Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance (16 page)

‘It’s my pride and joy.’ Benson Starling smiled at Winnie as he patted the wing of the retro-style aircraft in his shed. ‘The very first aeroplane was made from wood, and if it’s good enough for the Wright brothers, it’s good enough for me. This one’s a new adaptation of an old design. My goal’s to use it as a light-sport aircraft.’

Winnie nodded, scribbling in her notepad in her usual mix of shorthand and messy longhand. All the info was going a bit over her head. Though it was kind of nice to be doing so many face-to-face interviews again. She’d even driven to the interview solo in the work car and only bunny-hopped a few times. Due to time and traffic constraints in Sydney, interviews were more often conducted over the phone or by email. Not that she wouldn’t rather be chatting about something more glamorous like fashion or beauty.

Of course, she was sure someone like Alex would appreciate the finer details of the plane, but she hadn’t invited him to tag along. No siree. She’d wait until Benson had put the finishing touches to his plane, then Alex could take pictures – 
alone.

Hopefully by the time her trip to Adelaide with Alex rolled around, she’d have gotten over the crushing embarrassment of nearly landing another kiss on him. She knew she’d have to face him eventually. It had just been another after-dark mistake – she’d gotten lost in the moment. The loneliness of being out in the donga. Thankfully, in under two months, she wouldn’t have to see him again – all going to plan. She clung to that.

Throwing herself at Alex definitely wasn’t why she’d invited him over last night, hence staying in her daggy home clothes: a shield of sorts. She didn’t need any more reasons to get the locals talking. She really had felt frightened, vulnerable. But then she’d undone everything in the heat of the moment by behaving foolishly. She’d made a mistake. Looking for love – scratch that,
lust
 – in all the wrong places, just like her mum often did. It was obviously a design fault of her genes. Fortunately, Alex had left to go fishing before she’d gotten up. In some ways, it almost felt like she’d imagined the whole thing. Of course, cold, hard reality would hit when she saw Alex in the flesh again.

‘. . . It’ll be a dream to pilot around the sky . . .’

Ack. The old guy was still waxing lyrical about his aircraft, whistling through dentures as white as his hair as he did so. She’d lost her focus. All Alex’s fault, of course.

Winnie nodded more vigorously. ‘Sounds wonderful.’

A woman’s voice suddenly trilled through the air, interrupting their interview. ‘How are we doing out here?’

The welcome distraction came in the form of an older lady with unnaturally blonde curls and a petite frame. She wielded a chocolate cake in one hand. Home-baked treats seemed to be on tap in this far-flung town. Winnie’s thighs might not be saying thank you, but her stomach was.

She discreetly closed her notepad, trying not to salivate. ‘Actually, I think we’re just about done.’

The woman wafted the cake under Winnie’s nose. ‘I’m Doris Starling, Benson’s wife. You must be Winnie from
Beach Life
. Go on, take a slice, sweetheart.’

Winnie didn’t have to be asked twice. Swallowing a delicious mouthful, she brushed any errant crumbs from her lips. ‘Wow, that cake is incredible.’

Doris winked, revealing a smear of emerald-green eye shadow. ‘I’m getting ready for the bake-off at the South-East Field Days in Lucindale. Most of us girls from the local Country Women’s Association are taking part. It’s going to be stiff competition, so I’ve got to keep my game up.’

‘I can only imagine.’ The cogs in Winnie’s brain began to whir into action, perhaps due to the sugar kicking in. ‘You know,’ she began, thinking out loud, ‘it could be quite cool to have some old-school CWA recipes to run in the magazine. All the Gen Ys are right into the traditional, homespun cookery their nannas used to make right now. Maybe . . . maybe we could even get some kitschy-cool food shots done and include all your cooking tips and hints? It could be fun!’

Doris beamed at her husband. ‘Looks like you’ll have to get used to sharing the limelight, my love.’ She turned back to Winnie with another wink. ‘I’m sure the other ladies will love the idea. I’ll run it past them at next week’s meeting.’ Benson’s hand hovered near the cake and the woman’s grin slipped for a moment as she swatted it away. She leant in confidingly to Winnie. ‘I have to watch his diet – for his own good. A young thing like you, though, the choccy won’t even touch your sides.’

‘I wish.’ Winnie’s gaze was suddenly caught by a flash at Doris’s wrist. ‘Oh, your bracelet . . .’ She gestured at its delicate, white-gold charms. ‘It’s got the same fish design as a necklace Mrs Mannix always wears.’

Placing the cake on a nearby table, Doris held her wrist up to the light. ‘That rings a bell actually. This one’s a pretty old thing, isn’t it? Benson got it for me as a gift for our twentieth wedding anniversary. Though it’s certainly been a while between such flashy gifts. I tell you – it’s not long before the romance goes out the window, love, and anniversaries fly by without any fanfare. How do you know dear old Mrs Mannix anyway?’

‘Oh, I interviewed her about the museum’s maritime wing launch, and her prize-winning heirloom roses and vegetables, actually.’

‘Sounds like you’ve interviewed half the town, darl! Well, that woman certainly knows how to keep busy, so I shouldn’t be surprised she’s worth a story or two. Course keeping busy’s the best thing to do when you’re suffering a broken heart – even after all these years.’ Doris cocked her head to one side. ‘Did you know her late husband was a lighthouse keeper?’

Winnie nodded, scuffing the toe of her ballet flat on the cement. ‘I heard about his tragic accident, too.’

Doris arched a dark-pencilled eyebrow. ‘That’s not the only tragic part. Fifty-odd years on, June’s still convinced Peter used the weather as a pretext to escape their life together. No-one can tell her otherwise either. She’s certain he hopped in a boat and sailed away, pretending he was dead, so he could start a new life, a family, elsewhere.’

Winnie drew in a sharp breath as the older woman shook her head sadly. ‘Poor old June blames herself, too, for being “barren”, as she says. Somehow she got it in her head that another local was having an affair with her husband. All because she herself couldn’t have children. The other local disappeared from town around the same time as Peter, you see, and she figured they’d run away together, despite all the evidence pointing to him winding up in a watery grave.’

‘An
affair
,’ Winnie breathed, flabbergasted. ‘Wow, I had no idea.’ Fence-jumping knew no bounds. The plot thickened.

‘The local, Lorraine Burgess, only recently returned to Kingston,’ Doris continued, ‘even signing up to the CWA. Though no-one’s game to ask her if anything ever happened between her and Peter.’

‘Who knew so much could happen in a small town?’ It certainly explained why the usually well-mannered Mrs Mannix had been so abrupt with that Lorraine woman at the museum launch.

Doris’s eyes gleamed. ‘Ah, it can be quite the cesspool of scandal around these parts. I’ve heard of everything from partner swapping to even a secret nudist resort in Robe.’ She tsked. ‘There must be a queue at the confessional every Sunday, I reckon.’

A
nudist
resort – in Robe? The mind boggled. But Winnie was most interested in the whole affair thing. Somehow she had to chat to this Lorraine floozy and find out the truth.

Her head still spinning, Winnie glanced at Doris’s bracelet again. ‘What type of fish is it meant to be anyway?’

‘To be honest, I don’t actually know, doll, but for some reason, it caught Benson’s eye. He’s the amateur fisherman. Always bragging about his wins at the Long Beach annual surf-fishing contest.’ Doris glanced at her husband, who’d gone back to affectionately tending to his plane. ‘What type of fish are these charms meant to represent, darl?’

Benson looked up distractedly. ‘Hmm?’ He wafted closer again, glancing at the bracelet. ‘Oh, they’re inspired by the French angelfish. Gorgeous creatures, aren’t they? Known for being highly monogamous. Mating for life.’

‘
Monogamous
.’ Winnie’s voice was suddenly hoarse. ‘Something Mrs Mannix didn’t think her husband was particularly good at being. Though obviously she hopes she was wrong.’

A smile crept across Doris’s face as she played with the charms. ‘And here I was thinking you didn’t have a romantic bone left in your body, Benson.’

It was half an hour into the drive to Adelaide on Friday before Alex thought of broaching the subject of the night he stayed over, when Winnie lost her earring and they
both
almost lost control. She seemed to have avoided him for the rest of the week, bar texting and emailing him job updates. Life had certainly felt . . . quieter. The gap between seeing each other and his leaving early the following morning had made things even more awkward.

He chanced a look at her in the passenger seat. Her strawberry-blonde locks shone in the afternoon sun, a tiny braid decorating her hairline. She certainly wasn’t her usual chatty self, but she’d relaxed considerably. There was no time like the present to confront the white elephant in the room – or ute, as it were. He coughed.

‘Ah, maybe we should clear the air about the other night . . .’

Winnie’s posture grew ramrod-straight, her gaze fixing on the road ahead. ‘Sorry again that I disturbed you,’ she said primly. ‘I feel silly now about being spooked.’

Okay, so clearly, she wasn’t going to talk about what
almost
transpired between them. The sizzling sexual chemistry – and his subsequent harsh words. But at least he’d tried. It was unlikely things would get messy between them again. Keeping things strictly professional was better for them both.

‘So, uh, no more bad energy at your place, then?’

Winnie poked out her tongue, which seemed more typical. ‘Nope, I think you successfully scared off for the moment anything lurking in the closet.’

‘What about the mouse? Frightened it away, too?’

Her chin jutted upwards. ‘Not exactly, but I’ve put cotton balls soaked in peppermint oil around my unit. It’s a trick I found on the internet. Apparently mice hate the smell.’

‘Could work,’ Alex mumbled doubtfully. He flicked on the indicator to overtake a slow-moving caravan on the two-lane highway. Scrub bordered either side of the road, the turquoise blue of the sky almost hurting his eyes. ‘And who’s looking after your cat?’

Winnie crossed slim, honeyed legs, which were still distracting even if she was a no-go zone. ‘My neighbour’s keeping an eye on him. Not the old smoker guy, but the divorcee woman on the other side, who’s fastidious about her pot plants. I left some cat food with her and she was happy to help out.’

‘That’s good.’

‘I know I won’t be gone long,’ Winnie mused, ‘but, funnily, I’ll miss the little guy.’

Alex laughed good-naturedly. ‘So, being from Adelaide originally, I imagine you’ll be catching up with old schoolmates and the like while in town?’

Dropping her gaze to her lap, Winnie picked at a thread on the hem of her denim shorts. ‘Nah, not from school. I haven’t talked to my old teenage friends for years. I didn’t really look back when I left for Sydney. From what I hear, they’re all caught up in marriage and babies anyway. Doing boring jobs and still living in the ’burbs.’ She pulled a face. ‘We wouldn’t have much to talk about. I’ll just be seeing Mum. It’s going to be a fairly quiet weekend. Boring really. But enough about me. Tell me about your siblings. Brothers or sisters – or both?’

Alex’s jaw set. ‘One of each. I’m in the middle.’

‘Wow, that must be fun. You must be like peas in a pod when you’re all together.’

‘Not really. Particularly my older brother and me. We – we don’t really see eye to eye. He’s the spitting image of my father.’

‘That’s a shame. I would have killed for a sister or brother when I was young. I
still
would.’ Winnie turned to look at him, any rigidity from earlier having melted away. ‘So your family name, Bass – is that like the fish or that rich kid, Chuck Bass, from
Gossip Girl
?’

Alex felt his expression darken. ‘Definitely not the latter.’

‘We’ll go with the fish then! It’s better than having a last name like “Perfect” or “Smart”, I reckon. Those names would be hard to live up to. Though you don’t want to know the things I got called in the playground with the surname Cherry . . .’

‘I hate to think,’ he murmured. Little did she know the crushing weight his family name really represented.

An hour later they stopped at the waterfront town of Meningie to stretch their legs and have a bite to eat. Takeaway purchased, they sat on the foreshore of Lake Albert, soaking up the vista of seemingly endless grey-blue water. It was a refreshing change from the sleepy warmth of the ute. Alex had gone with fish and chips doused in vinegar for an early dinner, while Winnie had opted for a vegetable pastie.

On the banks of the lake, two amateur fishermen dropped lines into the water. Alex gestured at them. ‘You know, when my grandpa was a kid, he reckons he used to fish with just a bit of bamboo with a string on the end. He’d walk with his cousin for miles from home to the ocean and they’d sit on the edge of the rocks with their feet dangling over the edge until they got a bite. Then they’d make a fire, use the frypan they’d brought along, and eat their catch for lunch.’

‘Huh, the simple life.’ Winnie shook her head. ‘Though I rather like the idea of picking wild berries all day and feasting on them.’

‘Naturally.’

A seagull cawed overhead and Meningie’s notorious wind picked up, toying with Winnie’s hair. She tucked it behind her ears, then reached over to tug a strand of his. For once, he didn’t lurch back.

‘You know, your hair’s almost long enough to put in a ponytail now,’ she teased. ‘What are you growing it for anyway?’

He offered her a half-smile. ‘To hide behind.’ It wasn’t really a lie.

‘Along with that stubble of yours, anyone would think you really
were
in disguise. I suppose it goes with your whole “lone wolf” image.’ She jiggled pale eyebrows. ‘Rugged and mysterious.’