The Bay (14 page)

‘Pictures,' he announced. ‘I'd like to get some shots of the tea party.'

‘Whatever for?' exclaimed Holly with a smile. ‘This is not the stuff of even regional news.'

‘I told you the other night about making a doco based on The Bay, didn't I? Well I think I'm onto an angle that will sell, or at least get up some interest among the right people with the money bags.'

‘Don't tell me,' said Holly, ‘I have star potential. Hollywood is waiting.'

Eddie chuckled. ‘No promise of stardom, Holly. No, it's as much the house as you. It's one of the few originals around and a good link between the past and the present, and perhaps a clue to the future of the area.'

Holly could see how a short sequence of a tea party in the garden of the unrestored historic house could work for the storyline. ‘I'm sure it will be okay with the guests,' she said. ‘But I'll have to tell them what's happening.'

‘That's fine. I don't want to bother anyone. Just shoot it wild, as we say in the business. Fortunately I took a couple of shots when the house was up for sale with the big signs outside. And now the rebirth, so to speak.'

‘Initial labour pains only,' said Holly.

While Eddie went back to his car for his gear, Holly poured them both freshly squeezed orange juice and pondered on the big arguments for and against development she had heard so far. Some claimed that tourism, like the current backpacker boom, guaranteed the town's economic future. Others argued that the place would become overrun with tourists and accommodation development, destroying the laid-back appeal of the place. She was glad she wasn't the mayor straddling both arguments. Her plans for Richmond House would be approved by all sides, she hoped.

Eddie accepted the orange juice with a clinking of glasses. ‘Good luck, Holly. And I hope Richmond House helps you find what you came here for.'

‘We'll see,' said Holly with a slight note of doubt. ‘And what did you come here to find?'

‘Still working that out, believe it or not. It's a kind of elimination process. Knowing what I don't want before I find out what I really want. Now back to business, I'd like to get some shots of the guests arriving.'

‘You're excused. Go and hide in the bushes.'

To her surprise he almost did exactly that, and set up in an overgrown area of the shrubbery that provided a slightly elevated angle on the table. He was such a charming man, mused Holly. Thirtyish, obviously creative, comfortable with technology and a determined battler. She wondered about his personal life. Yes, at the full moon evening he had made a reference to an ex-wife, and a child.

She'd never been curious about knowing the personal details of people's lives before. You met and chatted about where you lived, what your husband did, what school your children went to, what new restaurant had opened. Even over long lunches with women friends nothing too personal was ever exchanged. It would be considered prying and very poor taste. Gossip about third parties was different. Yet up here, it seemed personal sharing was de rigueur.

‘I can see it. Oh yes.' Nola Florens stood in a theatrical pose in the centre of the sitting room. The women had wandered around Richmond House exclaiming at its possibilities, the views, the lovely old wood, the ambience. Holly wasn't sure if Nola was going to break into an operatic solo or a recitation. But after clutching her turbaned head she pointed at the small window alcove.

‘Make it bigger, frame that view. Make the windows floor to ceiling, it's the focal point of the room. And I know just the fabric to frame it.' She spun around. ‘That little fireplace opposite should be huge and above it – an enormous mirror that reflects the view from the bay window. Let the light in, to hell with fading the cushions.'

She placed a plum-coloured fingernail against her matching lips. ‘Mmm. I think pale lemon and duck-egg blue. Sun, sky, water. Flowers of course. But subtle, a bit olde worldy. Bit of the William Morris meets Nola Florens, eh?'

‘Sounds lovely,' Holly said, smiling. ‘But I'm not sure that my budget will run to it.'

‘I know exactly what will fit in here because I have yards, rather metres, of it, my dear. Mouldering away in my warehouse in Sydney. What say we get it up, with a couple of things that might suit the bedrooms? The wallpaper too, of course. Just as a trim here and there. This humidity plays hell with the stuff. How are you going to cool this place?'

‘I'm relying on the ocean breeze and fans. They're romantic and with the house opened up more it should be comfortable.'

‘Windows were meant to be open. I hated living in a sealed house in the city. Curtains have to move and dance, not be rigid, pleated in place. You know, you don't even need curtains up here . . . it's so private. Just token drapes to frame each beautiful picture through every window.' She patted Holly's shoulder. ‘A lot of love went into this place, make sure you have a builder who will give it the attention it deserves.'

Once they were all settled in the garden, Amber passed plates of sushi to the other guests and Lynn handed around cool drinks while Holly poured tea.

Mac was in deep discussion with Kimberley. ‘So what is going on with Bonnie if you've got Erica staying with you and Matty?' she asked.

‘Erica is such a clam. All she is saying is that her mother has gone to a health farm for a couple of weeks. Her mother disappeared for a short time, maybe that was the catalyst. Anyway, Erica is staying with us on weekends. How she stands that madhouse during the week when she has homework to do I don't know. I've told her to bring her washing with her on Friday night and I send her back with food to snack on during the week. She's starting to unwind and relax a bit more. She and Matty enjoy each other's company. I get the feeling Erica hasn't spent a lot of time just being a carefree teenager.'

‘What health farm? Do you think someone talked her into drying out? Poor Bonnie, let's hope she's getting her act together. I'll ask Billy, he'll know what's going on, I'm sure.'

‘Now, Mac, I never thought you'd be running to the hairdresser for gossip,' said Amber, who was walking by with a platter of finger food.

‘There's gossip and there's caring concern. You know how it is in a small community. Newcomers or not, we have to look after each other.'

‘Indeed we do.' Amber smiled politely, not wishing to argue with the older woman, but Mac gave her a shrewd look.

‘There's something you're not telling. But I won't try to find out.'

Amber turned away, avoiding Mac's gaze, wondering just how psychic she really was. Reading tarot cards and handwriting was one thing, but sometimes Mac had ‘flashes' that were prophetic.

So far there hadn't been any chat around town about Bonnie's incident at the beach. Amber had simply backed up her story to her daughter – a foolish morning plunge to help wash away a big hangover, and a misreading of the surf. Amber had fortunately been nearby to help her escape from the rip. The three of them had agreed to keep it to themselves. There was no need to explain her retreat to the Dolphin Centre for ‘treatment'. Bonnie's reputation for wild living over recent months could be the cause of anything. Erica had no idea her mother had attempted suicide and was able to give her emotional support without the burden of that knowledge. Amber was touched by just how much Bonnie responded to Erica's help, and how sensitive the young girl was to her mother's need.

Thanks to Amber's contacts, admission to the Dolphin Centre was arranged with a couple of phone calls. The following day they all drove to the therapy centre high on a hinterland hill with remnant rainforest and filtered views of the distant ocean. A scatter of cabins ringed the main house, where they found the admission office and were shown around the counselling rooms and gym.

It wasn't until they were walking away from the car towards the front steps that Bonnie showed signs of breaking down. Tears flowed and she mumbled in a confused state. ‘Oh, no. Oh, God. What's going to happen? I'm frightened.'

Erica threw both arms round her mother and hugged her tightly. ‘It'll be all right, Mum. You'll be safe here. Nothing to worry about, Amber has told you that. Really. C'mon, Mum, show 'em a bit of your old self. This is a chance for things to change for us.'

‘She's right you know,' said Amber. ‘Let's go. No turning back.'

Bonnie recovered, wiped the tears away and smiled in gratitude at them both. ‘That's what I said when I first arrived at The Bay, full of hope, full of problems. No turning back. Not as easy as it sounded then. It's all become such a mess.'

‘We'll make it, Mum. You've just got to get a bit stronger.'

Bonnie looked at her daughter with pride and love, then turned to Amber who linked arms with her and steered her towards the front door. ‘She's a strong girl, Amber. Maybe these past few months have helped make her that way, so it's not all bad, huh?'

‘Same goes for you, Mum,' added Erica gently.

It had been a hectic twenty-four hours for Amber and Erica. Arranging the Dolphin Centre had been the easy part. More complex was getting a three-minute course on running Bonnie's faltering shop, which Amber had agreed to manage for the time being. ‘All care but no responsibility, Bonnie.'

That had been the simple foundation of the deal. Along with an invitation from Bonnie. ‘Put some of your products in there too. Might help a bit.'

‘Done deal,' said Amber as they had hugged.

Now came the hard part, kisses and tears. A gentle, smiling man with a name badge that said ‘Cheyne' took Bonnie to her room, and Amber and Erica walked back to the car holding hands.

‘They're not going to do anything . . . awful to her, are they?' asked Erica.

‘Of course not. But it's going to be hard for your mum to get her willpower functioning again. They're very caring and careful. They look after people with all kinds of problems, from grief to addiction, to just losing the plot a bit.'

‘How come you know them?' Erica asked, catching Amber off guard for a moment.

She hesitated, then replied. ‘My mother spent some time here, too.' She didn't say any more but seeing Erica's questioning look, she added, ‘Yes, they helped her. A real lot.'

While the other guests were still enjoying tea in the garden, Mac wandered into the kitchen and found Holly on her own. ‘Can I help?'

‘Thanks, Mac, I'm just boiling more water. More juice needed out there?'

‘Wouldn't go astray. A lot of chatting going on, makes us dry.' She glanced around the old kitchen. ‘This will have to go. Can you imagine cooking on that wood stove?'

Holly sighed. ‘I get a bit overwhelmed sometimes with what I've taken on. I'm hoping the new builder Lynn and Stolle are sending will work out. I need someone who can see what I can. I'm afraid Andrew's designs are very clinical. When you walk around the house, you start to make small changes in your mind as you see things. Nola gave me some great ideas.'

‘And where is your husband? Down at the beach? Avoiding the ladies' tea party?'

Holly gave her a curious look. ‘No, he's in Sydney and heading off to Bangkok soon.'

Mac frowned. ‘Oh, I thought I saw him in town yesterday. I could have sworn it was him . . .' She shrugged and gave a bright smile. ‘Oldtimers setting in. I'll pop back outside. That devastatingly handsome Eddie wants to talk to me for his film.'

Eddie had framed Amber in his viewfinder several times during the tea party shoot. She was just so damned beautiful and full of youthful energy that his creative instinct told him to get the shots. Creative instinct, bullshit, he thought when changing angles. Sex urge more likely. Sort that out later, get it in focus.

‘Get it all in focus,' Amber said in opening the conversation when he put down the camera and joined the women. The line was so close to what had just gone through his mind that the shock almost made him drop the scone he had bitten into.

‘Ah yes. In focus. Are you a blow-in like me?'

‘Sort of. I've been back from Sydney a couple of months, the old folks had a farm that went bust. I'm a fully qualified beach bunny, done the horse riding bit in the hills.'

‘Well I have similar qualifications,' responded Eddie. ‘I'm going bust on a farm too. Probably because I let the fruit and avocado trees do their own thing. I just hope the camera yields a better meal ticket.'

Amber smiled and picked up a platter. ‘Have some cheese.'

‘I like the way you smile when you say cheese.'

She blushed, was unable to think of a smart response, so settled for a real smile.

‘Where's your farm?' Eddie asked.

‘Up where the developers will never find it, I hope,' she said with some bitterness. ‘It makes me angry that so many farming families that worked hard for several generations had to leave before they could get the benefit of the boom in real estate. My folks were among them. Sold their land too cheaply. Still, Mum has the old house and her garden.'