in the pool, he’d take Cisco and Amber for an early evening swim in the river.
Riding Cisco bareback, he led Amber past the sheds towards the laneway. Duke briefly disappeared into the garden to run along the fence line when Ella arrived home. Saul resisted the urge to text to see how her day had been. Not thinking about her for the afternoon had granted him some mental white space, even if he felt far from confident his control was again watertight.
Instead of following the boundary fence that separated his place from Ella’s, they rode along a track that took them through the centre of Windermere and to a sandy-banked section of the river. He’d swum Cisco in the slow-flowing water before and the gelding’s ears pricked forward when he realised where they were heading. Saul smiled. He’d finally found something the pinto enjoyed besides seeing Ella.
Once at the river, Cisco and Amber didn’t baulk as they walked into the water. Duke splashed beside them. When the flow deepened, Saul lengthened the lead rope to allow Amber space so she would avoid being kicked when Cisco needed to swim. By the time they’d crossed the river and pebbles again clattered beneath the horses’ hooves, the cold water had stripped the heat from their skin. Amber bent to lick the shallows that rippled around her feet. The buckskin enjoyed cooling off as much as Cisco did.
They swam back across to the small sandy beach. Instead of returning home the way they’d come, they took the scenic route through the shade of the red river gums. A kookaburra cackled to signal he wasn’t impressed they were passing through his territory.
Feeling the wet cotton on his back dry in the hot wind, Saul headed the horses towards a section of the river where they could take a final swim before the ride home. They’d rounded the bend when a familiar strangled goat bleat caused a nearby flock of galahs to take flight.
Ahead of them, Nutmeg ran along the trunk of a fallen branch that had been dropped by a gum tree to conserve water. Beside the river edge Ella’s running shoes sat side by side while she floated on her back in the shallows. Cinnamon stood on the bank, chewing her cud. When Nutmeg caught sight of the horses, she bleated again and leapt to the ground.
Ella sat up and smoothed wet hair from off her face before giving Saul a wave. He st
opped Cisco and Amber and whistled to Duke. Cinnamon had swung around to face the Australian shepherd and watched him, head lowered. If Duke took another step closer he’d find out just how hard her horns were.
As Ella waded out of the river, rivulets ran over the tanned skin of her bare arms and legs. He didn’t miss the way she made sure the hem of her shorts was pulled low enough to cover her scar or how her wet tank top and running shorts clung like a second skin.
Duke sped towards her. After giving the Australian shepherd his usual affectionate greeting and collecting her shoes, Ella walked over to the horses. Unlike when they’d last surprised each other at the river, this time Ella’s smile reached her eyes. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’
He returned her smile. ‘What are the odds?’
‘In weather like this, there’s no better place to be.’ She bent to pull on her socks. ‘The horses look like they enjoyed their swim.’
‘They did.’ Despite her relaxed appearance, fatigue stole the colour from her cheeks. ‘Day went well?’
She struggled to pull a shoe over her wet sock. ‘It did. I also made it to the post office to send Charles his letter.’ She looked down to tie her shoelace. ‘I feel like I have my life back. But as liberating as it feels, it might take a little while to get used to.’
‘It’ll feel normal again soon.’ He kept his tone casual. All he wanted to do was kiss away the weariness tensing her mouth. ‘Like a ride back?’
She glanced over to where Cinnamon and Nutmeg wandered along the path home, happy with their own company. ‘That would be great. I’m not sure where my energy’s gone.’
Saul slid off Cisco. He’d swap to riding Amber as the mare only wore a headcollar, while Cisco had on a bridle.
The pinto whickered as Ella went over to stroke the gelding’s nose. ‘It’s you and me again, buddy.’ Her gaze flickered to Saul. ‘I might need a leg-up.’
Saul draped Amber’s lead rope over her neck. The mare wouldn’t go anywhere while he helped Ella onto the gelding’s back.
‘All set?’ he asked, making sure his expression didn’t reflect how aware he was of her. No matter how strong his willpower he couldn’t blank out the way Ella’s hair dried in loose curls and perfumed the air with the fragrance of cherry blossoms.
The Boundary Fence (A Woodlea Novel, #7) Page 17
