THE AUTUMN SUN warmed Angie’s arm through the open car window as the taxi reached the top of the steep hill. The houses dwindled and then the dusty Australian bush flanked the road, the landscape dryer than she remembered. Moments later, the cab slowed at a set of iron gates. “Drive in would you please?”
Parrots were squabbling among the bright red flowers of the melaleucas lining the drive. Set in acres of bushland, the stone house was the oldest in the area and quite a landmark.
The gracious old garden surrounded them and memories, unwelcome, rushed back to greet her. Angie had left Australia the morning after Dany and Paul’s wedding, carrying with her images of colored lights and champagne, a marquee pitched on the green lawn and Dany’s peel of laughter as her veil billowed out like a white sail in the wind.
Now, the lawns were browned off and the gardens drooped in the heat. When the taxi pulled up, she climbed out, smoothed her skirt, sticky, and rumpled after the long flight, feeling unprepared.
The front door opened while she paid the driver. Paul descended the steps, slim in jeans and striped shirt. Angie took a steadying breath.
“You look good, Angie.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, his hand touching her shoulder.
She didn’t want him to touch her. “Hi Paul. How is Dany?”
“Not bad. We’ll talk inside.”
Paul pulled her luggage from the boot. At first glance, he looked the same. She’d expected her memories of him to be flawed, that he would in any event be changed by the years.
“Let me take that small one,” she said.
“I’ve got it.” He hoisted her bag over his shoulder and set the larger case on its wheels. “How long are you staying?” He inclined his head towards the weighty case with a tired smile.
She shrugged with an apologetic grin. “Sorry. I never could pack light.”
“Don’t take that to mean that I…we, don’t want you here. This is one good thing to come out of this,” he said. “Dany can’t wait to see you.” He walked towards the front door dragging the case behind him. It bumped up the steps.
She followed as old fears and uncertainties returned, made worse by Dany’s accident. “When are visiting hours?”
“Dany said not to visit tonight. They have scheduled an MRI, to check the head injury.”
“Oh God. Does she have a head injury?”
“Yes, but it’s just a precaution. She was knocked out so they want to check. Miraculously, her injuries aren’t serious at all, a wrenched shoulder and twisted ankle.”
When they entered the wide, cool hallway, the first thing that struck her was the quiet. Hong Kong was constantly noisy and she had become accustomed to it. Paul crossed to the stairs where a marble statue still perched on its plinth. Dany had inherited the antiques along with the house from their maternal grandmother, Sophie. All the women in the family were given French names, right back to their Parisian great-grandmother. The tradition had continued after the family settled in Australia and Angie and Dany were expected to carry it on. Such an edict from strong-minded Sophie seemed like testing fate. Here they were into their thirties and still childless.
She followed Paul up the stairs. “Do you know what happened?”
“Dany doesn’t remember. Psychogenic amnesia the doctor said. Shock has completely blocked the accident out.”
He deposited her bag on the bed. She wasn’t sure what was in it now she had packed in such a panic.
She glanced around at Dany’s careful decorating. Any sign that this had once been Angie’s room was gone. Their mother had died of cancer when the girls were four, and after their father, an accountant, drowned in a boating accident, Angie and Dany came here to live among expensive antiques and have old school manners drummed into them. It had required quite an adjustment from their modern beachside home and TV dinners.
The blue walls were now painted cream and the floorboards covered with a bright Turkish rug. The oak dresser and a chair upholstered in blue-and-white striped chintz were new. Nothing remained of the years she’d spent here, and although she hadn’t expected to pick up the pieces of her discarded life, it still made her feel slightly off balance.
Paul opened the curtains and gave the room a satisfied glance. “I think you’ll be comfortable here.”
“Has Newport changed much?”
“A fair bit.”
Angie went to the window but she couldn’t see the town from here. Beyond the lawns, the cliff fell away to the sea, azure blue near the coast, deepening to indigo farther out. One of those gigantic container ships squatted on the horizon, appearing small on the thin line between sky and sea. She threw up the sash, and a salty breeze swept in. “This used to be my room.”
“I know. I thought you might prefer it.” He walked to the door. “I’ll leave you to unpack and rest. You must be tired. Come down for a drink later. I’ll order some takeaway.”
After the door closed, she lay on the bed. If Paul had been aware of how infatuated by him Angie had once been, he’d certainly forgotten it now. She’d been a naïve college student and Paul a handsome law undergraduate when they’d drunk too much at a beach party and he’d introduced her to her first sexual experience. Experiences were more intense at a young age and she’d imagined herself in love with him. It was one of life’s salient lessons. Afterwards, she refused to leave herself open to such hurt again.
At least the fancy cornice decorating the ceiling was the same. Although the plaster leaves were now picked out in green.
Her limbs leaden, she sighed. Her journey seemed to stretch back over years, far longer than the hours it had taken to get here. It was just exhaustion; she’d only napped on the plane. She kicked off her shoes and propped a pillow beneath her head. Once Dany was home and on the mend, Angie could go back to Hong Kong. Ten years! She’d been twenty-one when that episode with Paul and what had followed, had thrown her life completely out of kilter and set her on a different path than the one she’d planned.
“Angie?”
She jolted out of a dream and sat up too quickly, disorientated. The room was dark. An overhead light flashed on, blinding her for a moment. When her eyes focused, Paul stood at the door. “It’s eight o’clock. I wasn’t sure whether to wake you.”
“I’m glad you did.” She’d had a dream that she was falling—that awful sickening drop, never reaching the bottom.
“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering Chinese food. It’ll be here soon.”
She pushed her legs over the side of the bed and jumped up, immediately contrite. “Oh, you must be starving. I’m sorry. I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Take your time.”
When he left, she combed her sleep-mussed hair, then made her way downstairs. The high ceilings and timber floors made her footsteps echo as she crossed to the sitting room.
Paul stood as she entered. Small lamps cast a softened glow over the room, the overhead light turned off. French doors stood open and a warm breeze stirred the curtains. With a smile at Paul, she went to take in the view. It was impossible to tell where the inky sea dotted with ships’ lights ended and the confetti of stars above the horizon began.
“Listen,” she said turning from the window. “I haven’t heard that sound for a long time.”
He smiled. “What?”
“A chorus of crickets.”
Momentarily, the familiar sound had thrust her back to her childhood, playing in the grounds.
She came back and sat down. Paul had arranged plates and napkins on a coffee table. A bottle of soy sauce sat incongruously beside the Wedgwood china.
“You mustn’t feel you have to look after me,” she said, awkward at being alone with him. “Just leave me to my own devices. Dany said you have your own law practice now.”
“In Newport. Wine?” He held up one bottle of white wine and one of red.
“Red thanks.”
“You and Dany still look alike,” he said reaching for the corkscrew. “Dany wears her hair short now.”
She smiled. “Does she? That would suit her.”
“I preferred it long, like yours.” Paul pulled the cork and poured.
“I can’t wait to see her,” Angie said, moving on from the awkward reference.
“She spends her life shut up in her studio these days.”
Wasn’t he pleased about Dany? Some men had difficulty with a wife’s success.
Angie took a sip, savoring the rich, smooth taste. It was a good Australian Shiraz. She sat back on the sage green linen sofa. “Can you tell me more about what happened?”
He poured himself a glass of chardonnay. “Not much more than I told you on the phone. I hated Dany driving home at night. But there’s no telling her is there?”
Angie shook her head. Dany hadn’t changed then.
“She’d been busy organizing the upcoming exhibition. It was past midnight when she drove along the coast road, that long bend, you know, above the cliff?”
She tamped down a shudder, familiar with the dangerous spot.
When he raised his glass, his hand trembled. “She collided with an SUV, lost control and rolled the car. Trees stopped it from going over the cliff, but it burst into flames. The petrol tank fumes ignited, police said. She was incredibly lucky to be thrown out; they found her some distance from the incinerated car.”
The horror of the accident dawned on Angie turning her bones to water. She sank back against the cushions. “Didn’t anyone witness it?”
No-one has come forward. The other driver didn’t stop.”
“What? Did they ring for help?”
“No, the bastard just drove off.
She took a deep sip of her wine before she could speak. “Who was the man with her?”
“Dany didn’t know him. A hitchhiker, apparently.”
“The poor man. Haven’t the police identified him?”
“Not yet. His body was badly burnt. Someone at the house on the Point saw the fire and called the police.”
“Have the police found the other driver?”
“No idea.”
The doorbell rang and they both jumped.
Paul rose. “That will be our dinner. We have some good restaurants here. Sorry, I’m not great in the kitchen.”
“That’s okay. I’ll cook.”
“I look forward to that.”
When he returned with the food, the smell made her realize she wasn’t hungry. The time-difference she supposed, although she’d barely eaten since yesterday.
Paul put on music and they ate while a classical compilation played softly in the background. Angie declined the chicken dish in favor of the satay prawns.
“Ah! Chinese. I didn’t think.” Paul grimaced. “You’d be used to better fare.”
“Chinese food is different here, sweeter. These prawns are really good though. I’ve missed fresh Aussie seafood.”
“I’m sure Dany will be okay. You shouldn’t put your job in jeopardy by staying too long.”
“I’ll stay as long as she needs me.”
“Yes, she needs you now.” He looked down at his meal and pushed the food around on his plate. “But once she gets back to her art…you know how she is.”
“We’ll wait and see.”
Paul eased his shoulders. He held up the bottle. “Another?”
“Better not, thanks. I’m a bit jet-lagged.”
He smiled. “You were always the sensible one, Angel.”
He meant it as a compliment, she supposed, but it mixed uncomfortably with his use of Dany’s pet name for her. No one called her Angel anymore. Not since she’d left Australia. Like most pet names, it began as a joke and stuck. Did being Angel again mean she was to resume their former role-playing? She the sensible one, Dany, the talented artist allowed to behave outrageously. She flushed, feeling childish. She must still be tired. “Dany’s art career is taking off. I’ve kept up with the news.”
“She has a backer now.” Paul’s mouth curved in a disdainful grimace. “He fancies himself a patron of the arts and believes Dany to be one of the best contemporary artists working in Australia.”
High praise indeed, but Ange wasn’t surprised. Dany was already causing a stir back in art school. “Who is he?”
“Hew McBride.”
Paul scowled. “A colorful Sydney identity the press would say, with dubious business connections.”
She widened her eyes. “Really?”
His hazel eyes narrowed. “He’s a well-heeled, well-mannered, thug. You’ll get to meet him. He’s often here because Dany works at home. We had a studio built in the garden for her.”
Paul sounded jealous. He must still love Dany. Not surprising, she was always exciting and unpredictable, attracting men to her in droves.
“I want to hear more about you,” Paul said, changing the subject abruptly. “Your life in Hong Kong and your work.”
“Not much to tell. I’m an editor and journalist for a culinary magazine.”
“You take mouth-watering pictures.”
“You’ve seen the magazine?”
He smiled. “Found the web page and spent many an evening when Dany’s not here, lusting over the gastronomic delights while eating my takeaway.”
He sounded lonely.
“I’ve been offered a coffee-table book deal working with a top chef.”
“You’ll do it, of course.”
“It would help pay the bills,” she said. “Hong Kong’s an expensive city.”
He raised a brow. “Will you ever move back to Australia?”
“Not in the foreseeable future. I plan to visit France. We have family there I’ve never met.”
“I’d love to travel more.” He held up the wine bottle again. “One more glass can’t hurt.”
She relented and watched him pour.
He handed her the crystal glass. “Is there a man in your life?”
The suddenness of the question made her start. “Not now,” she said offhandedly.
“Past tense?”
She nodded. He leaned forward to listen, but she had no desire to tell him about the wasted years caught up with her older, former boss, her mentor when she first arrived in Hong Kong. It suddenly didn’t seem right to be cozily sitting here with Paul while Dany was in hospital. She put down the glass. “Jet lag is catching up with me.” She stood. “I think I’ll go to bed. Thanks for dinner.”
He leapt to his feet. “Welcome home Angel. The start of better things.”
Angie hoped that was true as she went to her room. It would be so good to see Dany. And to know that her sister wanted this meeting too.