Stone Castles (5 page)

‘Hey,' she said with a laugh, teasing the ends from the baby's firm grip and flicking it back over her shoulder out of reach. Chloe gurgled and smiled, thoroughly delighted with herself, and somehow it didn't feel so wrong.

The baby still felt heavy but it felt kind of good.

‘She's gorgeous,' she said, swaying a little and rubbing Chloe's back, the way she'd seen her mother do.

‘I know. All you have to do these days is threaten them with eBay. Works like a charm. Anyway, come into the kitchen and you two can get to know each other while I get dinner on the table.'

Craig arrived home soon after, kissing his wife before greeting Pip and his baby daughter, and then the boys bowled back inside and set the table while Craig carved the lamb and Tracey served up the sides and Pip sat there, entertaining the gorgeous Chloe while being entertained by all of them.

And if she'd been close to tears of anguish before, this time she was close to tears of joy, because it was so good to be back here, in a busy kitchen filled with conversation and the clatter of plates and cutlery and a world away from her life in New York City. A kitchen filled with love.

She looked at Tracey, and looked at her husband and her growing boys and the plump, happy baby she was cradling, and envied her friend.

Tracey had it all, a good home, a loving family and a great marriage.

Could this have been her and Luke fifteen years on, with kids of their own? So obviously in love and with a family of their own?

No. Not a chance.

Because Craig was a good man. A solid man.

She'd bet her last dollar he wasn't the kind of man who'd keep secrets from the woman he loved.

Chapter Seven

L
uke fixed the fence and let the sheep back in the paddock, then looked at the westering sun before heading back towards the house, Turbo trotting behind him. With any luck, Jacko from the Ag store would have dropped off the part for the harvester by now and he'd soon be back in business. The weather forecast was promising – no rain predicted for the next week – not that he put his faith in the weather bureau. He'd been stung more than once before and he took every forecast with a grain of salt, but if they did manage to be right this time, he'd have a fighting chance of getting the harvest finished before Christmas.

It wasn't like he had big plans though. His folks were expecting him to join them for lunch at their place in Stansbury, and then it would be nice to kick back and do something else for a couple of weeks. It was about time he took himself and his swag and Turbo down to Corny Point and dropped in a line or two.

The sun slanted lower, turning the sky purple and the golden paddocks molten, while high in the sky to the east a pale moon heralded the coming of night. His favourite time of day.

Usually.

Usually he headed back to the house knowing he had twelve to fourteen hours of good solid work behind him and a solid seven or eight hours of sleep to come.

Usually he felt satisfied, even knowing he was facing another twelve to fourteen hours of work again tomorrow and every day after that until the harvest was in.

But today he didn't feel satisfied. Today he felt restless. On edge. All because of running into a woman who'd dumped him and walked away fifteen years ago.

A woman who looked a million bucks even after spending what must have been the better part of an entire day in a plane. A woman who looked a damn sight better than she ever had, and she'd looked bloody good back then.

And now he was going to have to endure a christening standing right next to her. He snorted. Well, he could do that. He'd been blindsided today, mostly because Craig hadn't bothered to tell him she was coming, let alone that she was staying at his place.

But forewarned was forearmed. He wasn't about to be sucker-punched again. He could do cool. He'd be so cool, she'd think he was Frosty the Snowman.

And then she'd know he didn't give a damn.

He pushed open the garden gate and picked up the box Jacko had left on the verandah by the front door. And he felt like yelling at the moon with the unfairness of it all.

Because he
could
do cool. But still he looked at the small box in his hand and cursed a harvester that had chosen today of all days to do a fuel filter.

He swung the front door open and Turbo scooted in, already anticipating dinner. Then Luke paused, suddenly remembering.

Bugger.

He'd been so blindsided by running into Pip that he'd completely forgotten to tell her about the furniture. Which he probably should check now, so his precious time tomorrow could be spent fixing the header instead of worrying whether it was okay and what she might find.

‘C'mon Turbo,' he said, backing out of the house. The dog stood his ground for a second before realising that dinner was delayed and giving up and padding back out the door to his master.

The corrugated iron shed had seen better days, but it was still watertight and the best place to store anything that didn't need to be in the house. Which is why he'd agreed to store the stuff from the old house next door here.

Five years he'd kept it as a favour. Five years he'd been waiting for someone to claim it.

Waiting for
her
to claim it.

Was it any surprise he'd forgotten to mention it, when she couldn't even be bothered coming home? He didn't come out here much these days – there wasn't much point since TV had gone digital and the old telly in the shed was useless. But that wasn't really the truth. He hadn't come here much since Sharon had left. He hadn't needed a shed to escape to since then.

The big rolling door squealed in protest at being opened, revealing the room at the end of the machinery shed that he'd first set up as a teenager's escape too many years ago to count. The man-cave had later become his haven when Sharon was on the warpath and anything and anyone standing in her way was a target and he'd concluded that avoidance was the better part of valour.

The old familiar guilt bubbled up that maybe he should have tried harder. But no, he had tried at first, tried to placate her and fix whatever it was that was hurting, whatever it was that made her mad. He had tried, until he'd worked out that there was no fixing it. That
he
was the problem and that she didn't want him trying. Didn't want him full stop. It was then that he'd taken to spending his evenings out here in the shed.

He breathed in air that smelled of hay and diesel and grease as dust motes swirled and danced in the last of the sun's fading light. Two ancient overstuffed leather sofas formed a corner of the room he'd made out here, even older carpets lining the floor. An old gramophone and the useless telly he should throw away sat in the corner. And there, against the opposite wall, stood the tarpaulin-clad furniture he'd agreed to store because it would have been churlish of him not to when he had space aplenty. He didn't have to peel off the covers to remember what was underneath. A kitchen dresser. An old Singer treadle sewing machine and a writing bureau.

But he did lift a corner of the tarp from the base of the dresser to see how it was faring.

All good. No swelling from moisture. No stink of rodents, the farm cats clearly having done their job.

The furniture was fine. All that remained was to tell her about it.

She was staying at Craig's. He could call her there, tell her what he had and ask what she wanted done with it. It need only take a minute. He could do it right now.

‘What do you reckon, Turbo?' he said, his dog looking up at him expectantly, ears pricked and ready for action. ‘Should I give her a call?'

Turbo cocked his head to one side and whimpered.

‘Yeah,' he said. ‘Maybe you're right.' Right now probably wasn't the best time. Tracey would be getting dinner for the kids and someone would have to run and get Pip from the B&B, and he'd be left clutching the phone, waiting.

He didn't fancy waiting on the end of a line for someone who'd once thought nothing of dumping him and walking away. He knew all too well the feeling of being left hanging and he was in no hurry to go there again.

Chloe's christening, he figured, as he pulled the rolling door shut on his way out. She'd be at the christening.

Why go out of his way now? He could tell her then.

Chapter Eight

P
ip was so full of lamb roast and apple pie she was bursting, but a good meal and good conversation had given her a second wind and vanquished that heavy feeling of being pulled under. She'd sleep well tonight, and wake with a fighting chance of getting her body adapted to the time difference. With Chloe snug against her chest, Tracey walked her the short distance across the wide yard to the B&B where the boys had left a light on in the porch. It was barely nine o'clock but the sun had set and the heat was disappearing from the day, the air filled with the sounds of creatures settling for the night.

‘Oh my god,' Pip said, looking up at the sky above her and suddenly stopping. She wheeled around, trying to take it all in. ‘I'd forgotten this. I'd forgotten all about this.' For there it was, spread above her, the Milky Way in all its undiluted majesty. Nature in high definition, without the aid of electronics. Millions upon millions of stars lighting up the velvet sky, a gift for anyone who cared to lift their eyes.

‘They're just stars,' Tracey said with a laugh. ‘They're always there.'

Pip shook her head and spun around some more. ‘Do you know how long it is since I've seen a single star? And you have millions, ripe for the picking.'

‘Maybe you should come on home, then. You can have all the stars you want and more.'

Pip stopped spinning. ‘Yeah sure. And do what?'

‘I don't know,' her friend said, as they started towards the B&B again. ‘What do you actually do over there?'

Pip shrugged in the darkness and fell into step alongside her. ‘I analyse markets and what's happening in them. I check out what's happening on and offshore and why, and then make predictions about what that might mean for international money markets and the risk for the bank's investments.'

Tracey stopped at the door to the cottage and looked at her like she'd been speaking gibberish. Above her head moths spun and whirled around the light. Somewhere in the home paddock a baby goat bleated. ‘And you actually enjoy that?'

‘It's a great job! I'm going for a promotion to Executive Director when I get back. It's a fantastic opportunity.'

‘So no chance of moving back home on a more permanent basis anytime soon, huh?'

She shook her head. ‘I can't see it happening. More and more my future seems to be tied up with the bank and the sky's the limit with how far I could go. I could get a transfer to London if I play my cards right.'

Her friend just smiled at her and said, ‘Well, I can't say I don't wish you'd come home for good, but it's great you're doing something you really love.' Tracey pushed open the cottage door. ‘I don't know if you remember what this looked like before,' she said as she put on the lights in the tidy kitchen, ‘but we've done a bit of work on it since then.'

Pip looked around. The plastered walls had been recently painted a soft grey, and there were new lace curtains over the sash window and a breakfast table for two. Along the opposite wall, a kitchenette had been installed. ‘You're kidding me, right? This was just a storeroom last time I was here, wasn't it?'

‘Yeah, it was originally the old workers' quarters, but we were using it for storage. But then I read an article about the popularity of farmstays and got the idea to turn it into a B&B. It's not finished yet – I'm still looking for some pieces to fill up a few blank spaces here and there.' She gestured to the empty wall to her left, before crossing to a doorway. ‘But check this out.'

She flicked a switch, illuminating a traditionally tiled black and white bathroom with a very untraditional corner spa. Pip's eyes popped. ‘You've got a
spa
out here?'

‘Yeah.' Tracey grinned widely. ‘We're hoping it might appeal to people who like their serenity with a touch of decadence. Birthdays, anniversaries, dirty weekends – we've got it covered.'

‘I'll keep it in mind,' Pip said, ‘for when I'm about to embark on my next illicit fling.'

‘Attagirl,' said Tracey, flicking the switch to the last room, which was as big as the kitchen and bathroom combined. ‘And here's your bedroom.'

‘Oh, wow.'

Pip stepped inside, blown away by what her friend had achieved. When Tracey had told her about her plans to create a B&B on the farm, Pip had imagined something far more modest, rustic even. But this was like a step into yesteryear. At one end was a bed – big and wide with a plump mattress and lace pillow shams, and at the other was a sitting area with a sofa and coffee table and wardrobe. But the pièce de résistance was the grand fireplace, regal and imposing in timber and iron and topped by a gilt framed mirror. And all around the room were little traces of history – an old kerosene lamp on the mantelpiece, a bed warmer hanging on the wall. ‘It's gorgeous, Trace. You've done a beautiful job.'

She smiled. ‘Yeah, it's come up a treat, all right. I had to slow up a bit when Chloe put in an appearance, but finally we're getting somewhere. And you get to be the guinea pig before we go live with bookings.'

‘I love it,' Pip said, as she unzipped the bag the boys had left on the bed. ‘Thanks so much for letting me stay.'

Chloe started to whinge, feeling neglected. ‘Uh-oh, it's someone's dinnertime. Do you mind if I feed Chloe while we talk?'

‘Of course not.'

‘Okay, baby,' Tracey said, as she sat on the sofa and unbuttoned her shirt, the baby soon latching onto a nipple. Pip was so struck with the ease with which Tracey attached baby to breast that she couldn't help but stare. Nobody she knew in New York did that. And it wasn't just that nobody she knew over there had a baby. She had just never seen a woman breastfeeding before. ‘Wow,' she said, as Chloe suckled, her tiny fingers curled into the cotton of her mother's shirt. ‘You make that look so easy.'

‘Most natural thing in the world.'

‘I guess.'

‘You'll find out one day. Best job in the world aside, you
are
planning to stop climbing the corporate ladder long enough to have babies one day, right?'

‘Sure,' she replied with a confidence she didn't feel, wishing away the lump that had suddenly re-emerged in her throat. She'd have babies one day. Of course she would. But she'd made her choices for now. She had a good career – no, a
great
career – and it wasn't like thirty-two was
that
old. And one day, maybe, she'd meet someone special and . . . ‘One day. Hey,' she said, pulling a cellophane package from her case, happy to find a distraction. ‘I got this for Chloe at Bloomingdale's. Didn't have time to wrap it, sorry.'

‘Ooh, show me,' said Tracey.

And Pip slid the garment free, a soft pink top with a tutu skirt and matching leggings with bows.

‘It's gorgeous, thank you. She's going to look adorable in that.'

And Pip was feeling all relaxed again when Tracey had to go and ask, ‘So is there someone special back in New York?'

She screwed up her nose. She knew where her friend was headed. ‘Kind of.'

‘Yeah? What's he like? Are we talking marriage material?'

Chad, marriage material? She laughed out loud. ‘It's not really serious. We just keep each other company, you know, when we want to go to the movies –'
or we need a shag
‘– or something.'

‘What? Like a boyfriend of convenience or something?'

Pip thought about that. It was convenient, for both of them. And it came without the complications of a normal relationship and having to work out if it was going somewhere or going nowhere and getting all twisted up in knots when it wasn't going the way you wanted. ‘Something like that, I guess.'

‘So you're sleeping with him, then?'

‘Hey, what kind of a question is that?'

Tracey batted her eyelashes. ‘A perfectly fair question for a prying friend to ask, given the subject matter. So, are you?'

She shrugged. ‘Well, sometimes. We're grown-ups. Consenting adults and all that. It is allowed.'

Tracey frowned. ‘But you wouldn't marry him?'

Pip pulled the last of her stuff out of her case and carried a few pieces to the closet, hanging the dress she'd brought for the funeral and a few other bit and pieces inside. ‘We're just friends really.' Although even the word
friend
was probably overstating it. If they'd been true friends, if they'd been more than convenient bed partners, they might actually have spent more time talking about their likes and dislikes and he probably would have known not to book her a big fat red in-your-face sports car. But she'd sure tell him that, as soon as she got home. ‘It's just nice to have company sometimes.'

Tracey sighed and unlatched Chloe to switch her to her other breast, giving her time to burp in between. ‘I dunno, Pip, I can't see the point of spending time with someone you're not serious about. It's not like you're getting any younger.'

‘Ahem, thirty-two is not old.'

‘Maybe not, but there must be millions of eligible bachelors in New York. Why waste time with someone you wouldn't want to marry?'

Because it was safe.

Non-threatening.

And she had someone to share the lonely nights with if she needed.

But there was no way Trace, who'd met her soulmate in high school and now had three perfect children with him, would understand.

‘Hey,' she said, heading back to her case and looking for a way to change the subject. Because the subject of Chad was too awkward. Too difficult to explain to anyone who didn't know what it was like to live in a place like New York City, putting in too many hours during the day to feel like going out at night and hoping to meet someone new. ‘I was engaged once, you know.'

Tracey looked up. ‘When? Who to? You never mentioned that before.'

Maybe because there wasn't a hell of a lot to tell by the time she put her brief Christmas email together. ‘It was two or three years back. A guy I worked with – well, he was my boss at the time actually.'

‘And?'

‘There's not that much to tell. We never set a date for the wedding. We never got that far.'

‘So what happened?'

She turned and sat down on the bed. ‘You know, that's the funny thing. I still don't really know. He took me home for Thanksgiving to meet his folks and the next week it was over. But then they didn't seem too happy to meet me, although they were awfully polite of course.' She pulled a face as she remembered. ‘Painfully polite. About as warm and welcoming as crocodiles, come to think of it.' She shook her head. ‘He never said anything, but I wondered if they'd threatened to disinherit him or something. I suspect they had plans for him to marry the homecoming queen or something.'

‘Idiots.' Tracey sniffed. ‘Their loss.'

‘And all of a sudden I found myself moved sideways to a different department and a different boss.'

‘Jerk! He didn't deserve you.'

‘So you see, Trace, I have been trying.'

Tracey lifted a now dozing Chloe upright on her shoulder. ‘Well, you'll just have to try harder. You're way too good a catch to be left sitting on the shelf.'

Chloe burped loudly this time, and Pip laughed. ‘Amen, Chloe,' she said, and then yawned, tiredness catching up with her.

‘I'd better leave you to get some sleep. But hey, I've been meaning to ask – seeing as you're home for a few days. I was kind of wondering if you might do me a favour?'

‘Sure. Name it.'

‘It's Chloe's christening next Sunday. And I was really hoping you'd agree to be her godmother.'

‘Me?'

‘Yeah. You.'

‘Wow. That's so sweet. But Gran . . .'

Tracey nodded. ‘I know. And I know you're here for her and you need to be with her.' She tilted her head. ‘Does anyone, um . . . Do they have any idea how long?'

Pip shook her head. ‘It could be any time. But nobody can say when.'

‘Yeah, I thought that. But if it is at all possible, I'd love it if you could.'

‘Wow, I'm honoured. I really am . . . But even if I can, are you absolutely sure about this? It's not like I'm such a great role model when it comes to matters spiritual. The only time I'm ever inside a church is for weddings or funerals and it's not like I even live around here. I can hardly be some great support to Chloe while she's growing up.'

‘I know. And I understand how great your job is, but what's to say you're going to live in the States forever? You never know, you might come home one day. And even if you don't, I bet Chloe will be only too happy to come and look you up in New York City when she's old enough. We probably all will. God, Callan's busting to visit you already! Will you do it, Pip?'

Pip blinked, those damned tears hovering right back there on the brink again. ‘Of course I will.'

Tracey jumped up as fast as she could with a sleeping baby plastered to her chest, and wrapped her free arm around her friend. ‘Oh, Pip, that's so great! Thank you!' Then she leaned back on her heels. ‘Um, in that case, there's probably one other teensy tiny detail I should warn you about.'

‘Oh, hey,' she said, shaking her head, ‘if I have to read something churchy and religious, I'm probably not your girl. We don't do that in our family.'

‘Oh no! It's dead easy. All you have to do is stand there, really, and say that you've agreed to be her godmother. No, it's just that Craig's asked someone to be Chloe's godfather.'

‘O-kay.' Why did she have a bad feeling about this? She didn't know a lot about modern day christenings, but surely it was normal that there be both a godfather and a godmother? Why was Tracey making out like it was such a big deal? Unless . . . The hackles on the back of her neck stood to attention. ‘Does this someone have a name?'