The House at the Bottom of the Hill (29 page)

She pulled from him. ‘We can’t be seen together.’

‘I don’t want us to be a secret any longer.’

‘I’m not staying, Daniel.’

The light in his eyes dimmed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I have to go. I need to walk Grandy home.’

‘Charlotte, don’t leave like this.’

She’d dressed for him this evening, not for herself. Her pride in her appearance had always been for her own sense of self but tonight, as she’d slipped into the dress, she’d been thinking only of how Daniel would see her. And now he was asking for more— but she wouldn’t be around for more. She couldn’t let this go any further. Her few hours of respite were over.

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen, Daniel.’

‘What?’ he asked, taking hold of her hands.

Charlotte bit into her bottom lip.

‘What?’ he asked again.

Love
. She wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

D
an wandered the lonely path home, his jacket slung over his shoulder. She had a list of excuses as long as the street for not going public with him. She had to leave. Had to protect her reputation. Had to walk her guest home.

Bullshit.

She hadn’t meant she had to leave the party without him, she’d meant she was leaving town. She’d put the B&B up for sale, for Christ’s sake. She wanted him to take Lucy. She’d been sorting out the lives of the townspeople. Why do that if she intended to leave? Did she want to make redress for something?

He unlocked the back door of Kookaburra’s and headed for his bedroom, pulling a cold beer out of the corridor refrigerator as he passed. Burning some midnight oil might ease his frustration. He flung his jacket on the study table in his bedroom, sat, and fired up his laptop. He checked the real estate pages first.

There it was. Too damned easy to find.

‘Jesus.’ He took a swig of his beer and deliberated leaving it be. Letting his need for a relationship with Charlotte go. Letting her leave.

Look at your mother
. His father’s words came to him and sent him back, once again, into his childhood.

‘Yeah, Dad. I hear you.’

Look at Red
, Dan had been saying to himself all night.
Look at Charlotte
.
Look at my girl
. He’d watched her dance with others, chat with others, laugh with others. He’d followed her every move around the dance floor of the Town Hall, studying her from every angle. The way that sexy dress swayed between her legs. The way her cherry-red mouth curved into a smile on her pale face. A goddamn beautiful face. And he couldn’t deny it any longer.

He was bug-eyed in love with her. Eyes burning just looking at her, heartstrings pulling when he touched her. Completely in love.

He put his beer down. If he was going to win her, he’d have to venture into her history so he understood how to handle all the messy situations without hurting her, or himself. Nah, stuff hurting himself—he was hurting now, and if she left he’d be hurting for a lot longer than a few hours in a sleepless night.

He opened the electronic folder on the desktop where he’d stored the information he’d found to date. Words bounced from the screen to his mind.
Lost … Thriving home and small business … Forsters
…
Manipulating a situation by bullying
…
Miss Simmons’ past
…
Australian-born
…

Only one avenue he hadn’t searched yet: Charlotte’s childhood in Australia. He opened up a new tab and typed into the search engine:
Charlotte Simmons, news reports, Australia—
and the year—twenty-three years ago.

One million, three hundred and eighty thousand results in 0.44 seconds.

‘Jesus.’ The night sprawled ahead of him.

He found what he’d been looking for at four a.m.

His chest tightened as he read the article from the online archives. The words swam in his vision. He scrunched his eyes tightly closed, released the pressure and read it again.

Woman murdered. Child, 6, hides in wardrobe at scene

A 6-year-old has been taken into custody after being discovered in the wardrobe of her mother’s bedroom, where it is believed she hid while her mother was killed. The victim, a 32-year-old British-born Australian resident and single mother, was strangled to death. The gruesome discovery was made by a neighbour in the early hours of the morning.

It is unsure if this was a planned attack or a domestic dispute gone terribly wrong. Fingerprints of a suspect have been found at the scene, both in the bedroom where the tragedy took place, and in other areas of the small house in Campbelltown, in Sydney’s southwest.

It is believed the suspect is known to police and wanted for vicious attacks on two other women eleven and eighteen months ago. To date, the suspect has not been found. Police are advising it’s likely he has fled interstate. Police have interviewed residents of a town in the Snowy Mountains where the suspect is believed to have lived and the investigation continues.

Meanwhile, the child, who has become known as Charley Red, is in foster care while she awaits the arrival of her maternal grandmother, who is travelling from England.

Dan’s breath wouldn’t come. His heart pounded but his lungs had collapsed at ‘Charley Red, is in foster care …’
Charlotte. Sweetheart. God almighty
.

The black and white photograph alongside the news report showed reporters jostling against two women in suits, their arms around a child wrapped in a blanket large enough to trip her up, but not pulled high enough over the child’s head to cover a tumble of sepia-coloured long hair. Titian hair; so different in hue, it stood out even in black and white.

He typed in a new search:
Swallow’s Fall
,
suspect
,
police
,
murder
.

Alleged murderer Thomas O’Donnell found dead south of Canberra

O’Donnell, 56, a drifter described by police as violent with malicious intent had served two jail sentences for attacks on women in the Northern Territory. He was also wanted for questioning in relation to the murder of Campbelltown single mother, Lillian Simmons, three years ago. At the time of the murder, police were unable to locate O’Donnell whose fingerprints were found in the flat where Ms Simmons lived with her only child, and believed he had fled interstate.

O’Donnell’s last registered address was Burra Burra Lane, Swallow’s Fall, where he lived before abandoning his family. It is believed police will return to the rural town in the Snowy Mountains to once again question residents and possibly close the murder case.

Ms Simmons’ child was in foster care after the killing and was then taken to Britain by her maternal grandmother, Olivia Simmons.

Dan pushed his study chair back from the desk. Six years old. Man, how could any kid go through such torment and get out of it the other side?

‘Twenty-five minutes, Lucy.’ Charlotte jogged on the spot at the top of the hillside, Lucy darting around her legs. ‘Getting faster.’ They’d taken the back route up the hill this morning, although the dog had been up to the top twice, pelting back to Charlotte as though encouraging her to keep going. But there was no satisfaction in Charlotte’s endeavours. She looked down at the town below and came to a standstill, her heartbeat still racing.

Swallow’s Fall, a dot on the map with one street and less than a dozen establishments. But it didn’t look lost in the folds of the countryside, it looked settled.

‘Oh, God,’ she said quietly. ‘Look at it.’ Love hung in the air on the hillside and inside Charlotte’s heart.

The flamingo pink of the B&B stood out against the darker hues of royal blue, stately grey and lemony-yellow of the town’s businesses. Even from this distance, the little house at the northern end of Main Street looked special.

The townspeople weren’t hanging on to traditions because they were frightened of growth or scared of change. They didn’t see themselves as disadvantaged—they saw themselves as lucky. A strong community, one Charlotte found deeply heroic. And one to which she didn’t belong.

Pointless hiding the truth from herself any longer, out here on the bluff of the hillside, surrounded by nothing but summer. Last night she’d fallen. In Daniel’s arms, beneath the bunting and the glitter-ball in the funny old Town Hall, with sultry jazz playing on a jukebox. She’d fallen desperately in love with him.

‘Bad timing, Red,’ she murmured. ‘Real bad timing.’

I want more of you, Charlotte
.

She squashed the hope his words had given her. More of her? To offer a person any kind of love, she had to first find her own balance, and doubts tipped the scale.

‘I have to love myself first,’ she told Lucy. ‘And I can’t do that here.’ Lucy jumped up, paws on Charlotte’s thigh. One day, Charlotte would be as lucky as Daniel. She’d find her home, but it couldn’t be here, and it wouldn’t be with Daniel—the first man she’d ever been in love with. She’d lied to everyone and was still lying, no matter how much good she may have done by being part of the tourist manifesto. She’d be leaving the townspeople an empty, unrenovated pink house with a big For Sale sign out the front.

She made her way over the ridge towards the town. The dog galloped ahead, skirting the trees and sniffing around the boulders.

The grass squished beneath the rubber of Charlotte’s sneakers, the morning dew still fresh. The sun would dry it soon. She looked up at the sky and wondered how it would feel to have snow dampening her shoulders and chilling the tip of her nose as she walked this hillside. How would the snow gum in her garden look, laden with white?

She paused and studied the ground. The tips of new growth dotted the grass, many of the plants already in bud.

Her heart tumbled to her stomach. ‘Oh great. That’s just great.’ Surely they weren’t supposed to appear before January? She wasn’t supposed to be here long enough to see them. Now she’d have to tip-toe down the hill to make sure she didn’t squash Daniel’s wildflowers.

‘Sold?’ Charlotte stumbled in the hallway, her knees almost buckling. ‘Sold?’ she asked again, steadying herself by bracing against the hall table and gripping the telephone tighter.

‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ the realtor said. ‘Apparently just the type of property this company is looking for. They’ll be doing it up.’

‘As a house?’ Charlotte asked.

‘I must say, Miss Simmons, I was thinking along the terms of a fast sale taking six months, not six hours.’ He chuckled, his delight obvious.

‘Will they use it as a house—as a home?’ Charlotte asked again.

‘No idea.’

‘What is this company? Where are they located? What do they do?’

‘Sentinel Renovations is the company name. Registered address is Victoria. This is a cash sale, Miss Simmons. A cash sale.’ The realtor laughed, no doubt counting his commission.

‘So what happens now?’

‘I’ll email the documents, you sign and return to me by both email and in hard copy.’

Charlotte hardly heard him.
Sold
.

‘I’m working double-duty for you, Miss Simmons. The buyer wants a quick settlement and as the cash is on the table, so to speak, I can get this done fast.’

Done. Gone. Was this was she wanted for the town? Would they care who bought the house when she left? Would Charlotte care?

Yes, she would—but what was the point in stopping the sale from going through? There’d be no business for her, Kookaburra’s would take that over. She didn’t need money to live on, but she needed to use her brain and her hands. And how could she stay in Swallow’s Fall under the cover of lies and deceit? How would she bear it when her relationship with Daniel ended? What would she do if he found someone else? If he married and had children with some other woman? The image of little Lochie cradled in the crook of his arm came to life in her mind. A blast of love spread through her chest at the thought of Daniel being a daddy to any child she might have. But from this point on, she’d need an iron grip on such thoughts, because at this moment, there was no way on God’s earth she could envisage herself loving any other man enough to have children with him. Not when the essence of Daniel filtered over her and through her, soaking her heart with a desperate kind of love.

‘Alright,’ she told the realtor. ‘Please email the papers and I’ll sign.’

Charlotte disconnected the call and turned to the sunlight at her front door. Pushing open the flyscreen, the temperate air flowed over her. She inhaled the scent of eucalypt, the newly mown grass of her front lawn, and let the breeze heading down Main Street waft over her. But it was no longer her front lawn and the gentle wind didn’t blow away the cobwebs of regret around her heart.

‘That’s your lawn cut for a fortnight,’ Grandy said as he trod the steps from path to veranda.

‘You didn’t have to get someone to cut the grass, Grandy.’

‘Got to do something for my keep, and anyway, Josh needs the extra money.’ He lowered himself with grace into one of the rocking chairs by the front door.

Charlotte smiled. ‘I like your waistcoat. It’s very … yellow.’

‘Ain’t it just? Got Julia to nip into Cooma. She got it from one of the second-hand stores. I call it sunflower yellow.’

Charlotte sank into the chair next to Grandy’s and rocked, nursing her hurts. ‘What are you doing, Grandy?’

‘Just letting folk see a bright yellow waistcoat on a craggy old man.’

‘Against a peeling pink weatherboard.’

‘Terrible colour,’ Grandy muttered. ‘You paint it yellow, Charlotte. And while you’re at it, open up your heart to what surrounds you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sometimes we don’t see what’s right in front of us because we’re too busy chasing the dream to colour our hearts with the shades of love already there.’