So Far Into You (23 page)

Chapter 20

Remy did have that beer after Seth had gone. She drank it with the dogs, watching the cockatoos fly through the big gum trees on the other side of her back fence; watching the dogs chase the last patches of sun to lie in, as the shadows advanced across the pavers.

When the sun disappeared and it cooled to the point where she had to go inside, she swapped the beer for a glass of Chameleon sauvignon blanc and started chopping parsley and basil, garlic, spinach and fresh tomatoes into a sauce for her pasta, toasting pine nuts and adding them late.

After she'd eaten and packed the dishwasher, she fed the dogs, poured a second glass of wine, and took that to the bath.

As Remy saw it, there was one good thing about living through a drought. It made a girl very appreciative of a bath when she treated herself to one. Most of the time Remy existed on three-minute showers. She brushed her teeth in the shower and kept a bucket under the shower-rose to catch the water until it ran hot. Those three minutes included the time it took the old pipes to get hot water from A to B. Sometimes that took a minute all on its own.

When she had the money, bathrooms were next on the agenda. Blue tiles for the floor in her ensuite. White tiles on the walls. The blue would be that deepest hue of a late afternoon spring sky. The white would be, well, shiny bright white. She'd have a claw-foot bath with brass feet, a big pedestal vanity basin under the window and one of those old-fashioned hallstands with a big mirror and pretty silver hooks. She'd paint that hallstand white. The bath she'd get enamelled the same blue as the floor.

Remy sank under the water and closed her eyes on the patchwork of chipped beige and pink tiles with stained murky grout that no amount of scrubbing with bleach and a toothbrush had ever been able to clean. In her dreams, the bathroom was bright singing blue and crisp, clear white. A lace curtain billowed gently in the breeze, and everything smelled fresh as lemons.

It was nine-thirty when the bath water cooled to the point of not being fun anymore. Plus she was out of wine.

The third glass is always the sneaky glass,
she told herself as she poured. Two glasses of wine were relaxing, almost therapeutic. The third glass turned a good girl bad.

Remy took the wine to the couch, messed around with the television stations and gave up. She wondered if Seth was enjoying himself. She thought about calling him twice before she actually did it: just to wish him good night and say thanks for helping her paint.

It was after ten o'clock. He answered, and she could tell from the background hum he wasn't alone.

‘Hey, Remy. What's up?'

‘You haven't poop-scooped yet.'

‘Ah, there's a thought that goes beautifully with chef's dessert. Can't I do it in the morning?'

A giggle bubbled from her lips. ‘It's Sunday. I like a sleep-in.'

‘Remy, are you drunk?'

‘Noooo. Tipsy maybe, but not drunk. It's that sneaky third glass.'

‘That sneaky what?'

‘Never mind.'

‘I think I should take the phone outside. Hold on a minute, Rem.' There was a pause, and then he said: ‘You really want me to come over tonight?'

Did she imagine it, or was his voice pitched lower? Did she really hear that husky note in it? ‘You promised. You said you'd come once a day.'

‘Yeah … but I have already spent most of the day there. Aren't you sick of me?'

‘Not schick of you.'
Hell and Tommy, I'm slurring my words.

‘You sure you only had three glasses of wine, sweetheart?'

Sweetheart.
Something melted inside and she wondered if she could blame the wine. She sat straighter on the brown couch. ‘And a beer, if we're counting.'

She felt echoes of his chuckle all the way through the phone.

‘I thought of you in the bath. I mean … I thought of you, when I was in the bath.' She giggled.

‘I think that's the nicest thing you ever said to me.'

In the background she heard someone call his name.

‘I've got to go, Rem.'

‘Goodnight, Seth.'

‘Sleep well. I'll bring you headache tablets and more croissants when I come poop-scooping in the morning.'

‘Seth?'

‘Yes, Rem?'

‘I think that's about the nicest thing you ever said to me.'

‘Go to sleep, crazy lady.'

***

Until Remy's phone call Seth had been enjoying himself, relatively speaking. After the phone call he couldn't remember much except how he'd got hot all over when Remy said
thought of you in the bath.

There were forty guests in the restaurant. It wasn't only Lewis Carney who Seth had been keen to see perform. He'd wanted an idea of how the entire restaurant handled itself under pressure.

They'd passed with flying colours.

Along with the paying guests, he'd invited a few industry heavyweights. The head of the Winemakers' Federation had accepted, plus a couple of guys from the Wine & Brandy Corp. They'd been talking about research levies when Remy called.

Research levies. The fee per tonne all wineries got slugged for industry R&D. Conversation had moved on now and Seth had a struggle trying to get back up to speed. In the end, he didn't bother. Coffee pots were circulating and some of the guests had begun to leave.

Half an hour later, as he was shaking hands around the room, thanking his staff and wishing his last guests goodnight, a woman at a table held his gaze and mentioned Remy by name. ‘I saw that story about you and Remy in the paper today. Remy Roberts is a gem. She does a lot for the community here, so you'd better look after her or there'll be a whole heap of old people chasing you with a dirty great spade. My mother will be one of them. Her name is Dottie Howlett.'

He had no idea what it was Remy did for the community, or why Dottie Howlett or anyone else might chase him with a spade, but before he could ask about it the Winemakers' Federation chief caught his eye and the woman moved on.

Later her words played on his mind as he reversed the ute out of its parking spot. That lady had been fierce, like a lioness protecting its cub. He knew that was important but he couldn't put his finger on why. He was almost all the way back to the pub at Oakbank when he worked it out. By then, it was eleven o'clock.

He didn't care about the time.

Seth turned the ute and headed for Red Gum Valley Road.

When he got there, the cottage was in darkness. He dimmed the headlights so they wouldn't glare, nosed into the driveway and parked where he wouldn't get spat at by the sappy pine.

The dogs huffed at him sleepily as he opened the gate. Breeze was one big wiggle; Occhy's tail slapped Seth's knees. He spent time with them, rubbed and patted and listened for any hint of movement from inside. Nothing.

He pulled at the patio doors, turned the handle on the cedar French doors to get inside, but they stuck.

Locked. Of all the—

Seth tried it again. Then he walked around the back of the cottage and tried the laundry door.
Locked.

Remy would be sheet-warm, soap-smelling and beautiful, and now he couldn't get to her, short of knocking on her front window and possibly scaring her out of her wits.

***

Remy hadn't been in bed long when she heard a vehicle on her driveway. Her first thought was
Seth.

When she pulled the curtain aside on her bedroom window, the headlights on the oncoming car blinded her before they winked out. The car finished the last part of her driveway in the dark.

A second thought crawled behind the first.

Why would that car turn out the lights? What if it wasn't Seth?

Her heart spiked in her chest. She had two dogs to protect her, but she was a hell of a long way from help if she needed it.

She swung her legs out of bed, keeping it dark because she didn't want to turn on any lights inside.

The dogs won't let anyone in.
She said it like a mantra.

Remy heard the side gate latch. The dogs weren't worried. They'd stirred, but they weren't upset.

Even knowing all that, nothing could account for the feeling that flooded through her when she heard Seth tell the huffing, sleepy dogs to ‘get back in your house' and ‘be quiet' and she knew without doubt it was him coming through the dark.

Her legs went all rubbery. She had to put her hand on the wall to stop sliding down it.

He was right there trying the locked doors, but she couldn't make her legs move and she didn't get there before Seth gave up. He moved around to the laundry.

That handle rattled too, but Remy was there this time, pushing the door open in the dark.

‘I …' She couldn't speak. She couldn't hear herself think, her blood was singing too loud.

He stepped up, inside, and reached for her. Wrapped his arms around her: toe to toe, hip to hip. He stood with his chin on the crown of her hair, holding her so tight it was as if he could stop her breaking apart.

‘You're cold.' It was the only time his hand wandered, so he could feel her skin. ‘Remy, you're shivering.'

‘I'm happy here.' She didn't ever want to move.

‘Come on,' he said, walking her inside, closing the laundry door. He led her through the house to her bedroom, crab-walking her sideways until the back of her thighs hit the bed and she crumpled.

He folded her into the warm dent she'd left in the mattress and closed the quilt like she was stuffing in a crepe. Then he knelt on the bed and eased himself across so that he was lying on top of the quilt beside her, elbow cocked and one hand propped under his ear.

His hand touched her face, traced the line of her cheek. His fingers played in her fringe, smoothing her hair. It was tender. Incredibly sweet.

‘I didn't think you were coming,' she said.

‘I couldn't stay away.'

Remy rolled on to her side, facing him. The quilt and sheets were tight across her body where Seth's weight pulled them, but she worked an arm free. Slowly, she laid her fingers on the side of his jaw. When she'd finished exploring there, she touched his lips with the pad of her thumb.

‘I met someone tonight who knew you.' He caught her hand in his free one, kissed her thumb, then let go.

‘Who?'

‘I don't know her name but she said a lady called Dottie was her mother. She said you were a “gem” and if I didn't look after you there'd be old people chasing me with spades.'

Remy huffed a laugh.

‘She
knew
you, Rem. Does that make sense? She's the first person I've ever met who had no vested interest in you or me, or money, or family. None of it. She had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, and no agenda. She
knew
you, and she spoke up for you. And I almost missed what made that so important.'

He rested his forehead against hers in the dark and she could feel the perfect clean heat of him, like its own scent, coming off his skin.

‘Why was it important?'

‘When I found you—when I found out you sold grapes to Max Montgomery—I thought of all the ways I could make life difficult for you. I could have dropped your contract or I could have strung you along till the last minute then reneged on a deal. I thought about doing that.' That sentence took all his breath. Midway through it, Remy pulled her hand away but Seth held on. ‘I thought about trying to buy you out. I already felt like I owned part of this place because it was my family's money that bought it. I knew how much it would hurt you if you had to give this place up. I thought you deserved to hurt like that.'

‘I don't get it …' she said.

This conversation with Seth, it was like exploring a cave. Tunnels branched everywhere, opening entirely new caverns. They had no ropes or torches and a wrong step could be disaster. Turning back wasn't an option because it was pitch-black behind them, yet ahead those new caverns promised wonders. Beauty. Fragility. Joy. If only they were brave enough to push through the murky black.

‘When I saw you sitting in the crowd at the growers' meeting that day, trying to hide, I knew I was right back at square one: a crowd of people and you were all I could see. Just like that day at the Vintage Festival.'

‘That's nuts.' She put her hand on his shoulder. The muscles bunched and coiled under her fingers.

‘So I'm driving out here. I'm standing outside your door, and I thought: don't fuck this up, Seth. I've fucked up so much when it comes to you and me. I want to start how we should have started years ago if everything else hadn't got in the way.'

‘And all this came from Dottie Howlett's daughter?'

‘What she said was the final straw. I already knew it, I think. I just didn't trust it.'

‘And you do now?'

‘I do. I've hated you for a long time Remy Roberts. I want to be sure I get loving you right.'

Chapter 21

They'd talked for hours, about everything and nothing, until slowly the periods of quiet lengthened and Remy's yawns outnumbered her words. She fell asleep curled with her back to Seth's chest, the quilt a blanket between them.

Seth's arm went numb in the night. He put up with the dead feeling for as long as he could, because there was something so perfect about watching Remy sleep he didn't want to disturb her. She snored—though he'd never tell her that—but close-up, her soft sighs comforted him. He loved that she slept deep and peaceful in his arms.

Eventually, though, he'd had to move and make his own space on the bed and when he slept, he dreamed of purring kittens.

He woke to a real, live kitten with large grey eyes and the first thing he did that morning was smile and kiss the kitten's nose.

‘Good morning,' Remy said.

‘Morning,' Seth murmured.

‘Has anyone ever told you you snore?'

He laughed because she delighted him. She laughed—he hoped—simply because she felt like it. He hadn't heard that cascading, carefree sound from her in forever. Not since that day in the park years ago in the rain. He didn't want her to stop laughing. Ever.