Half Moon Bay (4 page)

Ellie opened the French doors wide and stepped out onto the verandah to find Shadow leaning in rapturous ecstasy against a pair of long legs, eyes shut from the joy of an ear scratch. The newspaper photo hadn’t done Nicholas Lawson justice, she decided with a quick frown. And a suit was not his natural habitat. It seemed boardies and T-shirts were.

‘Can I help you?’ Ellie kept her tone neutral.

‘Good morning, what a lovely spot.’ His voice suited him. Deep, relaxed, assured. ‘The view’s amazing.’ The flash of alarm in his eyes was gone before she could be certain she wasn’t imagining it.

‘It is.’ That she couldn’t deny.

‘Sorry to intrude at this hour.’

She tilted her head to one side. ‘A little early for uninvited social visits.’

He smiled, easy, comfortable, ignoring the edge in her voice. ‘Never too early to admire a good view.’ He pushed his sunglasses onto his head and she found herself pinned by a pair of very dark eyes. A flush fled across her cheeks. Embarrassed at her body’s quick response, Ellie retreated into misplaced anger.

‘It’s private property.’

He didn’t bite, just held out his hand, long fingers, broad palm, as he walked up the couple of steps. ‘Nicholas, Nicholas Lawson.’ The sleeve was pushed up his wrist far enough to reveal the glint of an expensive watch. Even as she ignored his outstretched hand she registered that the face of the watch was turned inwards on his wrist, facing his body. Where had she seen that before?

‘Really?’ She drew out the two syllables. ‘So are you trying to sell me something this morning? Real estate, life insurance?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Salvation?’

She savoured the small satisfaction of watching his hand drop to his side, but the flash of humour in his face unsettled her. His lips twitched as if they held tightly to a secret. He was looking directly into her eyes, even though he was below her on the steps.

‘You don’t look like you need saving.’ His grin was disarming. ‘I was actually looking for Tom. Is he home?’

‘No.’

‘So, do you know when he will be?’

‘Nope.’

‘Some time this morning, perhaps?’

Her voice had a triumphant edge. ‘Not that I’m expecting.’

He managed to avoid any signs of exasperation. ‘Can I leave a message, then?’

‘Sure. I’ll pass it on next time I’m talking to him. Though knowing Tom, I doubt he’ll return your call.’

He lifted a dark eyebrow, a sardonic gleam in his eyes. ‘Really? And you are?’

‘That’s not important, Nicholas Lawson.’ She couldn’t stop her smile this time. ‘But I will pass your message on, really . . .’ She was not going to cooperate with the enemy, but it was hard work staying angry with him.

Those forbidding eyebrows lowered, emphasising the angular shape of his face. This was not a man used to having his orders ignored by anyone, Ellie suspected. She could feel her amusement rising at his reluctance to leave. She certainly hadn’t been subtle. He got full marks for tenacity.

‘Good-looking dog.’ Lawson bent down to pat the black head nudging him.

Ellie snapped her fingers at Shadow, who ambled across to her side. ‘He’s a guard dog. A necessity, it seems, since I have to live with the risk of unwelcome visitors.’

Nick gave a half laugh.

The breeze sliding in off the water seeped through her now and she crossed her arms against the chill, conscious of his gaze wandering over her again.

‘Hope he doesn’t greet all your visitors like that, then. I can see why a woman like you might appreciate some protection out here.’ The words were a low rumble with an undercurrent Ellie couldn’t mistake for anything other than humour.

‘I think we’re done, Mr Lawson. Don’t waste your time visiting again. Tom will no doubt know where to contact you if he wants to.’
And it’s unlikely he’s going to cut short his holiday to do business with a corrupt developer
, she thought.

He dug in the front pocket of his backpack and held out a business card. ‘Give him my regards. Tell him I’m sorry I missed him. I’ll be in touch.’

In the instant she took the card, she felt a jolt of awareness, a tangible pulse that made her hand jerk away from his touch. Ridiculous. It was just static electricity, very common at this time of year.

‘I’ll do that.’ Her tone clearly implied the opposite, but Nicholas didn’t rise to the bait.

‘Thanks, Ms Wilding.’

She raised one eyebrow. ‘Who?’

‘You must be Tom’s daughter, the photographer. You look like him. A prettier version, sexy, even.’ His laugh was a smoky rumble as he spun on his heel.

‘Don’t presume to know anything about me, Mr Lawson.’

He hefted his pack and strode away, power in the length of his stride.

Ellie watched him leave, her back straight and her heart thudding in her chest. His face was arresting. She could see those dark good looks in a black-and-white print, set amongst some ancient ruins on a sun-drenched Greek Island – a warrior girded for battle, a gladiator entering the colosseum, the crowd baying for blood . . .

Foolish girl
, she chided herself. That particular model would be way too disturbing through the lens of a camera. And he’s the enemy.

But he had one hell of a smile, she had to admit.

Nick slammed the car door. Damn it. He should have done some more research before he blundered in. The last time he’d checked on Ellie Wilding’s whereabouts, she was hiding her pain in some godforsaken African dictatorship, beaming back images of poverty and corruption. Now, barely dressed in running clothes, with damp hair curling round her face, she was disturbingly familiar.

He acknowledged that the trauma of war had left some of his memories locked in his innermost mind, but not that one. He shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t need her presence here to complicate things and re-awaken those memories. How could he ever forget the steely reserve in Ellie that had helped her through what was surely the most traumatic twenty-four hours of her life?

He stabbed the key into the ignition. Now was not the time to have to deal with two-year-old cover-ups and mistakes that still haunted him. At least she hadn’t recognised him. There’d been nothing but amused challenge in those navy blue eyes. And why would she remember him? He’d met her twice on that tragic day in Afghanistan. Both times he was seething, grim with grief and covered in the grime of war.

Now here she was again. A worthy adversary who wasn’t going to lie down and see her community ripped off. She was more beautiful, more sexy, with her feisty defiance, than she had been in the middle of hell in Afghanistan.

The anger left him as quickly as it had come.

If he’d known that he’d find her here in the seaside backwater of Half Moon Bay, would he still have accepted the undercover assignment?

He sighed. Yes, of course he would have. It was a matter of principle. He would just have to keep his unruly emotions under tight control. After all, twenty-four hours, two years ago, was not the basis for a friendship, even. Especially when Ellie had never heard the whole story of Nina’s shooting.

The thought stopped him. Was that why she was here? Did she know about the drugs? Maybe she’d found something herself? It was inevitable that one day she would come looking for the truth. He gunned the accelerator as he hit the sealed road, focused on the work he had to do. He couldn’t risk losing Tom’s only remaining daughter.

Ellie sipped the cold tea, her breathing slowing with each mouthful. Nicholas Lawson’s sardonic face eased into focus, frame by frame. Men are so obvious. Did he really think he could wander round Half Moon Bay and charm the residents into accepting his proposal? And why did Shadow treat him like a long-lost friend? The dog didn’t make friends easily. That was the strangest aspect of the whole morning.

Still, Lawson was about to find out there was more opposition than he bargained for in Half Moon Bay. It could be fun bringing down an opponent who was so confident.
Note to self: Keep him out of any photos used in the campaign against the development!
No one would be looking at the scenery.

Ellie wandered out to the verandah again and curled up in the squatters chair, the French doors open wide behind her, the early breeze flicking the long pale curtains. Idly, she scanned through the rest of the newspaper.

The world headlines were bleak, yet Australia seemed so far from it all. She raised her eyes towards the sea, drinking in the beauty around her.

Working as a freelance photojournalist had taken her all over the world, yet the only place she found peace was here, soothed by the waves with the sand between her toes. The Bay was home, no matter how brief the visits. Hotel suites and friends’ guest rooms never offered her this sense of belonging. The timeless beauty of this place recharged her and reminded her that there was more to life than a career. Burning ambition didn’t keep her warm at night. Nor did it fill the empty ache in her heart . . .

Unbidden, the memory of the speculative warmth in Nicholas Lawson’s gaze sent a tide of heat through her body.

She gave herself a mental shake. That man would have more baggage than an airport check-in lounge. Dangerous goods; forget him.

There was something about him, though. Had they met somewhere before?

The breeze fluttered the pages of the broadsheet, breaking her reverie. Four weeks she’d set aside for the Battle of the Bay and then she’d have to get back to work again. The BBC commitments were long standing. She was headed back to Africa and the latest basket case of a country with a tin-pot despot unwilling to do anything for his starving people.

Sighing, she stood up. Shadow, true to his name, followed her inside the house. She dropped the paper on the same dining table where she and Nina had done their homework for so many years, then rinsed her cup in the sink. Opposite the kitchen was her father’s bedroom. The wooden door was ajar and she could see the bed was neatly made with its striped bedspread; a sparse room with few personal items apart from a couple of books next to the bedside lamp. Two more bedrooms, and the bathroom and laundry, flanked the central corridor, which led to the back door. The cottage was always smaller than she remembered it.

She stopped in front of the only closed door. Behind lay all the memories of her sister. Hand on the doorknob, she hesitated, her muscles rigid. This was going to hurt. She thought she heard the hinges sigh as the door opened.

The sunlight through the lace curtains patterned the room in filigree. Tiny lines like the creping on old skin traced across the pale bedspread and the polished floor. Nothing had changed. Nina’s backpack was still in the corner, her camera bag on the shelf, her clothes folded away.

Ellie sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the fabric as she’d done a hundred times over the years. The room didn’t smell of Nina and her exotic perfumes. It smelt of furniture polish and dust. The air was still, claustrophobic. In a rush, Ellie jumped to her feet and unlatched the window, struggling against two years of swollen timber to push it wide. The breeze rushed in and cooled the tears on her cheeks.

She slid open a drawer, running her hands over cashmere and silk, finding the jewellery box tucked in the corner containing their mother’s pearls. ‘Too old for us,’ Nina used to say. Now she’d never be old enough.

Nina’s shoes were still racked in colours, but they’d lost their shine and the suede had grown mould. Her belts and handbags hung off hangers. Her make-up was still in the small bag Ellie had brought back from Kandahar.

When Tom came home they’d have to decide what to do with all this. An old camera rested on the bookshelf and Ellie turned it over in her hands. It was one of Ellie’s back-up cameras that used film. There was nothing worse than finding the perfect shot and realising the batteries in her digital were flat. This one had been inadvertently left with Nina when Ellie headed to London for the fashion shoot. She’d forgotten about it. Ellie frowned at the numbers in the counter window. Twenty-one?

She flicked the release switch and wound the lever. With a crackle it moved as the film rolled back into its canister. She opened the back and dropped it into her hand. The writing on it was Arabic, although Kodak was Kodak in any language. It was black and white. She slipped it into her pocket and closed the camera. She had to drop off some photos to be printed at a lab in Garrison. They could develop this for her as well.

There was no sign of Nina’s computer. She checked under the bed, opened drawers, each time feeling a little easier about digging through her sister’s belongings. The carry bag was there, but not the computer. She’d have to ask Tom if he’d stored it away. Ellie knew she’d brought it home from Afghanistan and left it in this room. A part of her was relieved. Without the computer she had an excuse to continue avoiding Nina’s story. Another part, a smaller voice, insisted she needed to find that computer.

With a soft click she closed the door again. Maybe with Tom’s help she’d track it down. In the meantime the article she’d written for the
Weekend Australian
’s colour supplement was largely complete. The file was open on her laptop and she scrolled through the story, proofing snatches of it randomly.

Ellie saved it and attached it to an email along with her photographs.

There could be no mention in the article of corruption, money laundering and drugs. It irked her that she’d written a feel-good piece rather than the gritty truth. She consoled herself that there was still time for that once she had all the facts. There was no point in going off half-cocked. Both barrels, aimed precisely, would achieve maximum impact. Until then, she would play by the rules.

She moved on down her list. The details for tomorrow’s public rally needed to be finalised and she had to slip in a quick trip to the council chambers to check on the facilities for her presentation next week.

Ellie squirmed. Fronting a public rally. She was a ‘behind the lens’ kind of girl. Nina had been the public face of Wilding Productions. But Ellie had learnt a lot since then so she might as well put it to good use.

The meeting at the Half Moon Bay Bowls Club was just one of the many steps in what could be a long and protracted battle, ugly even. The community realised early on that to overturn the planning board’s approval they’d need to be organised. Their team was hand picked – lawyer, retired mayor, an ex-building inspector, surveyor and now a journalist. All were long-term residents, all well respected and above the gossip and rumour mill. No skeletons in any cupboards.

First hurdle was getting the decision reversed. Next, and this was off the public radar, would be investigating the suspected drug running and associated money laundering. The Port Newel fishing fleet was a closed brethren, so if they believed one of their own was dealing drugs on the side for the newly elected mayor then it was, in all probability, true. Ron at least was convinced. They just had to find the proof without getting anyone hurt.

She reached for the phone.

‘Morning, Ron. How’s it looking down your way?’

‘Ellie.’ Ron’s voice rasped with age. ‘A very good morning to you too. Up early?’

‘And you. Hey, guess who turned up here about an hour ago?’

‘Don’t make me guess.’

Ellie laughed. ‘Okay. Nicholas Lawson. Wish you’d warned me he was a charmer.’

‘Nick Lawson? I don’t think I’m in a position to comment on another man’s charm.’

‘Oh come on, Ron, you’d have been a catch too, when Mavis swept you off your feet fifty years ago.’

‘I was an old-fashioned kind of bloke who fell in love over a hymn book. Looks had nothing to do with it.’

‘Right, and all those ladies who voted for you year after year in the council elections didn’t notice Mayor Ron Whitaker was a bit of all right, hmm?’

‘They didn’t vote for me last election, so my looks must be vanishing.’

‘Ha, they just got outvoted by all those newcomers in Garrison.’

‘Okay, okay. Revisiting my electoral defeat isn’t going to help my indigestion. Anyway, what did Lawson want?’

‘Said he was looking for Dad, but how the hell could they know each other?’

‘Don’t know. Tom’s never mentioned him.’

‘Doesn’t make sense. Dad was gone before the development was even mooted.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. Maybe he got his name out of the phone book?’

‘Possibly . . . Have you and Mavis worked one of your little miracles for the meeting tomorrow?’

‘Should be a good turnout.’

‘Great. You remember Alex Creighton, a journalist with the
Sydney Morning Herald
, friend of mine from uni?’

‘Gangly guy with blond hair and a smart mouth? Parents died in a car accident?’

‘See, I knew you paid attention,’ Ellie said. ‘I don’t think he’s so skinny any more and he’s very well connected these days. He’s coming up on the understanding there’ll be a good story in it for him. The bigger the crowd, the better it will look.’

‘Does he know the whole story?’ Ron’s voice pitched lower.

‘No. I think we need to substantiate the rumours first.’ And she didn’t want Alex poking around just yet.

‘Yeah, right. I’m meeting someone else today who reckons they know when the next shipment is due. We’ll see. Mavis is getting pretty worked up over it.’

‘She’s worried about you, Ron. And we both need to be careful what we dig up.’

‘I know, I know. Hasn’t stopped the silly woman putting out feelers at the club, though.’

‘What did you expect?’ Ellie knew all too well that Mavis was as stubborn as her husband.

A formidable woman, she’d hauled the Half Moon Bay Bowls Club kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. She revelled in the prestige the new clubhouse and additional bowling greens had brought to the town. Ensconced in her favourite spot, propping up the corner bar overlooking the immaculate greens, Mavis networked as if her life depended on it.

‘She never has done a darn thing I told her to.’

‘Just so long as you two can rustle up a couple of hundred people for tomorrow’s meeting.’

‘That’s easy. The community is pretty ticked off with the new council. They’ll be there.’

‘Great. I’m going over to the chambers today to check out the room for next week’s presentation. I’ll touch base this afternoon.’

Smiling, Ellie hung up. Ron and Mavis could truly be described as salt of the earth. No chance of a dishonest bone in their bodies, unlike Lord Mayor O’Sullivan.

Now, if they could just catch the mayor with his hand on a shipment of heroin . . .

No point in wishing
, she thought. O’Sullivan was greedy enough. Was he also sloppy enough to slip up?
Move cautiously around him
, she reminded herself. People who imported drugs were playing for high stakes.

And just make sure you don’t underestimate the disturbing Mr Lawson either
.