‘Dawn, it’s great to see you again. How are you?’ Max gave Serena’s mother a peck on the cheek and sat, uninvited, at their table in Joe’s Café. He leaned his arms on the table and offered his sociable smile.
‘How … interesting to see you out of the city, Max. Following a story, are you?’ Dawn moved her arm away from Max’s, picked up her cup and sipped.
‘Why else would I leave Sydney for the back of beyond? Of course, if I’d known I’d meet Serena here, I’d have been happier about the assignment.’ Max caught Beryl’s eye and ordered a cappuccino.
‘Why?’ Dawn beat Serena to the question that had plagued her since Max’s appearance at the pub.
He spread his hands and shrugged, the gesture all too familiar. Serena hated it. He’d used it when they argued, his way of saying he was a reasonable man doing his best to understand why she disagreed with him. Max had always claimed the moral high ground. ‘We had something good going.’
‘I wasn’t the one who walked out.’ She measured the memory of his departure and her sense of loss against the reality of the man sitting across the table. Charm and fierce intelligence didn’t outweigh moodiness and a shallow disposition. Her only regret was that she hadn’t been the one to leave him. ‘Not that it matters now.’
‘That wasn’t my finest hour. In my defence, I was under a lot of pressure at work. But I’m man enough to admit when I’ve made a mistake, and leaving you was a mistake.’
‘When you walked out the door, you told me we had no future together if you weren’t the most important person in my life. What do you think has changed?’
‘I didn’t realise how ill Dawn was at the time. You always said people deserve a second chance, or don’t you practise what you preach?’
Dawn got to her feet, an expression in her eyes Serena couldn’t recall seeing before. ‘Excuse me while I check out the cakes in the cabinet.’ Wrinkling her nose as though an acrid smell had assaulted her senses, Dawn made her way to the counter where Beryl lurked, wiping mugs and stacking them beside the coffee machine, and began a conversation with the waitress.
Meeting Max’s gaze, Serena pinned him with a look she was sure reflected her mother’s. ‘And just who deserves a second chance in this scenario of yours, Max? Because I’m certain I don’t need one.’
‘Of course you don’t, but you said you loved me, and love forgives. Can you forgive me my lapse in judgement?’ There it was—the wide arms, palms up, that proclaimed his reasonableness. His innocence. His willingness to show he was the bigger person. ‘I want you back, Reeny.’
There had to be more to Max’s plea for forgiveness but for the life of her she couldn’t work out why it was important to him.
She took a serviette from the metal box on the table and wiped away water droplets while she played for time.
Max had been surprised to see her so he hadn’t come with expectations of making up, but once he’d seen her he’d begun an assault worthy of the siege of Troy. A focused and wholly baffling attempt to win her affections back.
Why?
Did he really love her? Emily’s comment ran through her mind. About her abusive boyfriend’s verbal taunts showing he didn’t care. Max wasn’t physically abusive, but hadn’t he done something similar in stripping away her self-confidence, in showing her she didn’t measure up to his reasonable standards? If Max had ever loved her, she had to remember his love was toxic to her.
‘We’re past that stage.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. We’ve got a future together. I’m sure you’ll agree I can offer you everything you want. More than most men could offer.’
Did he mean Paul?
Was Max jealous of her relationship with the man who could be her cousin? It was ironic, but she wouldn’t share that with Max. But while Max was in town, it appeared he wouldn’t object if she spent time with him. Was she being two-faced or only doing what Max had done to her? Serena fiddled with the paper packets of sugar, uncomfortable with her choice but unsure what else to do.
‘I’m not particularly interested in material possessions.’
‘You always were … unusual that way. Maybe it’s just as well. Most people want more than they have. But everyone wants something. You, for instance, want to find your father. That’s the reason for this little jaunt, isn’t it?’
Answering his question was irrelevant. Her open mouth and stunned silence were answer enough.
A smile tugged one side of his mouth. ‘Did you forget you told me before you left the apartment? It’s interesting what information comes to light when you start asking the right questions.’
‘So what if you’re right about why I’m here. What’s it to you?’
‘I’m in a unique position to help you find him. Let’s say I’ve a couple of promising leads.’
‘So have I. But why would you want to help me?’ Wanting to believe Max’s kindness, she struggled to accept what he offered came without strings. With Max, there were always strings—a spider web of them.
‘I have resources at my fingertips and connections that open doors. And you’re important to me.’
Until that final, tagged-on, almost throwaway comment, he’d almost had her believing he was on the level.
Almost.
He always put her last.
‘Tempting, but no thanks. I’ll do this on my own.’ She made to rise, annoyed at how well he could still play her.
His hand shot out and gripped her wrist. ‘I care about you, Serena, and I’ve missed you.’
She looked pointedly at his hand until he released his hold, and only then did she sit down. It was better to finish this conversation once and for all. ‘What if I don’t feel the same about you? What if I’ve moved on with my life in the months since we separated?’
‘You care about people close to you. Once, that was me, and I hope it will be again.’
For a nanosecond, Serena was tempted to accept his offer. Finding her father had become an obsession, and it wasn’t just about her mother. Paul and his family were connected to her in some way, even if she hadn’t found who connected them. Max’s ability to sniff out answers made him a top journalist, but those damned strings worried her.
With Max, there would always be a price to pay.
‘Are you offering to help me find my father if I come back to you? Because that’s not going to happen. If I had any lingering feelings for you, the past few months apart have erased them.’
His eyes narrowed and a hint of sarcasm slipped through his mask. ‘Maybe you think you’ve found someone else here in Hicksville.’
If she hadn’t been listening, she might have passed off Max’s response as jealousy. But she hadn’t lived with him for over a year without learning to read his subtext. Max knew something about Paul or his family. Did he imagine he could use it to bring her back to him?
Fear curled in her stomach and a chill ran down her spine. What if he started digging up old scandals? Jacob Carey had survived one heart attack, but how would he cope if Max raked the past up all over again?
‘I’ve met some wonderful people and yes, maybe I have met someone I like enough to want to get to know better. That’s no concern of yours.’
‘I want to have the right to care for you again. There may be things about your … friend you’d prefer not to make public. For example, his father might have swindled folks in town.’
Dawn came up and stood behind Max without him noticing her approach. Slim and weak as she was, her eyes held a fierce look that promised retribution. In that moment, her gentle mother looked capable of murder.
‘That sounds like an attempt at emotional blackmail to me. You might want to rethink your strategy.’
Unfazed, Max turned and met Dawn’s gaze. ‘Just looking out for your daughter, Dawn.’
Beryl set a cappuccino in front of Max. ‘There you go, hun. You want anything else, just let me know.’ The look she cast at Serena was triumphant before she patted Max’s shoulder and returned behind the counter.
A sick feeling rolled through Serena’s stomach. How many people knew about Jacob Carey’s poor investment in a scam? Would Paul and his family—maybe her family too—be affected by the information if Max disclosed what he knew? Just how much did he know, or guess?
‘I’ve lost my appetite. Mum, do you fancy a drive somewhere?’
Max caught her hand and held it. ‘Think about my offer to help.’
Looking pointedly at his hand detaining her, she waited until he let go. ‘I’ll think—whether your offer is help or something else.’
***
As the car windows fogged up, Dawn turned from contemplation of the river and met Serena’s gaze. ‘Tell me what you think you know.’
‘There isn’t much.’
‘Max Stinker seems to think he’s got something and your face is still a shade of white, so you must agree it’s a possibility. Spill.’
Where to begin? She sifted through the suggestions and innuendoes since she’d begun her search for her father. ‘Since you don’t recall the name of my father—’
Her mother’s expression remained the same and, for the first time in many years, Serena doubted her own certainty that her mother had simply kept silent.
‘I created a couple of sketches from the differences between your features and mine and showed them to a few people in town. So far, I’ve been told they look like Greg Frankston, a scam artist; the mill owner who seems to have vanished, and who nobody has a good word about—’
‘Neither of them could be your father. He was a decent man, a good man.’
‘Mum, that was twenty-seven years ago. People change, things happen.’
‘I doubt he would have changed from the man I knew. He was like an oak tree, the kind of man my grandmother would have called steadfast.’
Feeling as if they were going around in circles, Serena raised a hand with two fingers folded down. ‘Okay, leaving aside your certainty he’s not likely to be a scammer or a cheat, those are the first two possibilities. Then there’s a man who lives on some commune outside town. I haven’t seen him yet so I’ve no idea what he’s like. And then there are twin brothers, the father and uncle of—of a friend.’
‘Twins? Are they identical?’
Serena had to remind herself to breathe. If her mother remembered the twins after all these years, it had to mean more than just meeting them. And yet, weren’t they the kind of men she’d always believed her father to be? Decent, honourable, family men—men who would never have left her mother alone and pregnant if they had known.
Perhaps Dawn’s story about their ill-fated last meeting was true.
‘They were both at the Byron festival the year I was conceived.’
‘Were they?’ Dawn rubbed her temples. ‘Twins—with dark brown eyes and black hair?’
‘Yes. And they knew your name.’
Her mother’s memory of the twins gave her hope that the man Frankston wasn’t her father.
Hope that a Carey man was her father.
And hope that he wasn’t.