Emily
The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the cavernous house, apart from the chirping of birds outside the kitchen window. Emily drummed fingers on the kitchen bench. They’d had no guests last night. None. Not a single one. Sunbeams refracted through the window and painted rainbows on the white marble bench top. She traced their outline with a fingernail, her lips pursed.
This wouldn’t do. How could they run a business if they didn’t have any guests to stay at their bed and breakfast? She could almost hear the money sifting from the Manor’s bank account moment by moment. A place as big as this one involved a lot of upkeep. There had been taxes and suppliers to pay, as well as the cleaning, maintenance and serving staff. There was so much work to be done, things to be replaced, and supplies to restock.
To save money she’d laid off most of the part-time staff, including their servers. Ethan had replaced the handyman, so that helped. She’d begun baking the treats for the guests for their pillows on arrival and for morning and afternoon tea, ending their longstanding relationship with a local baker. Diana hadn’t been happy about it, since the woman was a friend of hers from way back, but Emily had assured her that they didn’t have a choice, at least until bookings increased. And besides, what was the point in Emily’s expertise as a chef if she wasn’t going to use it?
Still, she’d decided to continue to pay the cleaner even though there wasn’t enough work to keep her going—it wasn’t fair to cut off the woman’s source of income because they’d hit a bit of a slump. And if there was one thing Emily hated to do more than anything else in the world, it was to clean—especially other people’s messes. Things would turn around, they had to. And the last thing she’d need then would be to have to scramble to find and train good help. So, the cleaner was currently tasked with spring cleaning every room of the Manor, one per day. Emily was determined that the entire building would be sparkling from top to bottom before the slump in bookings was over.
Since there was no breakfast to make or clean up, she’d decided to get started on a stocktake. Emily padded in her slippers to the office, slid into the chair, and stared at the blank computer screen. It still felt strange to sit in Aunty Di’s chair, in her office. When she was a kid, the office had been out of bounds for her. She was only allowed in it on special occasions to share tea with her aunt. Any other time she had to stay well clear of the neat, dark room.
She’d stood at the doorway many times, staring inside with longing glances at the rows of books that lined the bookshelves on one wall—thrillers, mysteries, true stories of survival, all the books her aunt loved.
She stood to her feet, wiped her palms down the fronts of her pyjama pants and walked over to stand in front of the bookshelves. They were custom built in dark timber and covered one entire end of the office. Emily plucked a book from the shelf closest to her and ran fingers over its dust jacket. The colours on the cover were faded and there was a tear in the paper, but otherwise it was in decent shape. Auntie Di hadn’t wanted to take them with her when she left; she said she wouldn’t have the space to keep them. Maybe Emily would get back into reading. She hadn’t done much reading since Mum died; it was something they’d done together—Mum would read a book, then pass it on to Emily, and the two of them would discuss over coffee and cake when she was done. She missed that. It made it hard to pick up a book and open the pages now.
There was a quiet knock on the door and, startled, she dropped the book to the floor. It thudded softly on the carpet as she swung to see who was there, her heart in her throat.
“Hi,” said Ethan.
She huffed. “You scared me!”
She pressed her hand to her chest, breathing deep to slow her heart rate, mindful of her mussed hair and pyjamas. He chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. His light brown hair was as perfectly mussed as always, and his hazel eyes glinted with a mixture of what seemed like curiosity and mischief. A twinge of longing ran through her—longing to belong, to be known, to be in Ethan Flannigan’s inner circle. She’d never been part of his chosen crowd, as a kid she was always hanging around the edges. She was certain he wouldn’t understand something like that.
People like Ethan were the pied pipers, the ones others flocked to. He couldn’t help it, it was the way he was made—attractive, charming, strong. He knew how to talk to people, put them at ease, made them feel interesting, as though he cared. And maybe he did. She hadn’t quite figured him out. Not yet. She wasn’t particularly good at measuring people, if her ex-boyfriend was anything to go by, and she didn’t trust her natural inclination to let herself be drawn to Ethan.
“What do you want?” She found herself slipping back into the clipped tones she often used with him.
The gleam left his eyes. She hadn’t meant to speak to him that way; it happened before she realised what she was saying.
“I was checking in, wanted to see what you’re up to. We don’t have any guests tonight either so I thought it might be a good time to do some strategising about the future.”
She picked up the book and returned it the shelf, then sat behind her desk. He lowered himself into a chair and crossed one long leg over the other.
“Great,” she replied. “What were you thinking?”
“There are a few things we could improve around here…”
“Definitely. I’d love to get some painting done. The paint’s a bit old fashioned and in need of an update.” Emily leaned back in her chair. She had a lot of ideas, but how many of them could be done on a shoestring budget? Their first priority was getting occupancy rates up, and any small thing they could do to encourage that was a win.
“We can do that. And I’d like to build a pagoda in the garden. It’s so beautiful out there in the warmer months, I think the guests would like it, and it might attract some weddings.”
Emily nodded. “Good idea.” She only wished she’d thought of it. Weddings were exactly the type of business they should be courting. “And I thought I might get some brochures printed, update the website, visit some local travel agencies. We have to try to increase bookings for the peak holiday season. At the moment we’re looking at about a twenty percent occupancy rate and that won’t get us through the year.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page. I can do a lot of the work around here—”
“And I can help with painting,” interrupted Emily.
Ethan dipped his head in agreement. “Sounds good.” He stood to his feet. “I’ll head out and get started planning the pagoda. Let me know if you have any ideas for it.”
“Thanks.” She waved him goodbye, then sat for a few moments staring at the empty doorway. Was she imagining things or was he acting a little frostier towards her than usual? He generally made a joke of some kind, got her laughing, but he’d been all business. She couldn’t blame him, she supposed, since every interaction they had usually resulted in her snapping at him.
She flicked on the computer and jotted some marketing ideas on a sheet of paper while she waited for it to boot up. Then, she typed the web address for the Manor’s website into the browser. When it loaded, she groaned and pressed her hands to her head to stare at it in dismay. It was terrible. It looked about twenty years old, was difficult to navigate and seemed to have been designed by an amateur who knew nothing about web design. Emily didn’t have much in the way of technical skills, but she’d put together a web site in the past for Callum’s band, and figured they only needed something simple.
The first thing they’d need would be some decent photographs of the place. She’d pull out her camera and get to work that day. Photography was a passion of hers; she loved capturing the beauty of a moment in an image and had even taken a class on it the previous year.
A few boxes of her things were still stacked against the office wall. She opened one of them and rifled through it, locating her D-SLR camera in the bottom, packed carefully in its case. She pulled it out and looked through the lens, adjusting some of the settings, and snapped a quick shot of the bookshelves, with the armchairs in front. It was a peaceful scene, reminded her of those special moments she’d shared with Aunty Di and Mum as a kid, drinking tea and feeling all grown up.
On the desk her phone buzzed. She stood and reached for it.
“Hello?”
“Hi there, honey.” Callum’s deep voice sent a shot of adrenaline through her veins. She hadn’t looked at the screen before answering, wasn’t expecting to hear from him. It’d been months since he’d left her in Coffs Harbour.
“Callum, what a nice surprise.” She adopted a neutral tone. The last thing she wanted was to let him know how much he’d hurt her. It’d only end in an argument, since he’d feel the need to defend himself and somehow, he’d turn it all around to show how it was really her fault all along. It was a game he liked to play, and she had no desire to go there—things between them were finished, including his manipulative games.
“I hadn’t heard from you in a while, thought I’d check in and see how you’re going down south.”
He paused, waiting. She sighed. The sooner she could end the call the better. “I’m fine, thanks. How are things up in Airlie Beach?”
He chuckled. “It’s great. We’re playing four nights a week at the resort, making good money. Can’t complain. I even went snorkelling out on the reef with the rest of the band yesterday. Amazing! You should definitely do it sometime. The colours…wow.”
She couldn’t help smiling. His voice was warm, he was in a good mood, and his charm never failed on her. Still, she couldn’t fall for it again.
“That sounds really nice. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“You should come, I’ve got space at my place. Come on, you’ll love it. You never really warmed to Coffs.”
The invitation was a surprise. He’d barely looked back when he left. It’d torn her heart out to see how little he thought of her and what they shared. Now he was acting as though she’d chosen to stay behind.
“No, thanks for thinking of me though.”
He hesitated. “No? Just like that? You’re not going to think about it? You don’t even like living in Coffs, and you can quit that crappy waitressing job…there are much better opportunities up here.”
“Are you missing me, all of a sudden?” asked Emily.
“Of course. It’s not the same here without you.”
Emily shook her head. He never changed. “Well, I’m not in Coffs Harbour anymore. I moved.”
“What? Where are you? You didn’t even send me a text to let me know you moved?” His voice was laced with irritation.
She didn’t want to tell him the truth, wasn’t sure what he might do knowing she was part owner of a bed and breakfast. “I’m staying with my aunt for a while, until I figure out what I want to do next.”
He grunted. “You could’ve told me.”
“We’re not in a relationship anymore, Callum. Why should I keep you up to date on anything I’m doing? It’s not your business.”
He was silent and she rubbed a hand over her face, waiting for his response. His voice was cold. “We never had that conversation.”
“I know. I’m aware of that, but you left and didn’t ask me to go with you—so I assumed. Anyway, it’s for the best, since I really don’t think we suit each other. I believed we were right together for a long time, but I was wrong about that.” She’d hoped to avoid this conversation but now they were having it, she could see it was needed for both of them. Closure was important, so they could each move on with their lives.
“Of course we suit each other, honey. We’re great together…we have so much fun. Well, when you’re not being a downer, we have fun. Sometimes you’re a bit too uptight, but that’s something we can work on. We can get you to loosen up a bit, no worries.” His grin resonated through the phone.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to work on loosening up, Callum. This is me, it’s who I am. I have no desire to be someone else. Look, it was great to hear from you, but I’ve got to go. I’m glad things are working out for you up north.”
Emily hung up the phone and pressed her fingertips to her eyes with a groan. Hearing his voice had her heart thundering in her chest, sweat beading on her face and beneath her arms. She hated confronting him, arguing. Throughout their relationship, he’d been the one to get his way. He’d charm, convince, and manipulate her, and because she didn’t want to lose him, she’d moved away from her friends and support network to follow him. She’d found herself accepting things she never would’ve in the past, and falling for his words when she knew they didn’t make sense.
Well, he didn’t have that hold over her anymore. No one did. She was living her own life, her way. Her aunt and uncle had given her an opportunity, not only to build the kind of career she could love and be proud of, but also to be her own person. She wanted to be someone her mother could’ve been proud of, even the father she’d never known played in her thoughts—perhaps if she made something of the chance she’d been given, he might’ve been proud too. With a sigh, she pushed to her feet and headed to her room to change. It was time to take some photographs of the Manor to use on the website and in brochures. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, and the Seaside Manor Bed and Breakfast looked every bit the quaint, historical, and luxurious holiday destination it was. She smiled as she slipped into a pair of jeans. Callum was her past. The Manor was her future.
Ethan
The waves rose and fell in a steady rhythm, soothing, comforting, and bringing back so many memories that Ethan couldn’t help smiling where he sat on his surfboard. He tented a hand over his eyes to cut the glare and studied the shoreline of Emerald Beach. The town was waking up, coming to life. Children played along the edge of the water, running with pails and shovels, or splashing in the whitewash of the waves’ last gasp.
A cyclist sailed along the footpath beyond the beach, passing two women walking, arms pumping in time, heads bent together. He loved being home. There was nowhere else like it in the world.
As much as he enjoyed his work as an engineer—crafting, designing, and bringing projects together was satisfying work—he was excited about what they were planning for the Seaside Manor Bed and Breakfast. It was an opportunity to build something solid with his hands, rather than only using his head. A chance to see a dream come to reality and to build an investment for himself and his future family.
He thought about that sometimes—the family he didn’t yet have. He wondered if he’d ever have them and hoped that he would. In the meantime, the work itself was fun to him. He’d catch one more wave, then head back to the Manor to do some painting. He was looking forward to seeing how a coat of paint would transform some of the rooms from staid to modern.
A wave rose up behind him and he lay on the board, paddled forward with a glance over his shoulder, then stood up when the wave grabbed a hold of his board. The water propelled him towards the beach, and he turned the board back into the wave, then pushed in the other direction to ride it as far as it would take him.
Finally, it petered out and he fell into the curl of it, diving beneath it and feeling the tug of the leg rope as his board bobbed overhead.
He jogged up the beach, shook the water from his hair, then stood next to his surfboard, watching the waves in their relentless journey to shore and back again. He’d left his towel, mobile, clothes and keys there in a pile. As he dried off, his thoughts wandered to the Manor and Emily. As much fun as he was having with the Manor, he sometimes wondered if he’d made the right choice in investing in it. Emily didn’t seem to want him there. She’d opened up a few times and he’d caught glimpses of the girl that’d followed him and his friends around when they were teenagers, then she pushed him away again.
He shook his head as he wiped the droplets of water from his face and neck. What had he done? Or was it her? If something was bothering her, he wished she’d speak up about it. He couldn’t do anything to make it better if he didn’t even know what was wrong.
His mobile phone rang, the sound muffled by the t-shirt he’d wrapped it in. He pulled it free.
“Hello, this is Ethan Flannigan.”
“Ethan, I’m Colin Hill with the Gold Coast Times. Would you like to give a response to the charges of fraud that, rumour has it, will be laid against you by the Queensland Crown Prosecutor any day now?”
Ethan’s eyes widened. “What? Fraud?”
“Mammoth Engineering has been under scrutiny for months and you’re one of its key players. Do you care to comment on what the company has done, or do you think the charges are in error?”
Ethan hung up the phone, dropped it on his shirt in the sand and pressed both hands to his face, scrubbing them over his hair with a grunt. What was going on? They couldn’t charge him with fraud, he hadn’t known anything about what the company was up to. As far as he was concerned, it was a legitimate engineering company and he’d done his best, worked hard, to become a partner believing it was all above board.
On the way back to his truck, he called his former boss, Chester. The phone rang and rang, finally voicemail picked up.
“Yeah, hi Chester, it’s Ethan Flannigan here. I want to talk to you about what’s going on with these fraud charges—I had a journalist call me on my mobile, telling me I’m going to be charged. I don’t even know what this is about, you’ve got to call me back, tell me what’s going on.”
As he hung up the phone, he swore beneath his breath. He had a feeling he wouldn’t hear from Chester, at least not anytime soon. No doubt he was lying low. If he really was going to be charged with something, Ethan would need help. He’d never needed a solicitor before for anything other than real estate conveyancing, but one of his old university friends was a solicitor now.
He did a quick search to see if he could find his friend’s number, located an old email address, and penned an enquiry. Perhaps Marc could help, or at least point him in the right direction. Then he gathered his things together and headed for the truck, his stomach in a knot. He’d always been the guy who’d done the right thing. Sure, he’d gotten into some mischief in high school, but nothing serious, nothing illegal. And ever since, he’d followed the rules. It didn’t make sense that he was to be charged with fraud, but if they charged him surely that meant they had some kind of evidence against him. If that was true, what was it? He had no idea, but one thing he did know—he hadn’t done anything wrong, so if it looked to crown prosecutors as if he had, someone was setting him up.