The House at the Bottom of the Hill (14 page)

Dan nodded in the expected male-companionship manner, but Grace wasn’t bossy. Not really. She’d been worried sick about her husband and the twins. And while Ted was here, weaving plans to get Charlotte to do his bidding, his capable wife was running the store.

‘Did you find anything about her on Google?’ Ted asked.

‘Not a thing.’

Ted grunted. ‘Must be something somewhere. Might take a look myself. Got nothing else to do.’

Dan left his position against the window and walked back to the chair he’d vacated. ‘Leave the Googling to me.’ He picked up the chair, swung it around, placed it closer to Ted’s bed and sat. ‘We’ve got an important letter to write so let’s get it done.’

He needed to stay close to everyone in order to traffic-manage the unexpected events hampering his own plans. Best get Ted off the internet search before he discovered what had happened to Charlotte’s English B&B. The story didn’t stop there, and Dan wondered if it even stopped here, in Swallow’s Fall.

Charlotte hiccupped. Late afternoon and dozens of raspberry cordial-coloured peonies began to meld one with the other. One slug of blackberry wine too many?

Drinking. At four o’clock on a Thursday afternoon. She stilled in the hallway, the water in the bucket she held sloshing over the rim, and stared at the wallpaper steamer, then sighed. Was it even worth starting now?

A snuffling noise. ‘Lucy?’ She turned to the kitchen but Lucy didn’t come bounding out of her laundry bed. Loose again. Probably over at the pub with her country boyfriend, Daniel, no doubt getting watered and fed scraps from the kitchen.

Another snuffle sound, then a snort.

Charlotte put the bucket down and walked to the open front door. A bulbous white animal barrelled its way to the closed flyscreen door on squat but strong-looking legs. Legs with trotters.

Charlotte stepped back from the pig on her doorstep and pondered the notion of homemade wine creating hallucinations. The tip of the pig’s big round snout pressed against the flyscreen, its dark little eyes staring. It was the size of a fridge. It couldn’t be wild because it was wearing a harness.

She shooed it with her hand. ‘Go away.’ What was the number of the local wildlife rescue group?

‘That there’s Ruby and she don’t take kindly to shooing.’

Charlotte looked up as Mrs Johnson moved from the veranda post she was leaning against and walked forwards. So this was the pig Daniel had mentioned, the one Mrs J took for a walk on a lead. ‘Good afternoon,’ Charlotte said. She eyed the pig as it waddled backwards to let its owner come closer to the door. A pig with manners. Well, this was Swallow’s Fall. Anything could happen.

‘Steaming off the wallpaper then?’ Mrs J asked, nodding at the hallway behind Charlotte.

Charlotte was mindful of Daniel’s feature wall in the bar. Seven months to change the colour. ‘I’m afraid I have no choice—it’s a bit threadbare in places. But I’m sure it was lovely when it was first hung.’

‘It’s not definite Grandy’s staying yet,’ Mrs J said. ‘He might not want to.’ No friendly banter being swapped here. Mrs J didn’t waste time getting to the point.

‘That will be up to him,’ Charlotte said, ‘but the offer’s there.’

‘He likes sitting on the veranda and watching the town.’

‘With a fried egg sandwich.’

‘Smart, aren’t you?’ Mrs J waved a hand at Charlotte’s raised eyebrows. ‘I’m not being rude, I’m being pleasant.’

Charlotte forgave herself for making an honest mistake.

‘Some say I’m the negative type,’ Mrs J said, bending to click the lead onto the pig’s body harness. ‘But it isn’t true. Personally, I think I’m getting soft.’

Charlotte grinned, then wiped it off her face as Mrs J straightened and looked her in the eye.

‘Things have been tough since I lost my husband.’

That’s right—Daniel had mentioned her loss. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I wasn’t saying it for pity, I was just saying. My daughter, Lily, she lost her husband in a divorce. Got Lily and her kids, Andy and Jane Louise, living with me now. Helps a bit. We pool resources.’

‘Daniel said Lily is a great cook.’

‘You’re not such a bad cook yourself. Those tarts and cakes you make are professional looking—and tasting. Mind if I come in?’

Was there a choice? ‘Please do.’ Charlotte held the door open.

Mrs J hooked Ruby’s lead over the arm of the rocking chair on the veranda.

‘Will that be enough to keep her tethered?’ Charlotte asked, eyeing the pig.

‘Probably not if she takes a mind to wander.’ Mrs J walked into the hallway.

‘Should I get her some water—or something to eat?’

‘She’s partial to the odd banana, if you’ve got any to hand.’

Charlotte bowed her head with true hostess grace. ‘It’s Ruby’s lucky afternoon, I bought a bunch from the grocer’s yesterday.’

Mrs J pulled a hipflask out of her pocket. ‘Understand you’ve been tasting some homebrews.’

Charlotte eyed the hipflask with suspicion.

‘Thought you’d like to try some of mine,’ Mrs J said. ‘Potato wine.’

‘I’d be delighted, Mrs Johnson.’ Anything to get her out of the house—taking the pig with her.

‘I won’t beat around, I’m here to suss you out.’ Mrs J moved the hipflask to her left hand and held out her right, fingers stretched, arm straight. ‘So if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Charlotte and you can call me Clarissa.’

Mrs Johnson had a girly name? Charlotte hadn’t considered what her Christian name might be but if she had, she’d have put a bet down on it being a staunch, strong female from the Bible: Ruth, Deborah, Rachel. Or maybe something from the movies. Cruella.

And how much sussing out was Charlotte about to endure?

A
minor bump to a guy’s confidence didn’t mean the guy had buckled. Dan’s composure had been pranged yesterday and the result was a small dent. Nothing that couldn’t be panel-beaten and resprayed. But like all unexpected events, his slight—
slight
— downbeat reaction about how he’d got things wrong and Charlotte had got them right needed closer inspection and thought.

He made a smooth, even draw on the beer tap, waited a few seconds for the head to rise and fall, and drew again until the ale came to the top of the glass with minimal head.

Basically, he was going to have to lie some more in order to smooth his way around the many issues. The committee, Ted, Charlotte—and the women in town. Handling guys was one thing; give ’em a beer and start talking sport. Handling women and their talent for discovering truths, Dan hadn’t had much practice at. He needed inside info from someone who had a longtime association, as in a marriage. His opportunity had walked into the bar five minutes ago.

He put the pint on the counter. ‘So you’ve been let off Sammy duty tonight?’ he asked Ethan.

‘Pushed off, more like.’ Ethan took a sip. ‘Said I was getting underfoot and kicked me out of the house.’

‘How long before she goes into … you know, gives birth?’

‘Just over three weeks. We’ll head into Cooma and stay there a few days before the baby’s due so we’re near the hospital. It’s all getting a bit close for comfort. Got an agency vet assistant arriving in a couple of days.’

‘Experienced?’

‘I hope so. Isla Maxwell. Agency said she was driving down from Queensland. I just hope she’ll cope. And stay.’ Ethan nodded at the bottle of beer beside Dan’s hand. ‘What about you? You don’t usually drink on duty.’

Dan took a slug of his cold one. ‘Had a tough day.’

‘How tough?’

‘People are asking questions about my apartment.’

‘What apartment?’

‘Exactly.’ Dan scanned the bar. It was gone nine o’clock, only a few stragglers left, all men. The kitchen had closed a half-hour ago. Dan liked to let Lily leave early on a Friday night. Josh was at the far end of the bar, serving the few guys Dan knew he’d be kicking out in under an hour’s time.

He leaned on the counter and spoke quietly. ‘I sort of got myself tangled up in a lie.’ He raised his hand as Ethan lifted an enquiring eyebrow. ‘A partial lie.’

‘A little white one, eh?’

‘Maybe the size of Mount Kosciuszko.’

‘I take it this is to do with your hotel plans.’

Dan nodded. ‘Seven toilets arrived unexpectedly early and I made up a story about renovating the upstairs area for an apartment.’

‘That’d make a damned big apartment for one single guy.’

‘They haven’t figured that out yet.’

‘The war council guys?’ Ethan put his glass down. ‘Maybe not, but wait until the ladies hear about it. They’ll suss you out faster than a tumbleweed gathers dust.’

‘That’s what I’m worried about.’ Grace already knew about it, which meant most of the women in town knew about it.

‘How’d you get the idea in the first place?’

‘Charlotte asked what was upstairs and mentioned it looked a big enough space to have three or four apartments up there.’

‘Or seven ensuite hotel rooms.’ Ethan grinned. ‘How’s it going with Charlotte?’

‘I think she might be warming to us.’

‘Just as well, because Sammy is out to marry you off to her.’ Ethan lifted his ale and took a drink, all the while staring at Dan over the rim of the glass. ‘Just warning you.’

‘What is it with women?’

‘Better get used to them—or get a handle on how to read them. There are more women arriving in town every time we look around. Kate married Jamie. Julia’s back for good. Charlotte arrived out of the blue and now Isla Maxwell.’

‘At this rate we’ll be overrun with them by next spring.’

‘Let’s get back to your marriage plans.’

‘Sammy’s marriage plans,’ Dan said, straightening. ‘Charlotte isn’t my type.’

Ethan smiled. ‘Sammy’s got her heart set on a winter wedding.’

Dan grimaced and looked away, but the pull of amusement sat inside him. Him and Red, bickering their way down the aisle. ‘I don’t think she’d take me.’

‘You’re quite a catch. Apparently.’

‘Give over, would you? Red wouldn’t think twice about running me over in her shiny 4WD.’

‘Given her a friendly little nickname, have you?’

‘Yeah—Firecracker.’ Okay, maybe sometimes he thought of her as Sexy Red.

‘Can’t promise anything but I’ll try to put Sammy off.’

‘Just make sure you do that before the lovebird dinner tomorrow night.’

They glanced to the far end of the counter as one of the guys from the small group still in the bar let out a disgruntled cry and thumped the counter with his fist.

Josh stood behind the bar, unflinching, both hands flat on the counter. ‘You’ve had enough,’ he said. ‘I have the right to refuse to serve you.’

‘I’m asking for one last beer before closing, that’s all. And I don’t like being refused.’

‘You just have been,’ Josh said.

The guy turned to his buddies at a table behind him, and grinned. ‘Look at me, I just got refused a drink.’

His group of mates laughed. ‘You gonna play games?’ one called. ‘Or do something?’

Ethan picked up his glass and sipped his ale. ‘You wading in?’

Dan shook his head. ‘Nah. Watch this.’

The loudmouth turned to the bar with a show of bravado and smirked at Josh.

Josh’s mouth moved to something like a smile but everything else about him was stilled.

The guy lifted his arm fast, fist clenched, and swung but Josh was faster. He grabbed the man’s wrist and stopped the punch. ‘My apologies,’ Josh said, teeth gritted as he held the guy’s arm mid-air. ‘Didn’t realise you wanted to play games.’

The guy grunted, his face split in pain from the pressure but his resolve strengthened as he stared Josh in the eye.

‘Arm wrestling you wanted, was it?’ Josh asked. ‘Why didn’t you say?’ He slammed the guy’s arm onto the bar, the crunch of a possible broken thumb making the guy squeal, the thud rattling the glasses in their wire trays on top of the counter.

Ethan hissed in a breath. ‘Ouch.’

‘You lost,’ Josh said steadily, unfazed. He released his hold of the man’s arm. ‘Twenty minutes till closing, gentlemen,’ he called to guy’s mates. ‘And I’m no longer in the mood for games.’ He picked up the glass cloth on the bar and pulled the wire tray closer to him.

Dan picked us his bottle of beer, took a swig and grinned at Ethan. ‘Thank God we still have a set of guys in this town who won’t take shit from donkeys.’

Ethan nodded at Josh. ‘It’s good to see him handle himself that way.’

‘He’d take them all on, if he had to.’

‘I know that. Just saying I like it when a man doesn’t feel he has to until he has to.’

‘Yeah.’ Dan didn’t condone roughness in his bar, but it sent a spark of pure joy up his spine on the occasions it happened. Nothing like a good tackle or a brush against imminent danger to make a man feel like he still had robust health and the balls to take on a troublesome situation.

‘Okay,’ Ethan said. ‘So let’s get back to this lie you sort of got yourself tangled up in.’

‘If anyone’s likely to figure out what I’m up to, it’s Charlotte. That’s what worries me.’

‘You’d best go see her then. Make some appeasement and sort it out now, before it trips you up.’

‘Yeah.’ There wasn’t time to dawdle either, things were moving too fast. He took a last swig of his beer. He could leave Josh here with the loudmouths. Ethan wouldn’t go anywhere while they were around.

‘Charlotte’s smart, Ethan. She’ll think I’m taking business out of her hands.’ Which he would be, and the raw feeling of being accountable for that scoured his conscience.

‘Knock knock.’

Charlotte turned. Oh, great. Hotshot. The denouement of the day.

‘What do you want?’ she asked tersely. She’d downed three gallons of water, felt sick after eating a bread and butter sandwich for supper, could do with a strong flat white and still hadn’t managed to make a start on the peony wallpaper due to Mrs J’s potato wine-fuelled interrogation.

‘Got some news.’

‘I’m more in need of coffee.’

‘You okay?’

She checked him out. Nothing in his hands—no bottle of home-brewed cyanide. ‘Come in. Everyone else has.’

Mrs J’s visit had left her slightly tipsy, starving, and overly concerned about how much information Clarissa would eventually extricate about why Charlotte was in town. Her questioning hadn’t been specific, more of a fact-finding mission and possibly just genuine nosiness.