Damn it, he could still smell strawberry and peach in his workshop. And that reminded him of black-heeled boots and purple lace. Paul tipped out the dregs of his second cup of coffee and rinsed the mug. Leaning on the edge of the sink, he stared through the window at the skate park across the road. A lone rider hunched low on his board on a downward slope, picked up speed, spun a complete three-sixty degrees and skated out of view. Turning his back on the grey day he glanced at the almost completed leather panel. Yesterday, it had been the most important thing in his life, but poor sleep and troubled dreams had left him gritty-eyed and grumpy. The urgent need to work was missing. It was more than the mill closure; Frankston’s return consumed him. Was he up to mischief or after payback?
Jack padded up, wagging his feathery tail, and thrust a wet nose into Paul’s crotch. He bent and rubbed Jack’s ears as he checked his phone. Nine am and still no text. The blank screen mocked him. What had he expected? That in one evening he would bowl Serena off her feet?
‘What does it matter, Jack? Yesterday’s events put a serious dent in my short-term prospects.’ He’d promised himself he’d avoid personal involvements until he was financially secure. In the cold winter morning, it was easy to remember his commitment to achieving his personal goal. Easy when the night wasn’t pressing in around them. Easy not to remember the light in Serena’s eyes and her consideration for Hayden, inebriated as he’d been.
Serena was off limits.
He tossed the phone onto his workbench and headed out, determined to run off his strange mood. As he jogged past the skate park, concentrating on keeping his pace in warm-up mode, he glanced at the skateboarder sitting on a picnic table. A pungent, cheap cigarette dangled from the teenager’s fingers. He took a half-hearted drag and pitched the butt onto the gravel surrounds before picking up his board and rolling along the footpath back into town.
Paul ran out along Olive Grove Road towards the racetrack, took a left and circled past the golf club on the northern side of town and returned along Woodburn Road past the mill. The mill lay like a still-life painting in neutral tones, the only splash of colour the mountain of yellow-wrapped modules in the bale yard. Machines crouched in shadows, silent and defeated without the workers. Sweat ran down Paul’s nose and cheeks and he slowed as he approached the front gate. A ragtag group of workers in beanies and jackets milled around the sign and peered through the wire into the yard. Young Imogene Corder jumped up and down several times before tucking her hands into her armpits. When had she started working at the mill? Last he’d heard, she’d given up school to care for her wheelchair-bound mother.
Snippets of disgruntled conversations were ripped away as wind gusts moaned through the sheds but two words rose clear above the crowd—Carter and bastard.
Uncle Josh waved at him from the front of the crowd and Paul stopped and bent over, hands on knees. His ears tingled. The wind cooled the sweat on his skin and he shivered.
‘Hi, Josh. Something’s different. What’s going on?’
‘Hey, Paul, have you come to join us in a spirit of solidarity?’ Warren Leadbeater broke away from the small crowd and wandered across the bitumen access road, beating his uncle by a few metres.
Paul straightened. ‘No, just out for a run to clear my head. What’s happening?’
‘We’re discussing action plans. Spread the word, will you? Tell the brethren to meet here.’ Warren was already turning away as Paul began jogging on the spot.
‘Sure, Wazza.’
Uncle Josh clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Hi, mate. How’s your dad taking the news?’ Identical in age and appearance to Paul’s father except for a small mole beneath his left ear, Josh had decided early on not to pursue a life on the land. Was that what gave Paul a spirit of kinship with his uncle that was somehow less with his father?
‘I think he’s okay. Hayden will be careful not to mention Frankston until we know more, and Mum will keep an eye on him.’
‘I know she will. After that first heart attack, we all trod on eggshells around him. Still do, I guess.’
‘Josh, we need you,’ Warren called as the group of workers formed a rough circle around the union leader.
‘Uh, gotta go, Paulie. I’ll call into the farm as soon as I can. Give your mum my love.’ Josh jogged over and squeezed in on Warren’s right. Paul left the babble of voices behind and headed home. It was just past ten when he arrived back at the saddlery. He downed two glasses of water and splashed more over his head before picking up his phone.
Texts from both Serena and Hayden appeared on his screen. Expecting she was going to say she couldn’t meet him after all, he checked his brother’s message first.
Roast lamb dinner Saturday night. Look out! Mum says to bring Serena.
Yeah, like that was going to happen. Reluctantly, he opened Serena’s text.
Joe’s Café 10 am. Hope to meet you there. S.
He read the message a second time and looked at the clock.
‘Shit!’ Tossing the phone on the bench, he grabbed a towel and raced out to the shower. Without waiting for the water to run hot, he dived under the spray and sucked in a breath. Just his luck Serena would turn out to be the punctual type who waited five minutes before giving up and leaving. He wrapped a towel around his hips and jumped across the small mud puddle on his way inside. Bundling his sweaty running gear into a ball, he pitched it into the corner of his makeshift bedroom. Barely stopping to dry off before pulling on his trousers and dragging on a shirt that stuck to his damp skin, he shoved his feet into socks and boots and grabbed his jacket off the hook on his way out the back door.
Three minutes. A record even for him.
He’d text her that he was on his way. Should he text? Of course he should. He wanted to see her again. He dug his hand into his pocket and came up empty.
His phone was on the bench and he was late. Picking up the pace, he jogged the two blocks to the cafe and prayed she would still be there.
***
Serena scraped froth from the sides of her cup with her spoon and looked out the window. Today she was beginning her search. Somewhere in town, or maybe on one of the surrounding properties, was her father, and whatever his name, she would find him. She rested her cheek on her hand. A drop of condensation ran down the side of the glass of water. Drawing a finger through the puddle at its base, she daydreamed about finding him, trying to imagine what he looked like, hoping he’d be happy to meet her. The bored-looking bleached-blonde, middle-aged waitress stopped beside her table.
‘Another coffee? Bottomless cup until eleven.’
Ripped from her reverie, Serena sat back and shook her head. ‘I think I’ll—’
A shape blocked the bright outside light and Paul appeared behind the waitress’s shoulder. ‘Serena, sorry I’m late. Hi, Beryl. Could you bring me a long black in a mug, please?’
Beryl’s boredom melted like an ice block in the summer sun and her thin hand patted his shoulder as he slid into the chair across from Serena. ‘Sure, hon.’
‘And I’ll take you up on that bottomless cup, thanks.’ Just why the waitress’s possessive hand on Paul drew that little jealous barb from her, Serena didn’t want to think about. ‘I was about to leave.’
Paul clasped his hands on the table. ‘I’m glad you didn’t. I was out for a run—without my phone. I came as soon as I saw your message.’ Eyes the colour of dark chocolate met hers.
‘You’re not very late, and I see you’re freshly showered. At least this time you’re dressed. That’s progress.’
He grinned. ‘The wet hair is a giveaway, hey?’
‘Actually it’s a small blob of bubbles in your right ear.’ And the distinctive scent of his shampoo. She remembered it well. Heat rose up her neck and her cheeks as she remembered how she knew it. Clasped to Paul’s chest, her face pressed against his shoulder, the scent of his shampoo had filled her nose. She struggled out of her jacket and dropped it on top of her handbag. ‘Ugh, they must have turned the heat up.’
‘Can’t tell. I’m still hot from my run.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and turned to hang it on the back of his chair.
Geez, Louise. Did the man not know he was hot? Keen to regain her equilibrium, she zeroed in on his still dripping hair. ‘So—the wet hair. Did you lose your towel again?’
Yesterday’s image filled her imagination—asking for his towel while she ogled the expanse of bare chest, bare thigh, and wicked grin as he offered to chat au naturel. She slammed a lid on the memory. Post-fiancé, the extrovert type was off limits. Full stop.
Scrabbling for a new topic, she asked the safe question, the not personal, can’t in any way be construed as flirting, question.
‘I’m curious—why do you have an outdoor shower? It must be freezing in winter.’
His damp shirt clung to his back, defining broad shoulders and solid muscles before he turned back. ‘The saddlery is a business. It was never meant to be my home but I figured if I could live and work in the same place, I only had one set of expenses to cover while I paid off—well, while I saved. The only way I could get around council by-laws was with an outside facility. The dunny is outside too.’
‘Clever move. What about moving into the pub you leased?’
‘Actually I was hoping to move into one of the townhouses on Teasdale Street. Yesterday’s events put the mockers on that idea.’
Was he referring to the meeting or that man whose name drew strong negative reactions from so many people?
Paul’s mouth tightened and he broke eye contact, and she wondered why she’d thought coffee with him was a good idea. Hot the man might be, but her life was complicated enough without Paul Carey and his problems. ‘Look, I’m sorry. This was probably a bad idea—’
Beryl arrived with their order on a tray. The waitress sloshed Serena’s coffee into the saucer, barely glancing at her before placing a mug in front of Paul and giving him a toothy smile.
‘Can I get you anything else? Lemon meringue pie? I know it’s your favourite, Paul.’
‘No thanks, Beryl. I’m good.’
‘Let me know if you change your mind.’ Customers at another table signalled for her attention and, flashing another smile at Paul, Beryl left them.
The smiling man of moments ago disappeared and Paul’s eyes narrowed on Serena. ‘What did you mean, this was a bad idea? Having coffee with me?’
Regretting letting her mouth run away with her thoughts, she stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. ‘Of course not. Just that I realise you’ve got a lot to deal with at the moment and coffee is probably the last thing on your mind.’
For the hundredth time she wished her thoughts didn’t drop from her mouth as soon as they formed. Even Max’s pained reaction hadn’t cured her. Around Paul, the bad habit had reignited. She bit her lower lip.
His voice pitched low as he leaned towards her. ‘As it happens, I was looking forward to coffee—with you.’
‘You were?’ Serena’s scalp prickled, and her chest tightened, squeezing air from her desperate lungs. Nerveless fingers dropped her spoon and it clattered into her saucer.
Charming.
That was the problem with Paul. He was a charmer and she’d made a mistake inviting him for coffee. After Max left, she’d promised herself there would be no more such men in her life. Charm was superficial, and extroverts used it to get their own way.
Like Max had done with her.
And now the saddler seemed to be weaving his own spell around her. But she knew charm, knew how surface-skimming, habit-hiding, manipulating it could be.
She knew it. Recognising and naming it took away its power.
Beryl detoured past their table on her way to the counter and smiled at Paul. Even the grumpy waitress liked him. That was his charm in action.
Serena gathered her scattered wits and sat back in her seat, determined to play it cool, controlled. She was no longer susceptible to charm. If she said it often enough, she’d come to believe it. She glanced at the waitress and back at Paul, and fixed a smile on her lips, a smile that said I’m amused by what’s happening here and it means nothing to me. A smile like that left her in control.
‘I think the waitress likes you. Lemon meringue, hey. Who’d have thought it?’
‘Beryl’s a good old stick. She makes lemon meringue pie for the cafe. One day I told her how good it was. Ever since, it’s been on the cafe’s daily menu. And I do like it.’ He sipped his coffee and set the mug on its saucer. ‘But I prefer apple pie.’
‘Bake that yourself, do you?’
‘Mum makes it whenever I visit the property. By the way, Hayden texted. Mum has invited you out to the farm for roast lamb this Saturday evening.’
‘Me, why?’
A shard of panic rose, blocking her airway, before the invitation properly registered. ‘Your mother invited me? I mean, that’s very kind of her but how does she even know I exist?’
‘Hayden. With a house full of males, Mum loves the chance of female company. Come with me?’
She was over being manipulated by men, but this wasn’t a command. It was a generous, hospitable, country kind of invitation, and she thought about it. It could be opportune; Paul’s parents would be in the right age group and might be able to help her in her search for her father.
That damned lump of anxiety still filled her throat, but she acknowledged it for the fear it was, swallowed it and smiled. ‘That’s very nice of your mum. Please tell her I’d love to come. When should I get there?’
‘It might be easier if I take you. There’re some rough patches on the road out to the farm. Your little car might find the going tough.’
‘Little? You don’t think Esmeralda can make it? She managed the trip from Sydney.’
His eyes widened in comical surprise. ‘You named your car?’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
‘Only if you count pile of junk as a name.’
‘If that’s yours, I prefer to travel in mine.’ She sipped her coffee, bemused as Paul’s charm morphed into a sense of humour Max had never had.
‘It isn’t. My ute is more of a—Trevor. If I make sure he’s washed and presentable, will you deign to travel with Trev and me?’
She laughed, spluttering her coffee. The couple at the next table turned and stared. This lighter side of Paul was very appealing, but awkward. She dared not glance behind the counter as Beryl slid the cabinet door closed with a thud. Mirth and merriment might not be appreciated while the mill was still locked against the workers—her early morning walk had confirmed that—and everyone else was subdued. Aware of the mood in town, and thrown off balance, she rearranged her features into a more appropriate expression.
‘Why don’t we get on and do what we set out to do last night?’
A strange light came into his eyes, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘Good idea.’
Were all their conversations destined to be double-edged? That strange heat welled within her again, and she leaned her arms on the table.
‘Uh, before I deserted you in favour of sleep last night we were talking about brainstorming alternative uses for your pub. Do you—still want to do that?’
Duh! Had she really just asked him to spend more time with her?
Clearly her brain had gone walkabout. She’d just decided coffee with Paul was a bad idea and now she’d invited herself to spend even more time with him. He must be some sort of Svengali, mesmerising her.
‘Can’t think of a better way to spend the morning. How about I show you the building now?’
‘It’s a pub. Seen one, you’ve seen them all.’
‘It’s different from the Ace in the Hole. Are you up for it?’
Different? Paul had an eye for detail and beauty; he’d seen something in the building and she wanted to see it too. She wanted to see it and work out what made Paul tick. Was he more than just charm and a killer smile, or was he even more skilled than her ex?
Who was the real Paul?
She picked up her handbag and pushed her chair back before she changed her mind. After lunch was soon enough to begin her search. It wasn’t like her father was going anywhere—if he was in Mindalby in the first place.
***
Serena reversed Esmeralda into a diagonal park in front of Paul’s pub and switched off the engine. Sympathy for the locked-out workers returned as a strong gust rocked her small car. She waited until the dust settled before opening her door and joining Paul on the footpath.
A rusting metal pole fence failed to contain the desiccated wilderness that had once been a courtyard. Long blades of dry grass pushed through the wire and caught her tights when she got too close. With the exception of two sets of French doors set into the front wall, the Cotton Bale looked more like an oversized squatter’s hut. A wide verandah surrounded the single-storey building, and twin chimneys bookended the pitched iron roof. It would have taken imagination to see beyond the weeds and neglect to the bones of what was once an attractive building, but, with lots of TLC, it could be something special again.
Paul pushed the gate open and it tipped, hanging onto the fence by a single hinge. Beneath a profusion of weeds, the brick pavers of the courtyard were almost obliterated. As Serena picked her way along a faint path towards the front door, the hard brick surface vanished. Her boot heel sank into soil, piercing a fine-leafed plant, and the scent of chamomile sweetened the air around her. ‘I think I found a garden bed.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised what’s beneath the weeds.’
‘You’re not much into gardening, are you?’ She stamped on the paving, trying to dislodge the soil that clumped on her stiletto heel.
‘What, just because my yard needs mowing—’
‘And the most basic TLC. Hey, it’s okay. I just thought that growing up on a farm—’
‘I know. You’d expect more of a connection with the earth. It missed me and doubled up in Hayden.’ Paul turned the key and pushed on the door. It held firm. ‘That’s odd.’
‘What is?’
‘I’m sure I unlocked the door but it won’t budge.’ He turned the key in the other direction and set his shoulder against the wood. ‘It’s like something’s blocking it.’
‘I’ll go around the side and take a look through a window.’ Serena trod cautiously around the corner of the building and stopped at the first window. Layers of dirt on the glass made it impossible to see anything. She pulled a couple of tissues from her jacket pocket and rubbed until she made a small clear patch in the pane.
Nose pressed against the glass, she peered into the dim interior. As her eyes grew accustomed to the low light, shapes slowly resolved into furniture. Given the dirt and air of neglect on the outside, the room she was looking into was surprisingly clean and tidy. A bright orange and red backpack had been set beside the door, and a sleeping bag was spread out on top of a thin mattress on the floor. A neat pile of folded clothing lay on a chair, and beside it, a single burner camping stove was attached to a small gas bottle.
A furtive movement beyond the doorway caught Serena’s eye and she saw a shadowy figure creep away from the front door into the corner room. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch as the figure reached for the backpack. Serena froze as the person straightened. Beneath a pink beanie, a woman’s startled gaze connected with hers.
‘Paul, I think you’d better come see why you can’t get in.’