Nobody but Him (2 page)

‘So, what do we have here? Champagne for the ladies? Our very best Australian bubbles for you both, none of that inferior French plonk.’ She placed the flutes carefully on the table and noticed The Princess was wide-eyed and red-cheeked. Julia hoped it was from embarrassment.

‘And now.’ She reached for one of the tumblers on her tray. ‘Aged Scotch whisky on ice. For this discerning gentlemen, I presume?’ Lord Muck smiled hesitantly at Julia and raised his finger in the air to indicate his choice. She gently placed it on the table and the ice cubes clinked together with a tinkle.

‘And finally, a soda water for the non-drinker — or tonight’s exceedingly generous designated driver.’

Julia took a couple of shimmying steps to reach the other end of the table and found great delight in focusing her gaze on the women, making sure they got every not-so-subtle nuance of her derision.

‘Well, congratulations to you, sir, for ensuring your friends get home safely. What a magnanimous gesture.’ She lifted the glass from her tray, condensation already making it a little slippery. ‘My name is
waitress
and if you need anything else, just whistle. You know how to do that, don’t you?’ She winked at the older man. ‘You just put your lips together and blow.’

Finally Julia turned her attention to Sexy Guy, who was about to sit down. He didn’t react, glancing down as he pulled his chair closer to the table. Once he’d sat down, he leaned back and looked up into her eyes.

A shock of recognition hit her like a wave.

A cold shiver iced its way up her spine, lodging in her throat and a bizarre buzzing in her ears suddenly blocked out all the bustling, happy sounds of the pub. It seemed like forever before she realised she’d actually forgotten to breathe.

Dirty blonde hair, short and ruffled. A tanned face. A strong jaw shaded with growth, hiding the small scar on his left cheek she knew to be there. And the sapphire blue eyes that had once buckled her knees.

The switch was imperceptible to anyone else at the table, but his expression transformed in a blink from smiling to steely. His full lips drew together and disappeared into a tight scowl.

All Julia’s Melbourne bravado drained away and pooled in her feet like she was wearing big cement boots.

‘Ry.’ It came out before she could think, softer and breathier than she would have liked.

‘Thanks for the drink,’ he replied, his voice gravel. He averted his eyes and studied the menu with intense concentration.

Julia shakily placed his drink on the table before him, spilling it so a dribble of soda water wet her fingers. If he noticed, he didn’t look up as she walked with trembling knees back to the bar.

‘Ryan?’ Amanda’s perfectly French-manicured hand on his arm was insistent and he shook it off. He raked his fingers through his hair and felt a familiar ache in his jaw. ‘How do you know that awful waitress?’

Her carefully enunciated vowels hit him like a cold shower.

‘Excuse me.’ Ry pushed back his chair, stood to his full, imposing height and scanned the room. As he headed towards the bar, manoeuvring in and around the crowded tables, he realised she’d disappeared. He swore under his breath, realising he had no clue what he would have said to her if he’d found her.

At the bar, Lizzie had her hand on the beer tap, expertly filling a glass with pale ale.

She lifted her head. ‘Another drink?’

‘No. No, thank you.’ Ry hesitated. Rubbed his jaw to release the tension. ‘That new waitress who just served my table, the one with the chestnut hair, curly, about this tall?’ He held up a flat palm to his shoulder.

Lizzie bit her lip and shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Ry, I didn’t have time to tell you. You know our young waitress, Kimberley, with the pierced eyebrow and the pink hair? She called in sick at the last minute and Julia’s done me a huge favour by covering her shift tonight. You know Saturday night is
our busiest, right?’

‘It doesn’t take a degree in hotel management to know that Saturday night is busy in a pub, Lizzie,’ he replied, his mouth a grimace. Then he paused, shaking his head a little. ‘Wait a minute … how the hell do you know her?’

Lizzie put the beer on the bar, before staring back at him like he was crazy. ‘She’s my best friend. She’s saved our bacon tonight.’

Ry could see the question in Lizzie’s eyes but he wasn’t about to give her any explanation.

She hesitated before asking, ‘Why, do you want her number or something?’

‘Shit no,’ he said quickly, adamantly.
Not in a million years.

‘Don’t tell me she misbehaved.’

‘No, she didn’t misbehave.’ In fact, Ry thought, he might have acted in exactly the same way if he’d worn the brunt of the sly digs and rudeness from his table. But there was only one thing to do. No question.

He squared his shoulders and looked Lizzie in the eye. ‘Pay her what she’s earned and some extra for her inconvenience but I don’t want her back here.’

He turned and strode back to the table, leaving Lizzie open-mouthed in his wake.

‘Blackburn, is everything all right?’ His friend and architect David Winter sipped his scotch and raised his enormous grey eyebrows in concern. For the first time, Ry realised they looked like hairy caterpillars lurking on his forehead.

‘Sorry about that everyone. Just a minor crisis behind the bar that needed sorting out.’ He forced a smile. ‘Everyone ready to order?’

‘Yes, we’re starved! But let’s try to get someone else to serve us.’ Amanda propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her interlinked fingers. She threw Ry a huge smile and tossed her hair, giggling at her own joke.

Ry turned away from her. ‘So David, tell me about the plans. Have you had the surveyors in yet?’

Ry made sure to smile and nod at the appropriate intervals as David began describing, in great detail, the topography of the Fleurieu Peninsula and the implications for any housing development. Ry made sure to smile
and nod because not one single syllable of what David was saying was making any sense. He might as well have been speaking Norwegian. The evening had gone straight to hell, and Ry knew he was trapped at the table with his architect, David’s wife Annie and their daughter Amanda, who was now gazing into his eyes and laughing way too loud.

As he watched them chatter and make decisions about dinner, debate the relative merits of the kangaroo fillet or the Asian-inspired crispy fish, his mind was a million miles and fifteen years back.

Surfing, sunscreen, salty chips and sex.

Julia Jones.

Julia leaned over the hand basin, filled her cupped hands with water and splashed her face for the second time. Droplets hung from her nose, her eyelashes and the ringlets on either side of her face that refused to be confined in a ponytail. The jolt of it was nothing like the electric shock she’d just had.

He’s out there.

She took a quick glance in the mirror, hoping the second splash of water hadn’t smudged her mascara into panda eyes. No, it was still intact and she looked away. She didn’t want to judge what the anxious look on her face was all about. She pressed her shaking palms onto her blazing cheeks, closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. She felt sick, and the mysterious pounding in her chest seemed to be related to her sudden inability to breathe.

How long had it been? Fifteen years? Ry looked older, of course, but time had been incredibly kind. Hell, not just kind, she had to admit. Like the best wine, he’d improved with age.
Damn it.
Did he have to look so good? He was a man now, not the lanky teenager she’d known, physically stronger than she remembered, more imposing, bigger, somehow. His eyes were still that intense, almost transparent blue she recognised, but when he’d turned them on her in a cold, hard glare just now, she’d noticed the dark shadows under them.

She was worried about having left Lizzie in the lurch but needed just a few seconds more to stop and breathe.
Just one more minute to get it together, that’s all I need
.
And I’ll go right back out there to face my demons.

Who was Ryan Blackburn now? Was he married? Julia couldn’t remember seeing a wedding ring on his finger, but that was hardly surprising, given the five seconds she’d spent staring at him before performing her disappearing act into the ladies’ loo. And what about The Princess. Was that pert young thing at the table his
wife
? Fifteen years was a long time and Julia figured that a man like him would surely be married, and be in possession of the regulation sandstone villa in the leafy suburbs, the appropriate number of tousle-haired blond children and a chocolate labrador. And when the family wasn’t tumbling around in the landscaped gardens of their perfect suburban hideaway, they would drive down to Middle Point in their late-model Volvo to spend time in their million-dollar weekender with their beautifully dressed friends and
their
designer children.

She suddenly felt relieved. Crass generalisations
did
save time after all.

‘Julia?’ The door swung open and Lizzie poked her head around it.

‘Yeah, I’m in here,’ Julia replied, her voice shaky.

Lizzie walked in, let the door close behind her and stopped short at the sight of her friend. ‘God, you look terrible. Oh no, don’t tell me you’ve got the lurgy too? Here I was blaming the Gen Ys for being soft.’

Lizzie looked into the mirror at their reflections. Julia’s dark curls and pale skin contrasted with Lizzie’s tanned blondeness and Julia envied the fact that she still looked like the perfect beach babe, even at thirty-two.

Julia gave her head a little shake. ‘No, I don’t have the lurgy.’

‘That’s a relief, but something happened at Table 13, right?’

Julia brushed her palms against her black skirt, trying to divert Lizzie’s attention. As if that was going to work. Not for the first time that night, she created a smile out of nowhere.

‘Nothing happened. Why do you ask?’

‘Well, apparently you can’t work here ever again. You’re sacked and I’m pissed off.’

Julia’s head was a jumble. Nothing about the evening was making sense. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m already short a waitress on a long weekend Saturday night and now Ryan-bloody-Blackburn’s sacked you. He thinks just because he’s gorgeous he can get away with shit like that.’ Lizzie shook her head in disbelief, then paused, narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her best friend. ‘Oh yeah. And he seems to know you, by the way.’

Julia felt a pulse throb in her head, struggled a little to find the words. ‘I know I’ve been gone a long time, Lizzie, but when I last lived in this town, customers didn’t have the gall to start telling pubs who they can and can’t employ. What an enormous jerk.’ What an enormous
handsome
jerk.

Lizzie laughed in frustration. ‘Jools … you’re not listening. God’s gift
to women out there? With the shoulders? He owns this place.’

A million questions popped like firecrackers in Julia’s head. She took a calming breath and fished around for the most important one.

‘Whoa. Wait a minute. What did you say?’ Pressing her index fingers to each temple was doing nothing for the throbbing.

‘Which part don’t you understand? The God’s gift part, or maybe the shoulders …’

Julia steadied herself. ‘Did you say that Ry Blackburn
owns
the Middle Point pub?’

‘Yeah, for a month now.’ Lizzie’s face creased in confusion. ‘Hang on, Jools. Nothing about tonight is making any sense to me. Are you going to tell me
how
you know
him
?’

Clutching her stomach, Julia sank back against the basin, wondering where the hell to start that particular story. She’d never revealed any of it to Lizzie, and standing in the ladies’ loo with terribly unflattering overhead fluorescent lighting didn’t seem like the right place to tell her. That particular story needed a long lunch, comfy chairs and at least three bottles of wine.

‘Let’s just say we knew each other once, a really long time ago.’ Julia could see questions on Lizzie’s face but was thankful her friend knew her well enough not to push.

‘Okay then. He wants me to pay you for tonight and throw you some extra for your trouble.’

Julia grinned wryly, took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think there’s enough money in the world for my troubles.’

Lizzie grabbed her in a tight hug and planted a loud kiss on each cheek.

‘Tomorrow. You. Me. A four-course meal of spag bol, white wine, red wine and chocolate, I promise. But you have to promise to tell me everything. Right now, I need to get back out there.’

‘Of course you do. I’m so sorry about tonight.’ Julia managed a sad smile.

‘It’s not your fault. Will it make you feel better if we workshop some form of revenge?’ Lizzie winked at her as she pulled the door open.

Julia smiled. After all these years, her best friend still knew exactly the right thing to say.

It was icy and blustery on the streets of Middle Point but Julia was glad of the ten-minute walk home in the dark.

Above her, the streetlights flickered, crackling on and off in electrical spasms, shuddering as the wind swung the power lines back and forth. The throb of the ocean’s waves calmed her, as ever, and she took in the salty trace of the ocean in the air. In the morning she knew she would be able to stare out to sea again, but at this time of night, it was nothing but a mysterious blackness, unlit by street lights or any big city’s luminous haze. She could easily hide in this darkness.

She needed time to clear her head. After talking with Lizzie, she’d grabbed her bag and coat and left the pub through the back door, navigating her way through the dimly lit car park to the side laneway and then out on to the esplanade. No, it hadn’t been a coward’s retreat, she’d convinced herself, but the safest way out of the place. How could she leave through the dining room and risk locking eyes with Ry? Her convenient escape would guarantee she could slip away unnoticed, at no risk of seeing him ever again. She still had some stubborn pride, after all, which she feared would be sorely tested if she were forced to slink past Ry, his wife and in-laws on the way out. A walk of shame from the sacked maidservant. That’s how city people had viewed her when she was a teenager serving them at the general store. Just another anonymous, interchangeable local girl there for the service of the holidaymakers and the weekenders.