Home Before Sundown (7 page)

Bella woke to find her bedroom filled with bright silver light.

She'd forgotten to close her curtains and, in the early morning, the huge glowing full moon had shifted to the west and was shining straight through the window onto her bed. Everything, inside and outside, was almost as bright as day.

From the moon's angle, she guessed the time was somewhere around four and she needed at least another hour's sleep. She rolled over, closed her eyes and pulled a spare pillow over her head, hoping to block the light out. Bad luck – her mind was already stirring to wakefulness.

It was very annoying that her first thought was Gabe. She could blame her aunt for raising that particular subject. She'd had enough trouble getting to sleep after their riverbank conversation. Now she tried desperately to expel thoughts of Gabe and to replace them with memories of Anton.

So what if Gabe smiled at her when he'd left yesterday?

Good to have you home.

Why was he being nice anyway? Why now, when it was too late, when she'd worked so hard to get over him, to change and move on?

With an effort, she wrenched her thoughts to Anton again, recalling his patience as he taught her to ski and the fun of their gang at Alpazur. She tried to remember the exact feel and taste of Anton, but her mind was like a wilful child; it kept running away. Again and again, as she tried to focus on her French boyfriend, her thoughts skipped back to Gabe, flashing up so many ancient memories . . .

After an evening by the waterhole she'd been practically soaked in nostalgia, remembering so many times she'd been there with Gabe, especially the first time Gabe kissed her in that blissful summer after her first year at uni.

On that day she'd miraculously managed to get Gabe there on his own – just the two of them – and after a long leisurely swim, they'd flung themselves on the bank and lain there, looking up at the sky through the gaps in the tree branches.

‘Look. A Simpsons' sky,' she'd said, pointing.

Gabe had laughed. ‘A
what
sky?'

‘You know the beginning of
The Simpsons,
when the title goes up and there's a pretty blue sky with white fluffy clouds?'

‘Oh, yeah. You're right. A Simpsons' sky. I like that.'

The sky was especially blue and beautiful that day, but Bella was far more interested in Gabe lying beside her, all bronzed and muscular and manly. Whenever she stole a glimpse his way, she was filled with longing that made her skin feel too tight.

At uni, she'd tried to fall in love with other guys, with next to no luck, and now she was scared she would give in to her impulse and throw herself at Gabe and make a fool of herself.

She had to be careful. Gabe was her long-term project. If things worked out the way she hoped, they'd be together forever – so she was terrified of making a mistake that could spoil everything.

When they finally got together, Gabe would have to make the first move. That was an essential part of Bella's fantasy. So, to stop herself from doing anything foolish, she quickly told him about the crazy word game that one of her housemates had introduced.

It wasn't the first time she'd brought home one of these games. Last Easter, it had been metaphors where you chose the kind of furniture a person was most like or the time of day or whatever.

‘You're a double bed, late afternoons, an electric guitar and rocky-road chocolate,' she'd told Gabe. And he'd told her she was a kitchen stool, early mornings, country and western music and a bunch of white grapes.

She hadn't been too pleased about the kitchen stool, but he'd said it was because she was slim and leggy, so she'd forgiven him.

‘With this game you give a line of dialogue,' she said. ‘But the joke's in the verb at the end.'

‘Don't like the sound of that.' Gabe frowned. ‘Sounds like an English exam.'

‘It's not really.' Bella told him her favourite. ‘I'm at breaking point – she snapped.'

She couldn't help smiling when she said this, and although Gabe groaned, she insisted on telling him another one. ‘I'm bursting with anger – she exploded.' Bella giggled now. She loved these. ‘It's time to eject – the pilot ex-planed.'

Gabe groaned even more loudly at this one. ‘You've spent a whole year at uni and this is the best you can come up with?'

Bella pouted a little, thinking of names to call him as they lay there with the sun warm on their skin.

And then Gabe said lazily, ‘Okay. How about this one? I'm going to kiss you – he lisped.'

Bella was sure her heart stopped beating.

She knew Gabe was just getting into the swing of the game and he wasn't actually going to kiss her, but his words still sent her into orbit.

‘Not bad,' she said shakily. ‘But lisped isn't quite right.' Now her heart was galloping so fast, her voice was squeaky and breathy. ‘It's pretty good, though. Lisped is almost like lips, and I guess you were trying to––'

She stopped talking when she realised how close Gabe was.

He was resting his weight on one elbow as he leaned in closer. His gorgeous face was only inches from hers.

‘How about – I'm going to kiss you – he mouthed?'

‘That . . . ' Bella gulped. ‘That's pretty close.'

But she couldn't laugh, couldn't even smile because she knew what was going to happen.
This
was it! The moment she'd been waiting for, the big moment she'd dreamed of and longed for and prayed for. The moment she'd feared might never happen . . .

Gabe kissed her and his lips were warm and dizzyingly wonderful.

‘Wow,' he whispered.

‘What?'

‘Nothing . . . I can't kiss you and have a good vocabulary at the same time. Just . . . wow.'

‘Are you going to kiss me again?'

‘Might have to.'

His kiss was assured and confident, but gentle and dreamy, too . . . and when his tongue touched her lips . . . wow only went halfway to describing the thrill that swept through Bella. She'd never been so turned on. Every part of her responded . . . her bones, her skin, her insides . . .

Anything might have happened then if they hadn't heard the thudding of horse's hooves signalling the arrival of Luke and Gabe's sisters.

‘We wondered where you two had got to,' Sarah Mitchell complained as they scrambled to their feet.

‘Are you the lady piano teacher?'

Liz winced and she might have hung up on her caller if he hadn't sounded so young and somehow . . .
earnest
.

‘Are you looking for a piano teacher?' she asked carefully.

‘Yes.' There was a moment's silence. ‘I used to learn the piano in Sydney.'

Liz frowned and despite her wariness, she was intrigued. ‘In Sydney? So where are you now?'

‘Lansdowne Station near Dirranbilla. I used to live in Sydney with my parents, but I live with my grandfather now. There  . . . there was an accident.'

This last sentence was said so softly Liz only just caught it.

An accident
. She felt a little lost for words. A week ago she'd given Declan Browne his first piano lesson and the child was due for another one this afternoon. She had thought it was harmless enough to take Declan on, but already here was another call. She'd come to Mullinjim, temporarily, to support Bella and to run the homestead, not to start a music school.

‘What's your name?' she asked the boy.

‘Alex. Alex Costello.'

It wasn't a name she recognised. ‘And how old are you, Alex?'

‘Eleven.'

Eleven – six years older than Declan – and old enough to know if he liked music. Still, Liz wasn't overjoyed. ‘Have you been learning piano for some time?'

‘I started when I was four.' After a beat, ‘And it's nearly a year since my last lesson. I  . . . I really miss it.'

There was no mistaking the sincerity in the boy's voice and Liz could feel herself weakening. This situation sounded so very sad, as if the boy had lost his parents in a tragic accident and lost his chance to play the piano at the same time.

But if this were so, why wasn't the grandfather making this call?

She had to be cautious. ‘Does your grandfather know you've telephoned me?'

This query was met with silence.

‘Alex?'

‘No, I didn't tell Grandpa,' the boy admitted with evident reluctance. ‘But I don't think he'll mind.'

Liz wasn't so sure about that. ‘What's your grandfather's name?'

‘Jack Roper.'

Again, it wasn't a name Liz knew. No doubt Grandfather Roper had moved into the district during the thirty years since she'd left.

‘Is your grandmother living with you as well?'

‘No.'

Okay. Liz felt a brief stab of sympathy for the grandfather. Most cattlemen were hardworking, practical, outdoor types and there was a good chance this man had found himself trapped. Caught in a tricky situation – unexpectedly caring for an orphaned grandson who preferred tinkering on the piano to helping in the stockyards.

It was a pity she'd already taken on Declan Browne, who had the musical potential of a mosquito, but she had to remember that she'd come home to help her family, not the whole community.

‘I'd like to help you, Alex, but I'm not sure how long I'll––'

A heavy sigh shuddered down the line and Liz couldn't help remembering the many happy hours she'd spent right here at the homestead having lessons with her mother. Away from the coast, piano teachers were as scarce as emus' teeth.

‘I think I should speak to your grandfather before we decide anything,' she said quickly. ‘Can he ring me?'

‘I'll ask,' Alex said but he didn't sound hopeful.

Bella felt a little guilty as she headed for the computer. When she'd promised Anton that she would stay in contact, she'd anticipated writing daily emails and making lots of phone calls. She hadn't expected to find it a chore.

Now she tried her best to make up for her slackness.

She hit send, closed the screen and went down the hallway to the kitchen, but she didn't go in when she heard her aunt's voice. Liz was talking on the phone.

‘Yes, Michael, I'm quite certain,' her aunt said and there was no mistaking the tension and finality in her voice.

Bella was about to retreat when she heard Liz say goodbye and hang up. She waited a moment or two and then ventured into the kitchen.

Liz was standing at the sink with her back to Bella as she stared out into the night-dark landscape.

‘Hi,' Bella said softly.

Liz turned and smiled. ‘Hi, Bella. Do you fancy a hot chocolate before bed?'

‘I'd love one.'

Bella went to the pantry cupboard and found the tin of powdered chocolate while Liz set a pan of milk on the stove.

‘Did you email Anton?' Liz asked.

‘Yep, but it's hard to make what I'm doing here sound exciting or even vaguely interesting.'

Liz gave her a thoughtful smile.

‘Were you ringing London?' Bella asked.

‘Yes.' Liz stood staring at the pan of heating milk. ‘I've just broken up with someone.'

‘Oh.' Bella was only dimly aware of her aunt's private life. She'd sensed there'd been several men who'd been lovers, but she'd never heard any talk of long-term commitment. ‘Was . . . was it difficult to break up?'

‘Not really. He didn't like it, but I know it was the right thing.' Liz lifted the saucepan, just as the milk came to a rolling boil. ‘Distance certainly didn't make my heart grow fonder. That's a pretty good test, isn't it?'

‘I guess it must be,' said Bella, feeling guilty.

‘Mrs Fairburn?' It was two days later when Liz received another phone call.

‘This is
Liz
Fairburn speaking.'

‘The piano teacher?'

Liz hesitated. ‘Who is this?'

‘Jack Roper.'

Liz swallowed her surprise. She hadn't really expected the boy's grandfather to call. His voice was deep, brusque and businesslike.

‘How can I help you, Mr Roper?'

‘I believe you've offered my grandson piano lessons.'

Somehow Liz bit back the temptation to laugh, but her blood was up. ‘Is that what Alex told you?'
Cheeky monkey
. She'd made no such offer.

‘It would involve a lot of my time, bringing him over to you for the lessons. I'm a busy man, Mrs Fairburn.'

‘
Ms
Fairburn,' Liz corrected. ‘And as it happens, I'm quite busy, too, Mr Roper.'

A small silence ticked by.

‘What are your qualifications?' he asked tersely. ‘Are you a trained teacher?'

‘I don't have an education degree.'

There was a satisfied grunt. ‘Just as I thought. I've already told Alex––'

Liz understood that discretion was the better part of valour, but she couldn't help setting this annoying cattleman straight. ‘However, I
have
studied piano at the London School of Music, the International Academy in Vienna and the Juilliard School in New York.'

Her caller cleared his throat.

‘Mr Roper.' Liz spoke with exaggerated patience. ‘Alex approached me for lessons and he seemed very keen. However––'

‘The boy's keen. There's no denying that.'

‘Yes, but I'm sorry. I don't think––'

‘You're about an hour and a half from here. I could bring him to you on Saturday mornings. What do you charge?'

Liz was poised to protest. She really didn't want another pupil and she certainly didn't want to be bulldozed. The very last thing she needed was some pompous old fart hovering impatiently around the homestead while she tried to teach his unfortunate grandson.

But she couldn't help remembering the boy's phone call. There'd been something about Alex. He'd been so intense.

Ambitious?

Possibly.

Remembering the repercussions of her own fierce ambition, Liz felt guilt creeping like spiders into her heart. She shivered and quickly slammed a trapdoor on her memories.

‘Perhaps I could give Alex a trial lesson. I could make an assessment and then we––'

‘This Saturday?'

‘I . . . I guess.' Curiosity got the better of Liz. ‘Yes, I could manage Saturday. Do you have any idea about Alex's level? Has he sat for exams?'

‘Can't help you with that. But I'd say he's probably quite good for his age.'

As Liz hung up, she wasn't sure if she'd appeased the gods or just invited trouble into her life.