A Southern Star (21 page)

“You never answered my questions,” Christie burst out. “And how was I to know…” She broke off, thinking of Blake’s tactful concern about her budgeting the day before, feeling like a fool. “Who organised that hotel in Dunedin?” she asked suddenly, suspicion filling her.

“It was through the winery.” He didn’t answer her question directly, infuriating her further.
 

“Who at the winery?” Christie said stubbornly.
 

“One of my business partners knows the owners,” Blake said quietly. “I’ve never stayed there before but I got a really great rate, because the winery supplies their restaurant,” he added, holding his breath, wondering what else she would ask about, relieved as she remained silent. He continued speaking, trying to explain. “I don’t tell a lot of people.” Blake looked at her as he spoke. “Straight away, I mean,” he amended, his voice rough as he thought of the girls who had thrown themselves at him; he sensed that Christie was by contrast extremely upset.
 

She was looking up at him now, her eyes snapping with anger. “Protecting yourself from gold diggers?”

“Yes,” Blake said honestly.
 

“So now it’s you that doesn’t trust me?” Without another word, Christie walked across the car park and into the café, still stunned by his words, embarrassed by the assumptions she had made and his failure to correct them, to be honest with her.
 

Scott jumped up from the table, came over to her as she walked into the café. “Where’s Blake?” he asked. “Getting something from the car,” she said briefly. “Mel and I want to get breakfast for you both,” he continued. Suddenly, Christie became tired of the pretence, of Blake’s careful fielding of Mel’s questions about the baby.

“Order Blake bacon and eggs, please,” she said, automatically thinking of what he had ordered the morning before. “But, Scott, Blake and I…Mel has the wrong idea. So I’ll get my own breakfast. Thanks anyway.”
 

Scott looked at her, clearly shocked. He recovered quickly, grinned at her. “Another breakfast won’t break the bank, Christie. You’ll need something to fortify you for the hours of questioning ahead. What do you want?” Christie smiled at his joking reference to Mel’s ceaseless questions, looking at the menu, still trying to gather her thoughts. She looked up as she heard Scott ordering the meals and side dishes, speaking without thinking in her confusion. “With fried eggs for one of the meals, please. And a long black. Do you make them with a double shot?”
 

Scott turned to her, a slight smile on his face. “Would Blake like sausages and mushrooms, Christie?”
 

“Just sausages, thanks,” she replied. “He doesn’t like mushrooms,” she added, thinking of his comments to the waitress the day before, realising too late what she was revealing.

Scott watched her silently for several moments. “And for you?” he said eventually.

“Just toast, please,” Christie said, flustered at Scott’s perception, hoping he would not say anything to Blake.
 

Scott smiled at her, a genuine, friendly smile. “Are you sure that’s enough for you?” he asked courteously. “I should warn you that Mel can be very determined.”

Blake walked up to the counter, hearing Scott ordering toast for Christie, seeing her smile at Scott, both of them looking like they were sharing a joke. Blake took a deep breath, not wanting to mistake friendliness for something more, antagonise Christie further, making a conscious effort to maintain a casual tone as he spoke to Scott.

“I’ve ordered you a full cooked breakfast, mate,” Scott replied, not looking at Christie. “Thanks,” Blake replied. “Any chance of fried eggs with that? And a long black?”
 

“Under control,” Scott said, his mouth twitching slightly. Blake turned to Christie, feeling strangely excluded, like Scott and Christie were in on a private joke.
 

Blake noticed Christie was slightly flushed; his eyes narrowed as he spoke. “Christie, surely you should order more than just toast.” He picked up a menu, scanned it, trying to camouflage his emotion with action. “Order something else, you just had toast and a salad yesterday. And you didn’t finish dinner either.” His eyes, suddenly cool, met hers.

Christie’s colour deepened as she thought of the superb room service meal, the reason she hadn’t finished it. She found her voice. “Toast is fine, Blake,” she said, thinking of the intermittent nausea earlier that morning, the lack of sleep, the way she had unintentionally revealed her knowledge of Blake’s food preferences to Scott.
 

Christie lingered briefly at the counter before walking over to the table, smiling politely at Mel, still thinking about what Blake had said in the car park. Suddenly she could not wait to get back to Arrowtown to see Lisa, to have some time to herself. Her mind was in turmoil; nothing seemed as she had thought. Christie’s hand unconsciously curved around her stomach as she tried to focus on the baby, her plans for the future, the contracting work she had been offered.

Blake watched Christie walk away from the counter, took out his own wallet, thanking Scott for paying for the breakfasts and coffees, checking what Christie had ordered to drink. Scott shrugged; clearly Christie had not ordered anything. Blake turned back to the waitress behind the till. “And add on one hot chocolate,” he said, glancing at the fridge displaying the drinks, recognising the juice he had seen Christie order the day before. “With extra marshmallows, please. And one of those bottles of juice on the second shelf. The one with apple.”

The waitress offered to bring the juice over with the hot drinks; Blake turned to Scott, conscious of the other man watching him intently. “What?” Blake asked impatiently, his emotions close to the surface.
 

Scott shrugged casually, smiled at Blake. “Nothing, mate. May as well sit down with Mel and Christie.”

Blake walked over to the table with Scott, still wanting to talk to Christie, feeling ill at ease. He searched for something to say to Christie, some way of testing the waters, heard Scott easily start a conversation with Christie, heard her asking Scott questions about the interview he had attended. Scott talked easily, openly, about his hopes of finding work closer to Clyde rather than around Dunedin, explaining the other positions he had applied for.

Blake looked over at Christie as Scott started talking about Naseby and St Bathans, watching Christie’s sparkling eyes, her interested smile as Scott explained the renowned Central Otago landscape they would be driving through shortly. Jealousy surged through him as he acknowledged he had wanted to tell Christie himself about the places Scott was mentioning, had planned the route for that purpose.

The drinks arrived, followed by the meals; Scott saw Christie’s eyes fly to Blake’s face and back to the juice and the hot chocolate, heard her uncertain thank you, directed at them both. “Blake got those for you, Christie,” Scott said easily. He turned to Blake. “How is your long black, Blake?” Blake looked at his friend suspiciously, willing to bet Scott was winding him up, knowing his friend’s irrepressible sense of humour.
 

“Great,” he replied. “They made it with a double shot anyway, even though I forgot to check.” Blake saw Christie looking fixedly at the small packets of jam, could have sworn she was embarrassed for some reason. Scott said nothing further, started to eat his cooked breakfast.

Without realising it, Christie became quiet, ate her toast automatically, tuning out Mel’s small talk, giving only the most minimal replies. Christie was relieved when Scott and Blake suggested getting back on the road, feeling better after the toast and hot chocolate, intending to take the fruit juice with her.

Still preoccupied, Christie walked back to Blake’s car; he casually walked next to her, opening the car door for her. Blake remained standing close to Christie, careful not to touch her, one hand remaining millimetres from her back, one hand almost at her elbow, waiting until she had climbed into the seat. “Thanks,” she muttered ungraciously, bitterly aware he had not touched her at all, still confused by his secretiveness. Blake tried and failed to stop himself comparing Christie’s tone now to the tone she had used while thanking Scott before breakfast.

“Do you want to be left in peace?” he asked, reading her perfectly, his voice rough as he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes.
 

“Yes,” Christie said, realising Scott and Mel were approaching the car, averting her eyes.
 

Blake used his body to shield her from their view, his hands braced on the door frame. “Christie—”

“Forget it,” she said defiantly, telling herself she didn’t care what Blake said. He raised his hands slightly in a gesture of surrender, pushed the door shut without another word. Christie felt as though her heart was breaking; she focused on the road, determined not to let tears overwhelm her. She could hear Scott and Mel talking in the back seat, Blake’s voice as he occasionally joined in. She heard Scott comment on the scenery, looked out the window with real interest, amazed at the barren, alien landscape, the tussock and undulating hills in the distance.

Christie glanced towards Blake; he was gazing rigidly ahead, not looking at her, barely acknowledging Scott’s suggestion they detour to St Bathans to show Christie the Blue Lake and the historic main street. Silently, Blake indicated to turn off on the road to St Bathans, eventually pulled into the car park opposite the hotel, turned off the engine. Scott and Mel jumped out of the car, keen to stretch their legs. Christie moved to open the door.

“Just wait a second,” Blake spoke quietly.
 

Christie looked around in disbelief. “I’m not an invalid, Blake. Just because I slipped once—”
 

“Take it easy, Christie,” he replied, his voice low. She continued to open the door, climbed out of the car, conscious Blake was watching her. Christie wandered around, staying close to the car park, enjoying the fresh air, drinking the juice, trying to cool down. She started to relax, walked down towards the lake, admiring the crystal blue colour, reading the information boards.

The long car trip had only deepened her acute awareness of Blake. His reactions, his voice, only intensified her realisation that she was in love with him, made her think again of the night before.
Blake holding her, stroking her, kissing… Stop it,
she told herself, gazing across the lake.

Mel’s words, her casual questions, had shocked Christie deeply, made her realise Blake had told her virtually nothing about himself, kept parts of his life totally secret. Her mind played over the lunch with his family, the disconnection that was apparent despite his parents’ warmth towards him, and her.
I only hope Scott doesn’t tell Blake I faithfully ordered him his ideal breakfast
, Christie thought to herself wryly, furious with herself over the slip.
If he does I’ll just have to say something about remembering what he had for breakfast the day before,
she thought, acknowledging to herself the way she had unconsciously stored up every piece of information Blake had told her about himself, noticed and remembered his preferences.

Christie tensed as she heard Blake say her name, spun round to face him. “We’ll need to get back on the road soon,” he said. She nodded silently, started walking back to the car. “Unless there’s anywhere else Scott wants to show you?”
 

Christie turned back to face him. “Why don’t you run off and find a shop assistant?” she retorted, her eyes chips of blue ice. “And don’t lecture
me
about trust.” She saw his face flush as he stood watching her, clearly uncomfortable.

“I do trust you,” he said in a low voice.
 

“Good to know,” Christie said sarcastically. “So I don’t need to explain about Scott then.”

“No, of course not,” Blake said after a slight hesitation. He searched for the words he wanted, failed to find them. At Mason Bay he had seen her, talking to tourists, that same outgoing nature, the sparkling eyes, the friendliness, the same expression he had seen on her face earlier as Scott and Christie spoke in the café. An unfamiliar flash of envy shot through him as he contemplated his friend’s easy-going open nature; the openness Christie seemed to value so much. And then by chance, Scott had been the first to assist her when she had misjudged the car step. Unbidden, the night at the pub edged into Blake’s mind, the way he had felt realising Christie had been hassled by some drunk and Mark and Ian had been there to help her rather than him.

Blake thought back to Scott’s words a few minutes ago; clearly waiting until Mel was out of earshot. Blake had been quietly stunned as Scott casually mentioned Christie’s words at the café about not being in a relationship with Blake. Christie’s faint sadness at being a single mother was obvious to Blake, no matter how carefully she camouflaged her feelings; he found it hard to believe she had casually disclosed this fact to Scott while ordering breakfast.

Uncertainty had gripped Blake as he wondered if Christie was attracted to Scott, was letting him know she was unattached for this reason; determined not to let Scott guess the truth, he had made some noncommittal response. “Could have fooled me, mate,” Scott had replied, grinning at him, looking like he wanted to say something more. Blake had changed the subject but had been unable to erase Scott’s mischievous grin.

Now, Blake could not think of what to say, how to ask Christie what he wanted to know without igniting her fiery response. At a loss, he started walking back towards the car park, deciding silence was safer.