“She was great,” he answers wistfully. “The best mother I could have asked for. You would have liked her.” He turns his whole body so he is facing me. “She had the same optimism and joy for life that I see in you.”
“I wish I could have met her.”
We are standing so close I can hear him breathing. It quickens, and I wonder if he is feeling as nervous as I am. He leans forward, bending his head, and I realize he is about to kiss me.
There is a polite cough. “Excuse me, sir, are you ready for the next course?”
James squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head sardonically. “This guy has the lousiest timing,” he whispers.
“No arguments here.”
Chapter Thirty
The early sun on my face wakes me. Last night, I fell asleep with the doors wide open, the Milky Way my nightlight. Rolling over in bed, I stretch gingerly, open one eye, and smile. It wasn’t all a dream. I really am here, in this tree house, having the most wonderful experience of my life.
After making myself a cup of green tea with lemon, I wander out to the deck to watch the sunrise. There is a hanging egg chair and a couple of lounge chairs, and although I like the idea of curling into the egg chair, I worry I may have difficulty getting back out, so I choose the lounge chair, curling up on the cream-colored cushions.
The leafy foliage of the forest is rustling gently in the morning breeze, the musky smell of nature heavy in the air. There is no other sound apart from birdsong as the dawn chorus stirs. I close my eyes and reminisce about the night before and how perfect it was. After we could eat no more, we sat on the veranda in front of the dining room, discussing everything and nothing under a sky so beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Tucked up here, away from civilization, there was no light pollution to ruin the view or hide the sheer magnitude of stars. It was just breathtaking. He told me more about his mother, although he was reticent to discuss his life in the aftermath of her death. I wanted to sit with him and talk all night, but he insisted we both turn in, separately, just after eleven. He said we needed our sleep for the day ahead, but wouldn’t tell me why. I thought the curiosity would keep me awake but I slept easily and quickly. A full stomach, a comfortable bed, and fresh country air will do that to you.
When my tea is long gone and the cup has cooled, I wander back inside and check my phone. It is only just after six-thirty, so I decide to have another spa bath. May as well get as much use out of it as I can while I’m here, I figure. I have been in it for half an hour, reading one of the books off the shelf in the room—left by a previous guest, I think, judging by the well-loved state of it—when there is a knock on the door. Immediately I feel delirious and light-headed. James. I wrap a towel around myself and walk as quickly as I can to the door, pausing before I open it to take a deep breath and compose myself. Then I open it, a wide smile on my face.
“Good mor—Oh.”
It’s not him. My smile slips slightly.
“Good morning.” Mary smiles. “I hope you slept well?”
“Yes. I did, thank you. The bed is very comfortable.”
“Good. Mr. Gable wanted me to pass on a message to you.”
My heart quickens at her words, but with fear this time. “A message? Why? Where is he?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything other than I am to give you this.” She passes me an envelope.
“Thank you.” I take it, desperate to open it and find out what is going on, but I wait, impatiently, until she has started to walk away. Then I rip open the back of the envelope, letting it drop to the floor as I unfold the piece of paper within. There is handwriting scrawled across it, James’s, I assume, although I’ve never seen his before. The letters are large and brisk, no nonsense. Like him.
Dear Ava,
I know I’m probably driving you a little crazy with all the surprises by now, but bear with me; because I have one more. When you are ready, go to reception. They’ll tell you what to do from there.
James xx
An hour later I am as ready as I’ll ever be, and, even if I do say so myself, looking pretty damn good. Because I have no idea what he has planned, I have chosen a dress I feel is midway between casual and dressy. A soft bluey-gray maxi, it is long and ruffled in layers. I feel feminine and do a little twirl in front of the mirror. Over the top I wear a three-quarter-sleeved cropped denim jacket. My hair I let dry naturally. There’s not much I can do with it myself anyway since it grew back after the chemo; it is too wild and strong willed.
I apply my makeup, being more generous with the bronzer than usual. It makes me look like I have just returned from a week in the Caribbean. Tanned. Healthier. Radiant. A flick of eyeliner, two layers of mascara, and I am done. Natural, but subtly enhanced. It isn’t anywhere near as glamorous as I look under Kelly’s skilled hands, but it is me, and it will do. I run some serum through my hair to tame any frizz the humidity might bring and I am good to go.
Walking slowly down the steps outside, I have to resist the urge to wave regally, because I feel rather like Cinderella making her royal way down the grand staircase. Craig is waiting at the bottom. He smiles when he sees me.
“Wow. You look absolutely stunning, Miss Green.”
“Thanks, but please, call me Ava. You’re making me feel old.” I check to make sure Mary isn’t within earshot and lower my voice conspiratorially. “How was the wine?”
“Delicious, thank you.”
“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t wasted and that someone enjoyed it.”
“Oh we did, very much so.”
I hear a crackling voice, distorted, and look around, puzzled. “Who was that?”
He unclips a walkie-talkie from his waist belt. “That was Heath, our caretaker guy. He also does maintenance and other jobs as required.” He holds the walkie-talkie up to his mouth. “Hey, Heath, you ready yet? We’re out front.”
We both watch it expectantly. There’s no answer. Craig pushes the button again. “Heath, are you there?”
Finally, we hear a crackle as the reply comes back. “Roger. Heath here. You didn’t say ‘over and out.’”
Craig rolls his eyes and pushes the button. “If I stop talking just assume I’m finished.”
Crackle. “You have to say ‘over and out.’ It’s proper walkie-talkie protocol.”
“Sorry about this,” Craig apologizes to me. “He can be a bit over the top about some stuff. Too long out here in the wilderness, I think. Can you just excuse me one moment?” He turns his back to me and pushes the button, speaking in a hushed, exasperated voice. “Yeah, in a cop show maybe. Just get around here, will you?”
Silence.
Craig sighs and pushes the button again. “Oh my God, dude. You’re so annoying. Hurry up. The guest is waiting. OVER AND OUT.”
Crackle. Then in a smug voice, “Roger. Be there in two. Over and out.”
Craig turns back around. “He’s on his way.”
“So I heard.”
“Don’t worry; he’s a good driver.”
“Driver?”
A 4WD pulls up behind me, its tires kicking up dirt. The driver gets out and runs around to open the passenger door. I reel back a little. He is huge. Massive, but not in a fat way. More in a The Rock, Dwayne Johnson kind of way. “Welcome aboard, Miss Green.”
I look from the vehicle to him and back again. “Ava, please,” I say automatically. “I’m sorry, you want me to get in there?”
He nods.
“Why?”
He looks at Craig for help, who steps forward. “It’s all been organized by Ja—Mr. Gable.”
“And just where is Mr. Gable?”
“Hop in and I’ll take you to him.”
Climbing into a vehicle clearly used for maintenance and grounds work while wearing a beautiful dress that you want to keep clean for as long as possible is no easy feat. I spend a good three minutes trying to figure out where to put my hands and feet so I’m touching as little of the vehicle as possible, and in the
end Craig helps by holding up my dress, while averting his eyes for modesty purposes, while I boost myself up and onto the seat that Heath has covered with a towel.
“I take it your celebrity guests aren’t treated to this mode of transport?” I say, eyebrows arched.
“Oh, no. This is a special one-off favor for Ja—Mr. Gable. Have fun.” Craig grins, slamming the door and standing well back.
“Buckle up,” says Heath, who is back in the driver’s seat. “This might get a little bumpy.”
He’s not wrong. The following journey takes forty-five long minutes, thirty of which are technically driven on what could be called gravel roads, but which are littered with potholes and rocks the size of my head that must be dodged. The last fifteen we are in open paddocks. Heath has to stop every few minutes to open gates, drive through them, and then get out and shut them again. In one paddock we startle a herd of animals who blink at us vacantly through long, shaggy brown hair as we drive slowly through to the other side.
“What are they?” I ask Heath. “I mean, I’m assuming they’re some kind of…cow?” I say the last word uncertainly. I’ve never seen animals like these before.
“Highland cattle. Scottish breed.”
“They’re so fluffy.”
“They are.”
“Oh, there’s a baby one; oh, how cute is that?” I clap my hands together in delight. Heath arches an eyebrow as if he’s now seen and heard it all. A thought occurs to me and I blanch.
“I didn’t eat one of those last night, did I?”
“No,” he reassures me. “This land isn’t part of the resort. These cattle are farmed by the owner of this station, but as long as we leave it as we find it we’re allowed to use it for access.”
I look sideways at him. “Access to what?”
He nods, looking directly ahead. “To that, your destination.”
I turn my head to where he is looking just as the truck crests a last little hill. My hands fly to my mouth as I give a sharp intake of breath. “Oh!”
Just below us, carved into the land by time and nature, is a basin, with a sharp cliff rising steeply behind it. In the bottom of the basin is a round little lake. It is a rich and lustrous green like the forest and immediately I want to dive into its depths and feel the water on my skin. The lake, the fern-covered cliffs, the little pebbly beach where the ripples sweep up on; it is all majestic and captivating, and yet it pales in comparison to the star of the show that is demanding my attention.
“Pretty neat, huh?” Heath says beside me. “A hidden gem.”
Cascading off the cliffs is a waterfall. White, turbulent waters tumbling from a stream on the top, thirty meters down to the small lake below. It throws up spray where it hits the lake, and fleeting rainbows burn bright before fading away.
I am so caught up in the wonder of it I don’t see James approach my door, so when it opens I scream and jump, clutching my chest.
“Sorry, it’s just me,” he says soothingly. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”
“James, what are you…how did you find this…where are we…?”
“You like it?”
“What do you think?”
“I knew you’d appreciate it.”
“It’s…stunning,” I say, floundering for words. “How did you know it was here?”
He holds out his hand to help me down from the truck. When I step onto the ground and straighten up, he looks me up and down and his grip on my hand tightens.
“When I was first here,” he explains, “Heath showed me this place and I’ve never been able to forget it. The staff come here in the summer to relax and cool off.”
“They’re lucky. It’s just beautiful.”
“It is,” he agrees. “But you’re more beautiful. In fact, you look even more beautiful than I remember.”
“You only saw me last night,” I joke, flushing underneath his intense look. He doesn’t laugh back, just stares at me intently. Finally, he breaks away to turn and sweep a hand around the view. “Ever since I left this place I’ve wanted to come back with my camera and try and capture it. And I thought, why not photograph you here too?”
My heart drops, as does my face.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “You don’t like the idea?”
I shake my head and look down, shrugging disappointedly. “No, I do. I just…I didn’t realize all of this, the weekend, was all for the magazine.”
He steps forward and puts one hand on my shoulder, the other cupping my chin and gently nudging it upward so I am looking into his face. “No,” he says firmly. “You’ve got it wrong. This is not for an article for the magazine. This is for you. It’s all for you. Everything. Ever since that day in the field, when we swam in the stream together, I’ve wanted to share this place with you. I can’t explain why; it’s just an urge I’ve felt.”
I swallow hard. “Well, thank you. For sharing it with me.”
He takes a deep breath. “Ava. I want to photograph you here, in this place, for your family. So they’ll have it once you’re…” His voice chokes and he doesn’t finish the sentence. He takes a deep breath. “And for me. But only if you want me to. Only if you’ll let me.”
I can’t trust myself to speak so I nod, and he exhales a sigh of relief and finally starts to smile.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jacket removed, I am standing on a small outcrop of land that looms out over the small lake. This close, the sound of the water on its journey over rock is loud and almost musical in its rhythm. Heath has departed, with the promise to be back in a few hours. Before he left he unloaded a picnic basket and blanket, which he has left under the shade of a large native tree. James is checking his equipment, which he had set up before I arrived. Apparently mine was not Heath’s first trip out here today.
“Sorry,” James calls. “Won’t be too much longer, I promise. I wanted to have this all ready when you got here but I got caught up exploring the place again.”
“Can’t blame you for that.”
He has more camera equipment this time. A tripod is set up, with his camera perched on top. A small portable table is nearby with an open laptop that has cables connecting it to the camera. He clicks off a few shots and checks them on his screen. “OK, we’re good to go. Wait, can you move to the right a little?”
I peer down. “Not unless you want to photograph me swimming in this dress.”
“As artistic as that sounds, I’m trying to keep you out of the water until after I’ve taken my photos. I know how much you like swimming. Do you think you can wait until I have the perfect shot, at least?”
“I’ll try. Can’t promise, though. I don’t like to make promises I might not be able to keep. And there’s no such thing as perfect.”
He straightens up. “OK. Pretend I’m not here and just move around as much as you can in that spot. Whatever feels natural. Slowly, though—I want to capture as many organic moments as I can.”
I look down at the water. Up close, it is even greener than it looked from the top of the hill. It swirls and eddies languorously, hinting at the hidden depths below. Another moment, another memory. What happens when I am gone? Do my memories cease to exist along with me? If so, does that wipe the moment from the memory of the world? There must be some endless, universal memory bank of moments. There has to be. Otherwise we are all just fleeting blips on a machine, gone in seconds, forgotten, no trace left behind. In a hundred years’ time, who will know I stood here, on this spot? Life is gone all too soon; the years go too fast. We fool ourselves into believing we are important, and we place too much emphasis on the wrong things. But therein lies the cruel irony. It takes learning your time is up to appreciate the things that, or people who, do actually deserve your time.
In the end, none of it matters. We all meet the same fate eventually, we just approach it through different means and at different times.
I squeeze my eyes shut but the tears spill over anyway. I would give anything, anything, for more t
ime. More time with the knowledge I now have. Oh, what a life I would live. I wouldn’t spend fifty years of days in an office, surrounded by four walls, or fifty years of nights in a dingy little flat, surrounded by a different set of walls. No. I’d live a million sunrises in a million places.
I don’t hear James approach until he is behind me.
“Ava?”
I exhale slowly, trembling, trying to hide the pain I am in. “Did you get your perfect photo?”
“No. There’s something missing.”
I wipe my eyes. “Oh. What’s that?”
“Me.”
I turn around. The pain I feel is reflected in his eyes when he looks at me. He is breathing hard, his face tortured. When he says my name it is more of a question. “Ava.”
We meet roughly as our bodies collide like stars. His hands curl into my hair as my own find his hips. His face stops millimeters away, his eyes questioning. Then his expression changes as he finds his answer in mine, and he pulls me in hungrily, kissing me like I have never been kissed before. He moans softly, his lips firmly against mine as we try desperately to be as close to each other as we can. It’s not enough. It could never be enough. The waterfall thunders in the background as I start pushing his jacket open, trying to free his arms. He shrugs it off, and I furiously set to work on his shirt buttons, all without breaking apart from our kiss.
I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life. I never even knew this feeling existed. Not like this, so raw and animalistic that I feel like snarling with my frustration. How could I have nearly died without experiencing this? When love and lust combine to ignite something so spectacularly brilliant that it quietens all else, and two people come together to burn brightly in the here and now.
I react to him with a passionate savagery I didn’t know I was capable of, ripping open his shirt because unbuttoning it is taking too long. But then,
Photos of You Page 17
