A Southern Star (28 page)

With a start, she realised she could hear Blake’s voice drifting through the open kitchen window, his voice strangely hesitant as he suggested meeting, wanting to talk in person, asking when would suit. Christie’s heart wilted as she registered not only his words but his tone, his hesitancy when speaking a revealing contrast to his usual self-possession. Tears seeped from her eyes as she heard Blake ask if they could meet alone, his voice fading as he moved away from the cottage, out of earshot.

Mechanically, Christie brushed the tears away, got out plates and cutlery, dished out the breakfast, every move a cruel echo of the night before. She was just about to take the plates to the table when she heard the front door open, saw Blake appear in the doorway, his eyes sparkling, warm. Numbly, she watched him put his mobile phone back on the bench.

He turned back to the door as a car came up the driveway, giving breakfast a rueful look. “I think that’s the neighbour wanting to borrow a bag of cement; you start, I’ll be back.” Blake disappeared out the front door again, leaving Christie standing alone in the kitchen. She carried the plates over to the table, trying not to think about his phone on the bench.

What she had heard had shocked her to the core.
Maybe there’s an innocent explanation
, Christie thought desperately, unable to think what that might be.
That wasn’t a hunting trip he was arranging,
she thought bitterly. Her mind justified her action as she walked back towards his phone, even as her heart pleaded with her not to, to simply ask Blake when he came back inside, talk to him openly. Christie paused, hearing Blake still talking to the neighbour outside.

Furtively, she picked up his phone, searching for the list of recent calls, her face paling with shock as she saw Lisa’s number, remembering her earlier suspicions, knowing she had been right.
 

“Do you need to make a call?” Her eyes flew up to Blake as he leaned in the doorway, his voice hard, filled with contempt. She flinched, silent, her face flaming. He repeated his words, his voice a deadly echo of his comment on the ferry all those months ago.

Christie was frozen to the spot, immobile, realising there was no credible explanation for her actions, that Blake had immediately guessed why she was holding his phone.
 

“If you want to know something why don’t you just ask me?” he said, anger in his voice. Christie muttered an apology, barely able to speak, holding out his phone to him. “Go for it,” he said, his anger building. “I don’t need it back. There’s nothing on there you can’t see. Sit down over breakfast, take your time, check the whole thing.”

The contempt in his voice lashed her conscience. “That was Lisa,” Christie said, her voice dead, too heartsick for anger.
 

“No it wasn’t,” he said, still furious.
 

“Oh come on, Blake!” Christie exclaimed. “The phone number’s right there and you’re still—”

“You’ve used Lisa’s phone yourself to call me,” he interrupted. Christie fell silent, knowing he was right, not wanting to admit it to him.
 

“It doesn’t matter who it was anyway,” she said, her voice suddenly weary. “I heard the conversation so the name of the actual girl is academic.”

“Eavesdropping as well?” Blake’s voice was low, dangerous.

“No, actually,” Christie replied, driven by some futile urge to explain. “Well, not deliberately, I was cooking, the window…” Her voice broke as she gestured towards the stove.

“Well that’s all right then,” Blake said sarcastically, ignoring the voice inside him that reminded him of the small dimensions of the cottage, the way he had overheard Christie’s telephone discussion the night before. “Aren’t you going to ask me who was on the phone?”

“No,” Christie replied. “I don’t care who it was.”

“I think you do,” he stated.

She shook her head, furious now. Blake shrugged, his face filled with emotion, his eyes bleak as he held his temper in check, his cold voice infinitely more hurtful. “You wouldn’t trust my answer anyway.”

“I don’t care what your answer is,” Christie repeated stubbornly, her words devastating him; only minutes ago he had felt the way forward was clear, and now…

“And if that conversation was so innocent why not have it in the kitchen?”

“Because some things—”

“Some things,” Christie repeated derisively, interrupting what he had wanted to say.

He overrode her. “Yes, Christie, some things are personal. You didn’t want to answer your phone that time at the pub. You didn’t want me there at the hospital yesterday, did you?”

“I did,” she said, stung into replying. “But I started to ask and you assumed—”
 

Blake laughed shortly. “Whatever. My point is that you were embarrassed at me hearing all that. You’re not the only person with things—”

“No.” Furious at him, at the parallels he was drawing, she glared at him. “Not interested, Blake. I want to go back to Lisa’s.” Her last word ended on a sob as she realised the awkwardness of the situation, that Lisa would inevitably know who had used her phone, would probably comment on the situation. Christie pushed past him, walking down the hallway, breakfast forgotten.

She threw her clothes into her overnight bag, zipped it up. He had followed her. “Christie, at least come and have breakfast, sit down and talk.” She glared at Blake as he stood in the doorway, tears glittering in her eyes. “I want to go back to Lisa’s,” she repeated. Blake could see the pain in her eyes, cursed himself for the situation he had created. He wanted to explain, acknowledged it would not be wise at the moment with Christie clearly in the grip of a spiralling rage, matched only by his own emotion.

He lifted his hands, trying to placate. “If that’s what you want, Christie,” he said, trying to maintain a reasonable tone. “I’ll call you later, take you out for a juice.” He smiled at her, his unconscious charm devastating her.
 

“Add my name to the list,” she said scathingly.
 

Blake’s self-control snapped. “I have offered to explain. You won’t listen, won’t talk. You won’t meet me later. You don’t want to sort this out. Get in the car. Now.” Before she could reply, he stepped forward, picked up her overnight bag, walked out to the car. Christie followed him, averting her eyes as she walked past the kitchen, shut the front door. She climbed into the car mechanically, dully realising Blake had already started the engine, was not there to help her in.

— # —

The car pulled up at Lisa’s place; Christie was aware that Blake’s anger had only increased, despite his complete silence, refusal to talk to her. She climbed out of the car, suddenly wanting to be inside, in the guest room, alone. She could see Lisa at the front door, talking to someone inside the home. Christie turned to Blake, noticing that he was ill at ease, hovering on the road rather than in view of the house.

“Christie—”
 

She interrupted him, unbearably hurt, trying to focus on practicalities. “What about the gear I bought in Dunedin?”

“I’ll drop it round to Lisa’s sometime,” he said after a pause. She noticed that he put her overnight bag on the footpath.
 

The coldness of his action stunned her. “Blake…”

“Lisa will carry it in for you.” He gestured to Lisa who was walking down the path, Brenda following. “I’ve got to head off now,” he said, watching the two women approach, his eyes shadowed. Speechless, Christie stepped away from the kerb as Blake drove off. She turned to meet Lisa and Brenda, barely covering her heartbreak, answering their questions about the baby, politely inventing an appointment as the reason Blake couldn’t stay. Brenda commented on his abrupt departure, saying she had wanted to speak with him, invite him in.

And that would have been interesting
, Christie thought, recalling the time that Blake had dropped her off after lunch at the winery. Lisa carried Christie’s bag into the guest room, pushed the door closed.
 

“And?” Lisa asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Christie made a snap decision, not wanting to jeopardise her friendship with Lisa, the house sitting arrangement at the front of her mind.

“Nothing happened,” she lied calmly.
 

“Yeah sure,” Lisa said, blunt as ever. “He didn’t even carry your bag in. Something’s happened.”
 

It took all of Christie’s strength to stay calm, reply casually. “We’ll probably just be friends,” she said, hearing her own voice as if from a great distance. “I’ve got the baby to think about, after all.”
 

Lisa nodded silently, her eyes narrowing as she assessed Christie’s words. “If you can’t be honest with me just say you don’t want to talk about it, that it’s too personal,” Lisa said perceptively.
 

Numbly, Christie nodded, registering Lisa’s reference to things being too personal, thinking back to what Blake had said about the same thing. “Sorry,” she said. Lisa shrugged, deciding not to pry, changing the subject, asking again about the baby. Christie told her about the further check-up she needed; Lisa immediately offered to drive her, suggested they could look around Queenstown that afternoon.

— # —

It seemed to Christie that the next three days flew past as she kept herself busy, made a deliberate effort to look around the area in Lisa’s company, planning for the baby’s arrival, seeing the supermarket, the shopping precinct, getting her bearings. Lisa’s parents were friendly, talking to her about the area, Brenda asking daily about the baby, obviously concerned after hearing about Christie’s hospital visit.

Christie went out one evening with Lisa and her friends who would all be applying for work at the ski fields over winter. On her final day in Arrowtown before she and Lisa drove back to Bluff to catch the ferry, Christie sat in the conservatory, reading a magazine, relaxing in the silent house. She heard the front door open, called out, thinking it was Lisa, realised it was Brenda as she walked into the conservatory, took a seat on the couch opposite Christie.

Politely, Christie put down her magazine, straightened up, making small talk, noticing the pronounced change in Brenda’s demeanour, her relaxed, calm expression, privately wondering what had caused such a change from Brenda’s usual air of lingering sadness.

“I’m glad you came to visit, Christie,” Brenda said now.
 

“Thank you for having me to stay,” Christie returned politely. Brenda continued talking, asking about the baby, Christie’s plans. Christie answered her honestly, unable to shake the feeling Brenda was pleased with her answers, unable to work out why she had that impression, why Brenda’s opinion should matter.

“I remember reading about paid parental leave, all the different benefits that are available now for single mothers,” Brenda said suddenly, surprising her. Christie nodded, mentioning she did not qualify for paid parental leave, making general comments about her own plans. “And Lisa says your parents are travelling in Australia,” Brenda said, interrupting Christie. Christie nodded, frowning slightly at Brenda’s abrupt change of subject. “Will your mother come over to see the baby, be with you at the birth?”
 

Christie nodded. “I hope so, yes.” She tilted her head as she tried to follow Brenda’s chain of thought, puzzled further by Brenda’s comment about how lucky Christie was to have family support.
Perhaps Brenda disapproves of me deciding to keep the baby
, she thought suddenly, wondering how that could be given Brenda’s previous comments, her continual friendliness to Christie and interest in her pregnancy.

“Well, we’re only a phone call away if you need anything, Christie. You know where we are.” Touched, Christie thanked her, recognising her genuine offer, knowing she didn’t disapprove, in fact sincerely wanted to help.

— # —

Blake sat at the dining room table, looking around at the home he had never seen, the perfect taste evident in every expensive furnishing, everything he saw reminding him of Christie, her flair for design. Now that he was here he didn’t know where to start, looked across the table.

“Out with it,” she said bluntly, realising something was troubling him, surprised but pleased to receive his abrupt call asking if he could come over.
Although their personalities were so different, they had always been close, understood each other, until…
Blake looked again at her hands on the table in front of her, seeing her wedding rings, thinking again of Christie.
 

She listened to Blake’s halting story, instantly recognised the solution. “Well, you’ve sorted that out anyway. So that’s good, isn’t it? Better for both of you.” Blake agreed quickly. “I can only guess how you’re feeling, Blake. But you have been very…sensitive… about this. And it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. I only wish…”

“What?” he prompted.

“That you’d sort things out with Christie,” she said, grinning at him. “It wouldn’t be such a big deal if you’d just told her to start with,” she added, choosing her words carefully. “Then we could stop always watching what we say. Plus everyone could move on to other gossip.” She stood up as the kettle boiled, started laughing as he stood up also, smiled up at him as he enveloped her in a sudden hug, completely dwarfing her with his tall frame.

She realised he still wanted to talk, hiding her amazement as she listened, knowing he could easily become annoyed, defensive, if she interrupted. “I’ll do it,” she said simply, telling him what she needed.