The Cotton Lass & other stories, page 14
The flight seemed to go on for ever, but Karen managed to sleep for a few hours. She got through customs quickly and wheeled her suitcase to the taxi rank.
The heat in Perth was a shock, so hot it was like walking into an overheated room. She’d come from an icy February day into the Australian summer, so was wearing far too many clothes. People around her were complaining, but after the English winter she welcomed the warmth of the sun on her face. Exhausted by the twenty-four-hour flight, she went straight to the hotel and to bed, forgetting to ring her brother as she had promised.
When the phone woke her up three hours later, she looked at the green numbers on the clock radio, feeling groggy.
‘Karen? Is that you?’
‘Uh. What? Peter?’
‘Why didn’t you ring me when you arrived? That was very selfish of you. You might have known I’d be worrying.’
‘It’s night here. You must have known that. I was fast asleep and you woke me!’
‘Yes, but I needed—’
It was always about him. It wasn’t often she lost her temper, but she did now. She slammed the phone down on him and told reception to hold all calls.
It was late morning, Perth time, when she awoke naturally. The breakfast tray was on the floor outside her door, the advertised ‘continental breakfast’ consisting of a sad-looking roll with one little packet of butter and one of jam, plus a banana. There was tea-making equipment in the room.
With the food came an angry message which must have been dictated by her brother over the phone. She was to ring him immediately she woke up. ‘No, thank you,’ she said aloud, screwed up the note and threw it across the dingy room, missing the wastepaper basket. Well, of course she missed. She’d always been a rotten shot.
She looked round, taking in details she’d been too exhausted to see when she got here. It was a horrid place, furnished in dark brown and beige. Peter had booked it because it was cheap. She began to smile. No way was she staying here, not on her first visit to Australia.
As soon as she had finished breakfast, she packed all her things and checked out of the hotel, asking the taxi driver to take her to a better one. There she booked a luxury room with a view of the river. Peter would have been apoplectic at the thought of her wasting so much money, but just for once she wanted to live elegantly, in the way she’d read of in books.
‘Cinderella, watch out!’ she murmured as she sat on the small balcony sipping a cup of excellent coffee and staring at the boats on the river. People were strolling along a grassy stretch of land that ran alongside it. She would make her way there later.
It was like something in a book. All it needed to complete the picture was a handsome hero. As if! Reading romances was her secret vice, but she’d never met a potential hero in real life, just a couple of pleasant but unheroic men.
She loved to read about tall, dark heroes and the courageous heroines who deserved to be loved, as they always were in the end. And the sexy scenes made her sigh in longing for a man to hold her in his arms and melt her very bones with his kisses.
If only she wasn’t so shy. If only she could meet someone special. He needn’t be as handsome as the heroes in the books. Attractive would do.
After a walk along the river during the afternoon, for which she bought a wide-brimmed sunhat, she slept soundly. She hadn’t rung Peter, so he couldn’t disturb her. Serve him right if he was worrying.
She smiled wryly. Oh, how brave she could be when she was away from him!
The next day she went out to start her new life. There was a terrifyingly large amount of money sitting in her new Australian bank account, and the fatherly manager advised her to get a car before trying to visit her new home. ‘You do drive, don’t you, Miss Ward?’
‘Oh, yes.’ But would she dare to drive here?
Yes, she would! she decided in a sudden surge of determination. Here in Australia she was going to stop being so cautious about everything. She had enough money to live as she wished, for once. She sighed in bliss.
Another daring idea crept into her mind. She would buy some new clothes as well as a car, and have her hair restyled. If any of her heroines had inherited money, they wouldn’t stay in a cheap hotel and wear a two-year-old skirt. She realised that the manager was still speaking.
‘You won’t be able to manage without a car here, Karen. Anyway, Mr Duncan’s estate is in the country, in the south-west wine country. There won’t be any public transport at all down there.’
In between sightseeing and shopping, Karen took a driving lesson to get used to the local traffic rules, and then she took possession of the car. A slightly larger car than she usually drove, only a couple of years old with air conditioning and everything. She hadn’t been able to resist its sheer comfort.
As she was getting ready to leave, she decided, reluctantly, that she’d better ring her brother. She was eight hours ahead of him here, so waited till Australian teatime to call him. He’d have got up but not yet gone to work.
‘Hi, Peter.’
‘Where the hell have you been, Karen Ward?’ he roared down the phone. ‘I nearly called the police, I was so worried.’
‘I moved to a nicer hotel.’
‘Give me your number now, before you forget.’
‘There’s no point, Peter. I’m just off to my new home.’
‘Then give me the address there. You even forgot to do that before you left England. Trust you! I don’t know how you’re managing without me to look after you.’
She frowned at the phone. She was a grown woman and managing quite well, in her opinion. But she didn’t say that. Peter never listened to what she said. He treated her with loving tyranny, but tyranny nonetheless. ‘I’ll email you when I get there and set myself up with a computer. Bye.’
For the second time in her life she put the phone down on her brother while he was still speaking and told reception not to put through any more calls. ‘Goodness!’ she said aloud. ‘What have I done?’
But she was filled with amusement at his reaction, as well as excitement – and apprehension about the coming drive to her new home.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up her luggage and went to check out.
She got out of the busy Perth traffic, thanks to the car’s satnav, and found herself on the freeway heading south. It was busy at first. Traffic roared past her, huge trucks, coaches, cars galore. The whole world seemed to be heading south. But gradually the traffic thinned out and she stopped for a drink and to stretch her legs.
A few hours later she arrived, tired but triumphant at how she had coped. The sign over the gate said ‘Duncan House’. Karen turned in and stopped to look at her inheritance. A wide drive led to a long, low house. It was so Australian that it made her beam with delight. A one-storey house with a tin roof and verandas all round it. And the fields nearby looked like – they were! – vineyards.
‘What’re you doing here?’ demanded a loud voice. ‘This is private property.’
Karen jumped in shock as she turned to find a man glaring at her. She stared at him, then blinked and stared again. He was rather good-looking, or he would have been, if he hadn’t been scowling. Tall, with brown curly hair and blue eyes fringed in long lashes. Wow! He looked like a cover hero in a romance.
‘I asked what you’re doing here,’ he said loudly, speaking as if she were half-witted. ‘Have you lost your way?’
The pleasant tingle faded. ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that!’ snapped the new Karen. ‘And if it’s any of your business, I own this house.’ She waved the key in his face.
‘Ah.’ The way he looked at her was distinctly unfriendly. ‘You’re the Pommie who soft-soaped old Charles.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘He always was a sucker for a pretty face, poor Charles was. Enjoy your loot.’ The man gestured to the house then turned to go, tossing over his shoulder, ‘I’ve been looking after things. Your bank manager rang to say you were coming. I’ve got everything switched on.’ Before she could answer, he had disappeared behind the trees.
How dare he talk to me like that! I’ve never soft-soaped anyone in my life. But he had also said that she had a pretty face. She smiled to herself. She was glad he’d noticed that. She rather liked her new hairstyle herself, shoulder-length and swinging free, not tied back in a neat ponytail.
She stared around, sighing with happiness. Her own house and money in the bank. She’d never even dared dream about having so much.
The house was very old and made of wood, painted white. It was clearly a while since anyone had lived here and it was in need of some TLC.
She went inside, feeling like an intruder, stopping in the wide hallway to look down a corridor whose floor was of varnished wood, old floorboards not veneered chipboard.
But he didn’t need to say that about me, she added mentally, still indignant. I didn’t even know Mr Duncan had any money, let alone try to soft-soap him.
She walked down to the end of the corridor, exploring to find the kitchen. It was old-fashioned but had a nice view of the untidy garden. And not only were the phone and electricity switched on, but someone had thought to stock the fridge with a few necessities. It must have been the bad-tempered man. She examined the loaf and the other foodstuffs, but could find no price labels. She owed him money. And gratitude for his help.
You could have fitted Karen’s whole flat into the huge kitchen.
She came back along the corridor to explore the two large living rooms to either side of the front door. One of them had two walls full of bookcases, to the delight of her librarian’s soul. Between the one to the right and the kitchen, a long narrow corridor led off revealing bedrooms on either side. ‘Six!’ she gasped aloud, when she had explored them all. ‘What on earth shall I do with six bedrooms and two bathrooms?’
She looked round guiltily. She was talking to herself as people who lived alone often did. When she caught herself at it, she tried to stop. It was so – pitiful.
Why on earth had Charles Duncan chosen to return to England and live so simply, when he had a huge house here? He said he’d been born in Northumberland and had missed it. But what a lot he’d given up to go back!
Dusk was falling as she finished unpacking. She decided to make do with cheese on toast. She couldn’t be bothered to drive out again. There would be no walking to the shops from this house.
As she pulled the loaf out of the fridge, a car drew up outside, a large four-wheel drive. A young woman in jeans jumped out of it, followed by a rather pregnant dog. The woman was carrying something wrapped in a tea towel.
Karen went out to greet her.
‘Hi! You must be Karen Ward. Luke said you were here.’
‘Luke?’
‘I think you met him when you arrived.’
‘Oh, the bad-tempered man.’
The visitor grinned. ‘Yes, that’s Luke. But his bark’s much worse than his bite. He’s quite a softie, really. Just don’t let him bully you.’
‘I won’t.’ Karen didn’t intend to let anyone bully her from now on, not even her own brother. It was wonderful the confidence a bank full of money gave you.
‘I’m Penny Jamieson, Luke’s cousin. My partner Tom and I live on the next block.’ She held out the bundle. ‘I thought you might like a casserole for tea.’
‘Oh, how kind! Do come in! Are you farmers?’ Karen asked, trying to understand her new world.
‘No. We have a smallholding. Tom works in a vineyard not far from here. And I do typing from home. And we grow a few vines, make our own wine.’
‘And your cousin? What does he do?’
‘Luke? He’s a writer.’ Penny grimaced. ‘Well, he’s just getting started as a writer. His first novel came out last year. He only scrapes a living at the moment, but he’s had a second novel accepted, so one day he might be rich and famous. Not for a while, though.’
‘What sort of novels does he write?’
‘Whodunnits.’ She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘I’ll stay longer next time but I have to feed my chooks.’
‘Chooks?’
Penny grinned. ‘Chickens, hens. I sell the eggs.’
Three days later, the feeling of guilt could no longer be denied. Karen owed Luke Jamieson money for the groceries. However rude he was, she ought to pay him back. Especially if he was so short of money. Perhaps he had spoken sharply to her because he was still upset about his old neighbour’s return to England and sudden death there. Penny said he had been fond of the old man. Or perhaps he’d expected to inherit, since Douglas hadn’t any close relatives?
She rang up Penny. ‘Er – could you tell me where your cousin lives?’
‘Luke? Are you in the mood for a quarrel, then?’
Penny’s voice was teasing, but Karen’s heart sank. ‘I dislike quarrels, but I owe him some money.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘He stocked up my fridge with groceries.’
‘Oh, there’s no need to worry about that. He won’t.’
‘I prefer to pay my debts.’
‘OK. Got a pen?’ When she’d finished giving the address, she said, ‘Good luck. Got to go now.’
Luke Jamieson’s house was only a few hundred yards away down the narrow dirt road. It was quite small, though the block was ten acres, Penny said. That seemed a huge amount of land to Karen, who’d grown up in a terraced house in Gateshead.
There were various outbuildings next to the house, most of the walls and roofs made of corrugated iron. They looked as if they were held together with sticky tape and rust. As did the car that stood near the house.
Definitely not the home of a man with money to spare. She’d been right to come. Karen knocked on the front door before she lost her courage.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ a voice said behind her.
She turned round. He was scowling at her again. She scowled back. ‘Do you always creep up behind people and make them jump?’
‘I was working on the garden. Do I have to go into the house and open the door to you before we can talk?’
‘No. But it wouldn’t hurt you to be polite.’
Luke’s brows rose, and he opened his mouth as if to shout at her, then he clamped his lips together and breathed deeply. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I owe you some money, Mr Jamieson.’
‘You owe me nothing.’
‘Yes, I do. For the groceries.’
‘It was only a few dollars, for heaven’s sake.’
She set her hands on her hips. ‘I prefer to pay my debts, thank you very much.’
He looked at her sideways, a calculating expression on his face. ‘Are you any good at sewing?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Sewing. I need some sewing done. That’s how we do things here in the country. We help each other out. We don’t count coins.’
‘Oh. Well, yes, I can sew.’ She was stuttering like an idiot. Why did she react to him like this? She pulled herself together – sort of.
‘Come inside.’ He took her agreement for granted and led the way indoors, so she followed.
He pointed to a piece of canvas on the table. ‘That cross-stitch sampler is fraying in one corner. My grandmother did it. I’ve tried putting in a few stitches, but I made a mess of it. And Penny’s worse than me, absolutely hates sewing. She just throws things away when they get holes in them, or else she wears them with holes. Can you embroider?’
Karen picked up the canvas. ‘Yes, I can. This is lovely and I’ll be happy to mend the picture for you.’
And that was the start of their friendship. If you could call it a friendship, because Luke spoke his mind on every topic and Karen gave him back as good as he dished out. Well, most of the time, anyway. It took time to make such a big change to oneself, but she was feeling more confident every day.
He mended her pump.
She cooked him a meal.
He fixed her side gate.
She lent him a few books she’d brought from England. She liked whodunnits, as well as romances. It formed a bond between them.
Her brother continued to ring her up from England every week and harangue her about not wasting her money. A bit later, after she’d mentioned Luke in a couple of her letters, Peter started warning her not to let people take advantage of her generosity. She should remember that a rich woman was a prey for all sorts of scoundrels.
Luke came round one evening when her brother was lecturing her. He saw how upset she was. ‘Your brother again?’ When she nodded, he took the phone out of her hand and yelled into it. ‘Leave her alone. She’s perfectly capable of managing her own life.’ Then he slammed it down.
She should have been angry, but the thought of what Peter’s face would look like at the moment betrayed her into a giggle, then suddenly the two of them were roaring with laughter.
‘Oh, I wish I could have seen his face!’ She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.
‘I’m glad I couldn’t see his face, if that photograph of him is anything to go by. Ugly brute, isn’t he?’
And she was laughing again. Peter was ugly, not because his features were mismatched but because of his attitude to life, always looking for things to go wrong, people cheating him, products not doing what the adverts had promised. Anything and everything upset him.
‘Don’t let your brother bully you,’ Luke said later, as he left.
One day Luke drove her to the coast for a barbecue on the beach. It was a glorious day. She didn’t think she’d ever been so relaxed.
Greatly daring, she took him out in return, asking Penny which was the best restaurant in the neighbourhood. It was part of a tourist complex.
‘A bit pricey.’ Penny pulled a face.
‘That doesn’t matter. I feel like giving myself a treat.’ Karen loved the vineyards, and had driven round to several of them, wine-tasting and buying a few bottles, but she hadn’t been out in the evening once. Penny said that there was a small dance floor at the restaurant. Karen rather hoped that if they danced together, Luke would keep his arms round her afterwards. She drifted away into a dream of romance on a balmy, star-filled evening.
