Home Before Sundown (20 page)

The ground beneath Bella seemed to fall away. She felt terrified.

Bugger off, Yewengie
.

‘I've asked Peter to limit his driving, too,' her mother went on. ‘So if he goes out on the property with you, I'd be very grateful if you could hang onto the steering wheel.'

Bella nodded. ‘Yes, of course.'

She half-expected her mother to quiz her again about her plans for the future, and she was rather relieved when she didn't. She was happy to stay on here to help her parents, although she wasn't sure if she could bear to hang around indefinitely if she didn't get some kind of response from Gabe.

It seemed he had no plans to return her calls and if he couldn't manage that small courtesy, Bella knew she had decisions to make. Difficult decisions, which would be have to be made
minus
the Gabe factor, for possibly the first time in her life.

A huge banner bearing ‘Our Liz' in bright red letters hung along the street-side wall of the CWA hall, and much to Liz's amazement, the place was packed for her concert. The little hall was bulging at the seams.

She'd thought that twenty or thirty might be a good crowd, but the organisers had needed to cram so many extra chairs in, they'd been forced to move their beautiful flower arrangements back into the kitchen to make room for the expanded audience.

Liz had told her family not to bother coming. It was only a little thing after all and they could hear her play at home any time. Besides, another trip so soon would be too tiring for Peter.

But the concert was to raise money for the Flying Doctors, such a vital lifeline for people in the bush. And many of the people who'd come were longstanding friends of Peter's. There were many more men than Liz had expected.

As Nancy Hedges, the CWA's president, mentioned in her touching introductory speech, they all knew about Peter's two mercy dashes to hospital via the Flying Docs. So the vibes in this tiny country hall were incredibly positive and Liz felt overwhelmed, in a good way.

She'd chosen short, well-known pieces – beginning with Debussy's
Clair de Lune
, followed by the beautiful Brahms
Intermezzo
, and then for a complete change of pace, the Morton Gould
Boogie Woogie Étude
that Peter was so fond of, before moving on to her beloved Chopin.

The audience appeared to be spellbound and Liz knew she was playing at her best. Yes, the piano was dodgy, but it had been tuned and she managed to make it work. To her delight, the applause grew more and more enthusiastic with each piece. It was so unexpected, almost as if this small rural community was giving her an enormous bear hug. Liz had, quite possibly, never felt more warmly embraced.

The organising committee had decided not to have an interval – the women serving the tea and scones didn't want to miss any more of the concert than they absolutely must – and Liz finished her recital with
Fantasy Impromptu.
It was always such a showy, crowd-pleasing piece, starting with a bang, moving into the quieter ‘chasing rainbows' section and then racing off again on a rousing, rolling wave towards the finish.

The reception from the audience, as Nancy presented Liz with a massive bouquet, was thunderous. A cheering, standing ovation.

Afterwards Liz was mobbed.

‘Liz, we're so proud of you.'

‘I've been following your career for years and years, listening to your concerts on the radio.'

‘It's such a thrill to hear you play live.'

‘We can't believe you grew up way out here. It's amazing.'

‘Such a pity Peter couldn't be here too.'

Liz was used to the refined appreciation of music buffs but these simple, heartfelt messages really touched and warmed her. It was unexpectedly gratifying.

She was chatting with a group of women, while carefully balancing a teacup on the edge of a plate piled with scones and slices, when she saw a familiar tall figure in the corner.

Her heart took a sudden, sideways slide.

Jack
.

She'd had no idea he was here, but now their eyes met across the crowded room – such an overused cliché – yet for Liz it was an electrifying experience nonetheless. She was suddenly shaking and in danger of dropping her teacup and plate.

Still trembling, she set them down on the nearest available surface, which proved to be the top of the piano.

A reaction like this had never happened to her before. She'd never locked gazes with a handsome man and felt as if the blood in her veins had burst into song. Surely it wasn't supposed to happen at her age?

‘I hope you'll excuse me,' she said to the posse of women gathered around her. ‘I – I need to speak to someone and he has to leave at any moment.'

She felt ridiculously nervous as she made her way through the crowd, smiling, nodding, acknowledging greetings, while steadily weaving a determined route to the back of the room.

It was only when she reached Jack that she noticed how worried he looked.

Her smile faltered. ‘Hello, Jack.'

‘Liz.' His answering smile was tilted at half-mast as he held out his hand to shake hers. ‘You were amazing.'

‘Thank you. I had no idea you were coming.'

‘Last-minute decision. I was a bit late and I had to squeeze into a back corner.' He swallowed and a suspicious sheen glinted in his blue eyes. ‘Liz, I should have known . . . '

His voice was so quiet, she barely heard him over the buzz of the crowd.

‘I had no idea,' he said. ‘You're so . . . so . . . '

Heavens, the poor man looked shocked and upset.

‘Have I frightened you, Jack?'

He smiled crookedly. ‘I think you have.'

His gaze travelled over her, taking in the pearls at her throat and her sleeveless black linen dress from Raphael's in Milan.

‘It sounds crazy now,' he said. ‘But I had been starting to think . . . almost hoping . . . and I realise now how foolish that . . . '

With a shake of his head, he went silent as if he couldn't bring himself to finish whatever he'd been trying to say. He looked so upset that Liz was overwhelmed by a need to comfort him, to take him in her arms.

Surely I can't be in love with Jack Roper?

It made no sense for her to fall in love with an Australian cattleman, no sense at all. She'd left this life thirty years ago and she had no intention of returning. Any day now she would be giving in to her agent's entreaties and whizzing back to Europe. But right at this moment these rational arguments held next to no power. Liz was in the grip of an irrational, inescapable emotion.

She couldn't help herself.

‘Come outside,' she said, linking her fingers through Jack's and tugging at his hand.

He frowned at her, but she was already heading for the door, dragging him with her.

‘Where are you going?'

She ignored his question. ‘We'll be very quick,' she told the women gathered near the door. ‘I just have to show Mr Roper something.'

‘Liz.'

‘Shhh, it's okay.' She flashed Jack a quick, reassuring smile as she led him away from the car park to the far side of the hall, screened by a hedge of tall casuarinas.

‘Liz, you can't––'

Liz could. And she did.

Drawing him into the screen of shrubbery, she wound her arms around his neck and she kissed him. And after a mere heartbeat's hesitation, Jack returned her kiss. Open-mouthed. Uncompromising. Hungry and fierce.

A revelation.

And a confirmation.

Liz smiled at him a little breathlessly. ‘See? I'm just a woman, Jack, not a Venetian vase.'

The skin around his eyes crinkled. ‘Are you always this proactive?'

‘Never. This is a one-off. I promise.'

‘So what does it mean?' He traced the side of her cheek with a lean brown hand.

It was the worst moment for commonsense to return. Carefully Liz said, ‘I have to go back to London, Jack, but perhaps we don't have to close the door right now. We can consider our options.'

He kissed her brow. ‘When it comes to options I'm surprisingly flexible.'

‘Good. I'm glad we've had this little talk. But we'd better get back.' Giddily happy, Liz grinned at him. ‘Do I have leaves in my hair?'

George Clooney rushed out to greet Bella before she'd even had a chance to knock on Roy's open front door.

‘Ooh, hello, boy. Yes, yes, you're very, very beautiful, of course you are. And you're growing, too.' Bella smooched with the pup for a moment or two, then knocked and called. ‘Roy, are you there?'

She waited anxiously. She'd been a bit secretive about this early morning trip to Redman Downs, making the most of the fact that her dad still needed to rest up after his travels. She needed to speak to Gabe, to have some kind of showdown if necessary.

It was an echo of another time she'd visited him and she was dead-set nervous, but today the main house was shut up, which was unusual and a potential problem.

Unless Roy knew exactly where on the property Gabe was working, she might have to wait here for ages till he got back. But she didn't want to leave and come back later. She'd already decided – come hell or high water – she had to see Gabe today. She wouldn't allow him to retreat into brooding silence the way he had once before.

He couldn't kiss her like she was the last woman on the planet and then back off. Despite the hiccup with Anton, Gabe owed her a decent heart-to-heart.

For her part, Bella planned to lay all her cards on the table, telling Gabe honestly how she felt about him and about Anton and she would ask for the same honesty from him.

Gulp
.

It was beyond scary to know that the outcome of this conversation could mean the end of her secret lifetime of dreams, but she had to know once and for all where she stood with Gabe. Then she would deal with the outcome and, if necessary, move on. And give her father a proper answer.

‘Bella!' Roy appeared in the hallway, wiping his hands on his jeans. ‘I was just washing up a few breakfast things. Stop that, George Clooney. Leave Bella alone.'

‘He's okay,' she said as the pup sniffed at her boots. ‘He's so cute.'

‘Gets away with bloody murder.' Roy squinted at her. ‘What can I do for you, Bella?'

‘I was hoping to talk to Gabe.' Bella couldn't believe the stupid heat that rushed into her cheeks. ‘I guess he's already headed off to work, but I was surprised to see the homestead all shut up.'

‘Gabe's not here. Didn't he tell you?'

‘No.'

‘He's taken off down to Noosa.'

‘Noosa!' Bella stepped backwards and nearly tripped over George Clooney.

‘Sit, George Clooney, sit!' growled Roy. Then his face softened. ‘Didn't Gabe tell you, love?'

She swallowed quickly. ‘No, not a word.' She looked away quickly, trying to hide her dismay.

‘I don't know the full story.' Roy's voice was laced with sympathy. ‘Gabe was all het up about something. He felt he had to get down there pronto. You know Gabe. I tried to find out what was going on, but he jammed up on me.'

Bella sagged against the doorframe. After the build-up and tension of coming over here, after gearing herself to bravely confront Gabe, she now felt brutally winded.

‘Sorry, love. I might be speaking out of turn, but I'm surprised Gabe didn't let you know he was heading south. I thought you might have known more about what's going on than I do.'

‘Well, he knew I was busy, I guess. Or at least he
thought
I was busy . . . with a visitor from overseas.' She let out an exasperated sigh. ‘When did Gabe leave?'

‘First thing yesterday morning.' With a brown, sun-spotted hand, Roy scratched at his whiskery jaw. ‘You know he's had a lot of worry with his mother.'

‘Sort of.' Bella frowned. ‘I wasn't sure though. Is she sick?'

Roy's lips pushed forward and he frowned as if he was trying to work out what he should tell her. ‘Leila's always been . . .
delicate
emotionally, if you get my drift.'

‘Well yeah. I got the impression she was high maintenance.'

‘More like intensive maintenance.' Roy grimaced and looked away, shaking his head. ‘Mind you, there's never been a word of complaint from Gabe. When it comes to Leila, he's just like his old man. Patient and loyal as they come.'

Bella blinked hard to keep her tears from spilling. There was so much she didn't know or understand about Gabe's family. When they were kids he'd nearly always come to Mullinjim, riding over on his horse and later driving a ute. It had hardly ever been the other way round. She'd never really questioned the whys and wherefores. It was just how things were with the Mitchells.

Now, as she bent down to ruffle George Clooney's ears, she was no longer sure if she should be mad with Gabe or sorry for him.

‘Would you like a cuppa?' Roy asked.

Bella hesitated. If she stayed, she could possibly prise more information from Roy, but it wasn't in her nature to be nosy. Besides, she knew Roy had only just finished his breakfast. ‘Thanks, but I should probably head back.'

Just the same, she felt as flat as a run-over snake as Roy walked back to the ute with her.

His forehead was creased by a thoughtful frown. ‘You know, Gabe had a hell of a time after his father died.'

Bella tensed. Was Roy, unasked, about to shed light on that perplexing time? ‘Gabe was very quiet,' she suggested. Quiet? He'd become a stranger overnight.

‘He felt so bad that he wasn't here when the accident happened.'

‘Yeah,' she said softly, recalling the terrible evening in Townsville when Gabe took the call from Roy. His face had been leached by shock and he could scarcely bring himself to tell her what had happened.

Even so, he'd insisted on driving straight home that night,
alone
, even though Bella had offered to travel with him. She'd been worried that he wasn't in a fit state to drive all that way on his own, but he'd turned her down.

He'd already started withdrawing . . .

At the ute, she reached in through the open window for her hat and crammed it on her head, dipping the brim to shield her eyes. It was another scorching day.

‘Roy, I know Gabe felt guilty, but you don't think he really
blamed
himself for his father's accident?'

‘Damn sure of it.' Roy gave a sad shake of his head. ‘In fact I
know
he felt responsible.'

‘But his father shouldn't have tried to tackle that job on his own.'

‘Yeah, well, Gabe wasn't listening to that kind of logic. I mean . . . I could blame myself as well. I was here working on something else when I could easily have lent Gabe senior a hand. But the way young Gabe saw it, he'd promised to help with that job and he should have been here. No question.' Roy's lips curled in a grimace. ‘And his mother's reaction didn't help.'

‘You mean Leila blamed him as well?'

‘Too right.' Roy let out a huffing sigh. ‘I know she was grieving, but she bloody well piled it on. It was damn heavy going for Gabe.'

Bella had figured Gabe felt guilt-ridden about their Townsville stint, but now she realised how very deeply those scars must have penetrated. Poor Gabe. She should have been more sensitive.

Instead . . . she'd launched into the cringe-worthy behaviour at the ball. No wonder he'd sent her packing. How could her unhelpful and juvenile behaviour have made such perfect sense at the time?

Peter and Virginia were watching television when Liz came back into the lounge room. Liz hoped they wouldn't notice her low spirits, but she'd just taken a call from her agent and it had been a total downer. Such a reality check after the lovely high of today's concert and all the excited phone calls from locals that had flooded Mullinjim afterwards.

‘You haven't had bad news, have you, Liz?'

She should have known she wouldn't escape Virginia's eagle eyes. ‘Not the best.'

Liz flopped into a lounge chair and Peter grabbed the remote to quickly mute the television.

‘No, Pete,' she protested. ‘Keep watching your show.'

He shook his head. ‘It's only rubbish.'

‘What's happened?' Virginia was instantly concerned. ‘Can we help?'

‘Ginny, that's sweet of you, but don't worry. It's just my agent panicking and bossing me around, demanding that I jump on the next plane back to London.'

‘Because the work's piling up?' asked Peter.

‘Unfortunately no.' Liz flashed them an awkward smile. ‘Quite the opposite. While this cat has been away, the mice have apparently been playing up a storm.'

Peter frowned. ‘You mean other people have jumped in and stolen your spots?

‘More or less. There's this new swarm of beautiful young celebrity pianists, you see. Evan warned me that this might happen if I pulled out, but I've worked so hard and for so long I was confident that my perch was secure. I suppose I've had my head under my wing, trying not to notice how in love with glamour and youth the music scene is these days.'

‘But not with classical music, like yours, surely?'

‘Yes, it's happening in the classical world, too, I'm afraid. Why should anyone hire an ageing woman when there are swarms of lovely young girls with covergirl looks?'

‘But that's ridiculous.' Peter was scowling. ‘Surely classical music is all about talent, not looks. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with your looks.'

‘Exactly,' responded Virginia earnestly. ‘I've always thought you were the epitome of glamour and chic.'

‘Thanks, Ginny, you're a sweetheart.'

‘And look at Pavarotti and Joan Sutherland. No one minded that they were overweight or ordinary looking. They were loved for their astonishing talent.'

‘But the industry is driven by economics and these days it's fighting for survival, trying to attract new, younger audiences.'

‘And they think they need glamour and sex?'

‘Across the board, it seems. According to Evan, one of the recording studios is producing a pin-up calendar. And there's a young piano virtuoso called Fergus Cooke who's getting a lot of attention. I've met him. He looks like a moody film star, like a 1920s matinee idol and he arrives at concerts in an Italian sports car. All the young celebrity girls want to be seen out with him.'

‘But he still has to have talent,' Virginia insisted. ‘Top class, blistering talent.'

‘Well, yes. There's nowhere to hide if the talent isn't there.' Liz shrugged. ‘He's good enough.'

Peter was looking worried. ‘So you'd better get back to London, hadn't you?'

‘I probably should,' Liz agreed reluctantly. ‘But please don't start feeling responsible for this, Pete. I wanted to come home and it's been lovely. Heaven knows, it was time and it was entirely my decision to stay on here. I needed a break, not just from music.'

She truly was relieved to have broken up with Michael. It was something she should have done long ago. ‘I've had a wonderful time with Bella. I loved every minute.'

‘Just the same,' said Virginia. ‘Don't feel you should stay, not if you need to head back.'

Liz couldn't hold back a sigh. ‘I was hoping to stay until Christmas, but that might not be wise. I suppose I'd better go back and face the music.'

‘What music?' Bella demanded from the doorway.

Everyone turned to her. She'd been in the study, adding figures to a spreadsheet on the computer, but she'd clearly heard the end of their conversation, and she looked both anxious and angry.

‘I'm sorry, Bella,' Liz said quickly. ‘I should have spoken to you first.' After all they'd had a pact, and she knew how mixed up and miserable Bella was over her Gabe–Anton debacle. ‘I've had a phone call from Evan.'

‘Your agent?'

‘Yes.'

‘Does he want you to go back?'

‘Yes. He's an old fusspot, of course, but––'

‘But he has Liz's career interests at heart,' supplied Peter.

‘Of course.' Bella remained standing in the doorway, staring hard at a distant spot on the carpet, then her gaze lifted and she smiled at Liz. ‘So that's one of us sorted.'

‘Yes, I guess it is.' But Liz wished she felt happier. She would have liked to stay on until Christmas at least and she would have liked to see Jack again . . .

But perhaps that was a foolish wish.

What on earth was I thinking when I kissed him?

A little cloud of gloom seemed to hover over the room. To make amends, Liz said brightly, ‘If I went back soonish, I wonder if we could squeeze in a nice family dinner first, a kind of early Christmas. Would it be too much for you, Peter?'

‘Me?' He looked shocked. ‘Hell, no.'

‘Would you mind, Ginny? I'd like to see Zoe and Mac again and I'd be happy to cook if you'll risk your digestion. But I'm getting better at cooking, you know. Zoe's been great. I'm always ringing her for tips.'

‘I think it's a terrific idea,' said Virginia. ‘But I'll help.'

‘And we'd invite Zoe and Mac?'

‘Yes, of course. Peter's anxious to see Zoe, aren't you, Peter? And we should see if Luke can drive up as well. When should we try for?'

‘Would this coming weekend be too soon? And then I could leave on Monday.'

‘Why not?'