SnowySummer

October 2009 Jin dabyne

‘I will not go to a masked ball!’ Annie stared in horror at Monica and Suzanne.

‘You promised us, Annie.’ Monica dropped the three dress boxes she had just lugged in from their car onto the lounge of their rented apartment.

‘I agreed to a weekend away in Canberra, before I leave for Sri Lanka. You brought me to Jindabyne Horizons Resort, now you want me to—’

‘A hen’s weekend away is what you agreed to, Annie,’ Suzanne interrupted her, ‘Canberra, Jindabyne, what’s the difference?’

‘Difference? How about one hundred and sixty kilometres?’

‘Chill, Annie,’ Suzanne patted Annie on her cheek. ‘We’re here now. Anyway, we couldn’t possibly do a hen’s weekend away without a hen’s party. We have an amazing evening planned.’ She grabbed one box and put it on the dining table. ‘Wow, I can’t wait to see what the costumes look like.’

Annie groaned and raised her hands to her forehead. ‘What the—you expect me to wear a costume? It’s too much—’

‘Calm down,’ Suzanne grabbed a pair of scissors from the cabinet drawer and slit open the tape holding the box shut.

‘It’s a masked costume party, Annie, darling—’ Monica slid her arm around Annie’s shoulder— ‘lighten up. It’ll be fun to get incognito for a night. We’ll all three be dressed up, as will everyone else there tonight.’

Suzanne threw open the lid of the box and pulled out a cobalt blue silk jump suit. The diamanté on the scooped neckline continued down the full length sleeves. It shimmered in the last rays of the summer sun that filtered through the glass doors of their lakeside apartment. ‘We ordered headbands,’ she rummaged in the box, and pulled out a clear plastic headband with two curled blue pussycat ears. ‘Nice,’ she pushed back her auburn curls, and slid the band on her head.

‘I am not—’ Annie pointed to the silk ears on Suzanne’s hairband— ‘wearing those—those things.’ The vehemence with which she shook her head, made her curly black hair escape from the loose knot she had it in. It cascaded in waves to below her waist.

‘You’re not wearing these,’ Monica ripped open the second box and pulled out an identical jump suit in deep shot-honey tones. ‘Neither are you wearing this.’ She tossed the costume back in the box, and picked up the third, unopened box. ‘Aha. Here’s your costume, Annie. It had better be good, given the trouble we took to get three matching kits.’ She held out the box to Annie. ‘Take it, it won’t blow up.’

Annie looked from one to the other of her friends, ‘this whole wild charade is the maddest thing I’ve ever done,’ she mumbled. She took the box from Suzanne and put it on the dining table.

Monica stepped back from Annie, ‘Don’t look so suspicious, darling. Open the box.’

Suzanne rushed over to Annie and hugged her. ‘Annie, we want you to relax and enjoy tonight. We know you’re worried about your trip to Sri Lanka—.’ she raised her hand to silence Annie’s response. ‘You can pretend all you want, but we know how hard it is for you.’

Monica slipped her arms around them both. ‘Please, Annie, just for today, do it for us. Relax, and cut loose! Be as frivolous and naughty as you can possibly be—just for one night. Make it your Snowy Summer adventure. Do it, before you tie yourself to some man you hardly know, for some archaic cultural belief system.’

Annie hugged them both back. She allowed herself a moment to bask in the warmth of their love. The three girls had worked together for three years in Queen Elizabeth Hospital. She and Monica went back even further—to when they did their surgical training in London.

‘Girls, I know how you feel. But, one crazy night in the Snowies isn’t going to make me change my mind.’

The girls pulled away. They stood side by side facing Annie, their faces set and determined.

‘Annie, we’ve been there with you every step of your training.’

‘We know how much you want to get that rehab centre going in Sri Lanka.’

‘And, we do admire you for wanting to keep your promise to your father to build the centre.’

‘What we cannot understand is that you need an arranged marriage to accomplish it! It’s primitive.’

‘You’re a highly respected surgeon, physician and academic—’

‘Who won’t date seriously because you’re frightened of romance and love,’ Suzanne rolled her eyes and pointed her index finger at Annie.

‘You made a promise to your father when you were eighteen to marry this guy.’ Monica’s finger joined Suzanne’s. ‘If your father were alive today, he wouldn’t expect you to keep to it.’

‘The Sri Lankan guy, what’s his name—you haven’t met him for over six years.’

‘His name is Sunil,’ Annie mumbled.

‘You have this fantasy you can love him.’

‘Enough to commit the rest of your life to him.’

‘You are so totally inexperienced. Geez, girl, you’re a twenty-eight-year-old virgin.’

‘This Sunil could be married, for all you know.’

‘An alcoholic.’

‘Or, a wife beater.’

‘You have to rethink this stupidity.’

Annie listened to their shotgun comments. She had heard them all before, and had mulled over every one of them, and many more, over the last few months.

‘Girls,’ Annie stopped the flow. ‘I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. What I want is to be the best in the field.’

‘Stop right there, Annie,’ Monica interrupted, ‘my father, says you are the best trainee he’s had in his twenty years as head of the Neuromuscular Unit at Queen Elizabeth Hospital.’

‘Yes, the best trainee. I want to be the best graduate from the program, and above all, an outstanding practitioner.’

‘Why do you have to get married to do that? Look at us,’ she said, swinging open her arms to include Monica. ‘We’re single, and, if I may say so myself, great doctors.’

‘You’re both terrific. It’s different for me. I want to go back to Sri Lanka and work there.’

‘Why do you have to marry to be a professional in Sri Lanka?’ Monica grumbled.

‘Because,’ Annie sighed, ‘in Sri Lanka, if you’re a professional, a woman and unmarried at thirty, then you’re a lesbian, mentally unstable, or—’ she rolled her eyes— ‘have such a bad horoscope that you not only can’t find a man, but would jinx your patients.’

‘Okay, let’s accept, for argument’s sake, that you need a man to reach your goal. Why agree to an arranged marriage?’ Monica flung herself onto the lounge and clasped her hands to her heart. ‘Fall in love, Annie; find a man who makes your pulse race and your heart sing.’

‘Falling in love makes a person vulnerable and I have neither the time nor energy to put into a romantic relationship, most of which end in the divorce courts anyway—’

‘Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard it all before, Annie.’ Monica scowled.

‘You, my dear friend, want a man who is an appendage. A sort of trophy spouse who will not stand in the way of your career ambitions. You’re treating marriage like one of your research projects: Goals—aims—objectives— methods.’ Suzanne sat down beside Monica. She slid across to make room between them and patted the couch.

Annie sat between her friends and took their hands in hers. ‘Girls, I have been friends with Sunil since we were babies. We played together in the tea plantation.’ She stopped and laughed. ‘Sunil was my first, no, my only boyfriend! He has always encouraged my desire to be a doctor and work in Sri Lanka. He knows my father’s dream to open a neuromuscular rehab centre and understands how I need to do it for my father’s memory. We were talking about this on Skype only yesterday. I told him I need three more years in Australia to complete my training. He is willing to move here for the time it takes me to finish, in spite of having business interests in Sri Lanka. After I finish, we will go back to Sri Lanka. We both have family money. I can make my father’s dream come true.’

‘My ever practical, independent, career focused, friend, have you considered what would happen if you met a man and fell in love after you marry Sunil?’ Monica nudged Annie in her ribs.

Annie shivered. ‘I’ve resisted the love-trap for twenty-eight years. It’s not going to happen now.’

Monica tugged Annie’s hand. ‘What about children. I assume your patient, tolerant Sri Lankan Sunil is willing to wait?’

‘We’ve talked about it. I’ll be thirty-one when I finish training. We plan to have a child here, to give him, or her, Australian citizenship. We’ll move to Sri Lanka soon after. We’ll have grandparents and home help there, so we can both continue working on our careers.’

‘Wow.’ Monica’s face twisted in a grimace. ‘A low-risk, loveless plan for the rest of your life.’

‘No. Not loveless.’ Annie looked from one girl to the other. ‘I do love Sunil,’ she continued before they could protest, ‘Okay, not a pulse racing, pupil dilating emotion, but a warm, we know each other well, friendship love.’

‘Oh, for goodness sakes—’ Monica rolled her eyes and got up— ‘we’ve heard all your excuses and reasons, Annie, we just don’t believe it.’

Suzanne chipped in, ‘if you think deeply, you don’t either.’

Yes, she did have doubts. But, to be taken seriously as a senior professional in Sri Lankan culture, she needed to be married. Her parents and Sunil’s had always assumed they would end up as a couple. They were childhood friends. Teenage sweethearts. She trusted him, and loved him in a deep and comforting way. That, after all, was more important than romantic love.

Sunil’s calls and skype chats over the last couple of months had been enjoyable. He had teased her and said he couldn’t wait to catch up with her. ‘Take up where we left off’ he had said.

It would be okay.

She would make it work.

Monica slid off the couch and faced Annie, ‘Have you considered what would happen if you fell in love before you go to Sri Lanka?’

Annie chuckled, ‘In ten days? It would be lust. Lust is highly overrated.’

‘Lust,’ Monica continued, ‘is just what you need.’ She grabbed the dress box and thrust it at Annie. ‘Forget about being the best ever physician and surgeon. Forget marriage and Sri Lanka, and concentrate on today.’

‘Yes, just what the doctor ordered.’ Suzanne added.

Annie accepted the box and put it down on the table. In ten days’ time she would be home in Sri Lanka. In six weeks, she would be a married woman. Meanwhile, she would cut loose and enjoy this one night. At best, it would keep her friends happy.

One night in Jindabyne. What harm could it do?

She held out her hands to her friends. ‘Right, tonight, I will forget all about responsibility and promises. I’ll choose to ignore my prospective fiancé in Colombo and the wedding I have to plan—’ She chuckled— ‘I’ll channel my naughty side.’

Eyes sparkling, the three girls clasped hands.

‘Happy?’

Suzanne and Monica nodded. ‘Now,’ Monica handed her the pair of scissors, ‘open the box and let’s start getting ready for tonight.’

Annie lifted the lid of the box. ‘It’s red,’ she gasped. ‘I can’t—’

‘Yes, you can.’ Monica lifted the suit and held it to Annie. ‘The colour is scarlet—not red. It’s perfect for your dark skin and black eyes.’ She turned to Suzanne. ‘Don’t you just love it?’ She reached in the box and pulled out a scarlet and black mask, decorated with gold sequins. ‘You’ll be a mystery cat-woman in killer red heels.’

‘What red heels. I don’t have—’

‘You do now, Annie.’ Suzanne pulled a shoe box out of her suitcase, which lay open on the floor. ‘Here you go, a perfect match for your scarlet suit. They’ll fit. Isn’t it lucky you and I are the same size?’

‘So lucky you can readily help yourself to my shoes,’ Annie murmured and accepted the red stiletto-heeled patent leather sandals. ‘You two have planned this well.’

A little frisson of excitement sparked through her. It would be a challenge to step out of the skin of cautious and reserved neuromuscular specialist Dr Maryanne Shevanthi Samarasinghe for one night.

She shuddered. Morphing into a sexy cat-woman might be asking a little too much.

Her friends exchanged looks. ‘Yes, we have,’ Monica said. She put the mask and outfit back in the box and handed it to Annie. ‘We’ve got it all organised.’

Suzanne balanced the shoe box on top and gave her a little push towards the bedroom. ‘All you’ve got to do is enjoy the night. So, go shower and get into your suit. When we’re dressed, we can help each other with hair and make-up.’

‘We got you your favourite L’Air du Temps soap and toiletries. They’re on your bed,’ Monica called after her. ‘Use them.’

‘Annie,’ Suzanne added, ‘there’re some other goodies in the box too — wear them.’

Annie soaked in the bathtub filled with bath salts, and wrapped herself in the thirsty white resort towel. She massaged body lotion over her arms and legs.

She opened the dress box and gasped at the sight of the red thong and lace bra. ‘Really, those girls are the limit.’

She slipped on the underwear and slid into the skin-tight suit. The material stretched and moulded around her hips and breasts. The blood red diamanté and sequins at the scooped neckline framed her gold necklace and cross pendent. She swivelled in front of the mirror. She could see why this costume needed a thong under it.

Annie pulled her hair back in a bun and slipped on her red sandals. A little spray of L’Air du Temps cologne, and she was as ready as she would ever be. She plastered a faux-confident expression on her face and left the bedroom to join her friends.

The two girls were already dressed and made up.

Monica pounced on Annie as she came into the drawing room. ‘No, no, you can’t have your hair bunched up. Come here.’ she dragged Annie to a chair.

Suzanne pulled a stool to sit in front of Annie and took her hands.

‘What are you—’

‘Your boring short nails are perfect for surgery, Annie, but nowhere near sexy enough for cat-woman.’

Annie watched in resignation as her short straight-cut nails had red acrylics pressed over them. ‘These are claws.’ Suzanne hung on tight to her hands, like she thought Annie would try to pull away. ‘That’s the idea, pussycat,’ she laughed.

Monica separated small sections of Annie’s hair and clipped them in curls to her head.

‘Ouch.’

‘Bear with me, Annie, you’ll love the look.’

‘Okay, ladies, whatever.’ Annie shut her eyes and gave them free reign of her hair, hands and face.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled Annie to her feet and turned her towards the full length mirror.

Annie gasped at her reflection. She had never worn a lipstick like the matching scarlet on her lips. ‘This is so not me! I look like—like a cross between a sex worker and vintage vixen.’

Monica and Suzanne exchanged high fives.

‘Your hair is made for this,’ Monica teased out the pin curls and settled Annie’s hair in waves to her waist. ‘All we need is a red carpet,’ she slipped the hairband on Annie’s head and fastened the mask to her face, careful not to ruin Annie’s makeup or hair.

‘Hey, don’t forget your tail.’ Suzanne clipped a red velvet tail to the back of Annie’s suit. ‘Remember to flick it up when you sit.’

One on each side, Suzanne and Monica linked arms with Annie. ‘Let’s go rock the Snowies,’ Monica announced.

Together, the three left their apartment and walked towards the main hall to join the varied animals, princesses, werewolves, a couple of hobbits, and even a dragon gathered around the entrance.

***

It was the most idiotic thing Roy had ever done in his life.

He owed Andrew Pennington, and the good professor knew Roy wouldn’t refuse him a favour. Roy had agreed to attend the party at the resort, but Andrew had neglected to mention it was a masked costume party until after Roy agreed. At that point, Zorro was the only remotely acceptable costume he could find at the store in Cooma.

He had almost phoned Andrew and refused the invitation, but life on the farm was lonely, and it had been a while since he had the time, or for that matter the inclination, to go out on a date.

His eyes roamed over the weird costumes around him. He chuckled to himself. His old girl friends in Sydney would kill themselves laughing if they saw him waiting for a blind date at a masquerade ball.

Monica and her friends should be here soon. He slid his phone out of the pocket of his skin tight faux leather black jeans and scrolled down to her message. ‘Thank you, Roy,’ Monica had texted. ‘Your date, Annie, plans to return home for an arranged marriage. It’s all wrong. You have all tonight to make her change her mind. Use your famous Broughton-Knight charm.’

A woman dressed as a fairy princess, complete with tiara and wand sidled up to him. ‘On your own, Zorro?’ she purred. ‘I can do with some company tonight.’

‘Thanks. I’m okay.’

The contemptuous expression on her face told him what she thought of his charismatic Broughton-Knight skills.

The phone in his hand pinged, indicating an incoming message. ‘We’re here,’ Monica texted. ‘Look for three cat-women. Annie’s the scarlet one.’

Roy watched the three women make their way across the room to their table. The tall one with the outfit like poured honey and blonde bob would be Monica Pennington and the red head in blue probably her friend. That left the pocket-sized scarlet one with the jet-black curls tumbling to below her waist. The red material hugged her figure. Voluptuous was the word that popped into his mind.

‘Phew.’ Roy let out a slow breath. Tonight, his brief was to enthral this little cat-woman, Annie, into changing her mind about her arranged marriage in her native country. By the looks of her, that could be India.

A number of possible scenarios, all of them outrageous, crossed his mind. It was turning out to be a more interesting assignment than he had anticipated.

The girls accepted champagne flutes from a passing waiter, and sat down around their table. Annie gestured to the vacant fourth chair. Whatever Monica said in response brought an angry tilt to the pert nose under the red mask and a pout to the generous lips.

Roy approached the girls. Red cat-woman gestured at the other two and started to get out of her chair. They grabbed her arms and dragged her back down.

Maybe, they had just informed Annie about her blind date for tonight.

This assignment was getting more interesting by the minute.

‘Ladies.’ Roy swept his cloak aside and placed his gloved right hand on the hilt of the plastic sabre fixed to the silver and black belt around his waist.

‘Lovely to see you, Roy.’ Monica leapt off her chair with a flick of her tail and threw her arms around him.

‘You haven’t hugged me since we were both ten years old, Monica,’ Roy murmured in her ear, returning the embrace.

‘You’re our last hope,’ she whispered back. ‘Don’t let us down,’

Monica held on to his right hand and turned to the girls. ‘Roy, these are my friends.’ She pointed to the blue cat-woman. ‘This is Suzanne,’ she said, and then gestured to the red one, ‘and this is Annie.’

Roy bowed to the seated girls.

The pouting crimson lips barely acknowledged the introduction, and the red tipped long fingers tightened around the champagne flute. Roy would bet that she would like to transfer the grip to Monica’s throat—or maybe his.

‘Annie, Roy is an old friend of our family. He’s your date for tonight.’ She let go of Roy’s hand. Suzanne stood up with a flip of her blue tail and bent to kiss Annie on her cheek. Monica did the same on the other side. ‘Remember your promise, Annie,’ she sang.

The two girls melted into the crowd of revellers on the dance floor before Roy could even slide into the chair vacated by Monica.

This was his cue to turn on the Broughton-Knight charisma.

‘Annie—’ He leant closer and looked into the slits of her mask— ‘what did you promise your friends?’

The pout was back, but the corners of the crimson lips quivered with a hint of laughter.

Red silk encased shoulders shrugged. The movement drew Roy’s attention to the sparkle of a gold cross nestled in the hint of cleavage exposed at the diamanté encrusted neckline.

She relaxed her death hold on the champagne flute.

Roy had a sudden longing to rip off the red mask and see if her eyes reflected the mischief evident in the parted lips.

‘I promised to put my plans for the future on hold for tonight,’ she replied, biting her bottom lip, ‘and have the absolutely best time of my life. To channel my hidden naughty side.’

He reached over and untangled her fingers from around the champagne flute. He caught her hands in his before she could pull away. ‘You just didn’t expect to be entertained by Zorro while you let your naughty side out, did you? Think you can cope?’

The fingers in his stilled and then curved around his. She dug red tipped nails into his gloved palm.

‘I assure you, Zorro, I am more than capable of dealing with a caped fox.’

Chapter 2

Sun streaked brown hair snuck out from under the black brim of the hat, with a silver ‘Z’ painted on it. The aquiline nose and sensuous lips would look feminine on another man, but on Roy, combined with tanned skin, a square jaw and a days’ shadow of growth on his cheeks, they all screamed testosterone. A dimple flirted with the corner of his lips.

Annie’s eyes slipped down to his body. She was used to her less than fit professional colleagues, and the slender physique of most Sri Lankan men, so, the muscular perfection of the man sitting next to her reminded her of a flawless anatomy specimen. She bit her lip to stifle a laugh and allowed herself a moment to appreciate the definition of taut muscles—pectorals, deltoid and biceps under the moulded black silk shirt.

Roy leant forward till his face was centimetres from hers. ‘Does what you see meet with your approval?’

The dimple flashed in his cheek. The musk and lemon of his aftershave wafted across to her. For a fleeting moment, Annie was tempted to tilt the mask and have a peek at the rest of his face. No, today was about acting carefree. Anonymity was an essential part of it.

Annie raised her glass to him. ‘I can see you on a jet-black thoroughbred, your sabre flashing as you race to rescue a damsel in distress.’

He moved his face a fraction closer. His breath warmed her lips. ‘Are you a damsel in distress, Annie?’

Something about this man and the tone of his voice suggested he would be a good listener. She felt tempted to tell him about her anxieties. Instead, she channelled naughty. ‘That, Zorro, is for me to know and you to find out.’

The volume of music dropped, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, werewolves, hobbits, dragons, devils and all you other hungry revellers, a buffet dinner is now available in both restaurants. Dinner will be served till midnight. The bar will remain open till five am.’

Roy stood up and held out his hand to Annie. ‘I booked a table for two on the balcony overlooking Lake Jindabyne. Would you like to eat there?’

She took his gloved hand. ‘I would love to.’

She couldn’t see his eyes behind his mask, and she was glad he couldn’t see hers.

***

The moon peeped over the mountain range across Lake Jindabyne, sending a silver staircase glittering across the calm water. Her scarlet mask glittered in the reflected moonlight.

Annie sat in front of him, toying with her salad and braised salmon. She had clammed up again, her lips set taut and shoulders tensed. He had to get her to relax before he could allure her into changing her mind.

‘These gloves are ludicrous,’ he peeled off his gloves and shoved them in the pocket of his pants. He sensed her eyes shift to the fingers of his left hand. ‘No, Annie, I am not married.’

He laid his fingertips on her left arm. ‘Your friends want you to forget the future and have a good time tonight.’ He slid his fingers up her arm. ‘Give me something to work with, Annie. Monica said you are employed with her in the wards. I am guessing you’re a nurse in her unit. Tell me why a young professional, as lovely as you are, would need to agree to an arranged marriage in India. You would have no shortage of men—’

‘True, there’s no shortage of men wanting to date me. Have casual sex. A booty call. A stupid dating one-night-stand merry-go-round.’ She shrugged, setting the diamante on her cat suit shimmering. ‘I want something permanent. Like my parents had, one man and one woman married for life.’

‘Aha, a dreamer. The perfect family, father, mother and two and a half kids.’ He laughed. ‘Dream on—’

The sultry lips thinned. ‘What’s wrong with a dream?’

‘It’s an illusion.’

‘I happen to know it is possible.’

‘Okay, hold on to the fantasy if you wish. But tell me why you need to go back to India to fulfil it. Why not find a man here? Fall in love?’

He would have missed the almost imperceptible tremor of her lips if his eyes hadn’t been fixed on her face.

‘Romance is overrated. Almost fifty percent of so called love marriages end up in bitter divorce battles. No, I will settle for the safer option. I have known the man I am going to marry for a long time, since we were kids, in fact. I have always cared deeply for him. Our parents always expected us to get married.’

Roy shuddered. ‘Sounds safe, predictable and boring. How long since you met him face to face?’

‘Hmm, about six years. But, we’ve kept in touch on and off all our adult life. He’s an only child like me. He looks after his parents and the family business. He’s never done anything to make me doubt his devotion to me—to us.’

‘People change, Annie. Six years is a long time. Never accept anyone at face value. They’re rarely what they seem. Charm usually covers some ulterior motive.’

She stared at him. Her eyes were hidden by the mask, but her lips relaxed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re sorry? Why?’

She laid her right hand over his fingers which still rested on her arm. ‘You’ve been hurt by someone you cared for. I can hear it in your voice. But my love for Sunil is different. I trust him completely.’

‘We’re not talking about my life, Annie.’ He made a dismissive flick of his other hand. ‘Sunil—is that the man you are to marry?’

Annie nodded.

He tightened his fingers on her arm. He had accepted Monica’s challenge to change Annie’s mind, but sitting here with her, hearing the tremor of uncertainty in her voice, the project became personal. He didn’t want her to go back to her homeland and marry this man Sunil. He’d rather keep her here in Jindabyne and get to know her better.

Annie licked her lips in a nervous gesture. Roy drew back, surprised at the feelings that flashed through his mind. She excited him, but a need to protect her from throwing away her future swamped his desire.

He slid his fingers down her arm and clasped her hands in his. ‘This is a ridiculous way to get to know each other, Annie.’ He gestured to the illuminated lakeside walk, ‘Let’s get away from here and take these stupid masks off.’

‘No—’ she gestured to the dance floor— ‘I’ve eaten, and—’ she looked at his empty plate— ‘you’ve finished. Let’s dance instead.’

***

Her right hand nestled in his. Strong, tanned fingers and a soft palm warmed her skin. His left hand rested on her back. Fingers tangled and moved in her hair.

This man made her senses come alive. She was aware of everything about him, his smell, his touch, his breath on her forehead. She had no right to feel these emotions, it was disloyal to Sunil and her plans for the future.

She pushed the guilt away. Today, she was keeping a promise to her friends—to relax, forget, and enjoy, just for one night. It had nothing to do with love, or romance.

She raised her face, and their eyes met through the slits on their masks.

Roy drew her close and rested his head on her hair. ‘Annie,’ he whispered into her ear, ‘you’re Australian, you don’t need an arranged marriage with a man you hardly know. Change your plans. Stay here and find a man you can love.’

She moved away and looked up at him. ‘Where do you recommend I start looking for this man in the commitment averse professional crowd I move in?’

The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘You might start by moving to Jindabyne. I hear there’s a vacancy for a nurse in the new Medical Clinic.’

What the heck, she was with this man for tonight only, a little flirtation was harmless.

‘So, you think there are desperate mountain men here in the Snowies, looking for a subcontinental city bride?’

The smile grew to a generous chuckle. ‘I am sure they could be located and lined up for you.’

‘Would you be in the line-up?’

The chuckle turned to a full-bodied laugh. ‘I’ll be first in line.’

Roy pulled her closer. Every nerve fibre of her body quivered with energy at contact with his lean muscled body.

The tempo of the music changed. Annie drew back. ‘Jive, how quaint. I learned to jive when I was a teenager.’

They danced the jive and cha-cha, even daring to do the samba when most of the other couples gave up.

Finally, exhausted, they collapsed in their chairs. Roy snagged a couple of flutes of champagne from a passing waiter.

Annie glanced at her watch. ‘It’s past one o’clock. Time to get back to the apartment.’

His fingers curled on her elbow when she stood up. ‘I’ll walk with you. I’m in a room a couple of doors from yours.’

‘How? No, don’t tell me. Monica booked your room.’

‘Spot on, she’s one efficient lass.’

‘Also interfering, obstinate, a real pain sometimes.’ Annie paused. ‘But the most loyal of friends.’

Hand in hand, they walked across the grass to the resort accommodation. His thumb caressed her palm, stirring feelings she struggled to suppress.

She didn’t want tonight to end. But, it had to.

Tomorrow she would return to being the sensible professional.

She turned to him at the entrance to the apartment. ‘Good night, Roy. Thank you for taking on the job of entertaining me.’

Roy responded with a sweep of his cape and an exaggerated bow. ‘You are most welcome, my dear seductive cat-woman. But why should it end here? Have breakfast with me.’

Annie shook her head. ‘We’re planning to start back early tomorrow. Anyway,’ she continued with a laugh, ‘I thought you were hired by Monica for a one-off assignment.’

Roy placed his arms on either side of her, palms flat on the wall, effectively trapping her. ‘I was thinking of breakfast in bed. An extension of tonight’s assignment.’ He moved closer. She could feel the heat from his body as if it were her own.

‘You mean—are you suggesting—’

‘Yes, I am. Come with me, Annie. We can spend a few hours in my room, followed by a leisurely breakfast in bed.’ He moved closer to her. ‘Let me give you a taste of what you would be missing if you marry Sunil,’ he breathed in her ear.

‘No, Roy, I can’t—I won’t do it.’

‘Are you even tempted?’

‘Of course, I am tempted.’ Annie tried to push out of his arms. ‘But I am also aware of the stupidity of acting on impulsive desires.’

‘So, you think what you feel is impulsive. Well, let me give you something more concrete to remember, to take back to your arranged marriage.’

His lips were hard and then soft. Demanding and coaxing. She opened her mouth to him. Her arms moved around him of their own volition.

His fingers caressed her neck, and drifted down over her body, drawing her to him, into him.

His fingers came to rest on her mask. ‘Come with me.’

‘No.’

She felt branded by his kiss. ‘Perhaps you’ll think about this, on your loveless marriage bed,’ he spoke against her lips.

‘Please—’ she pulled away— ‘We—I can’t do this.’

He dropped his arms with a muttered curse.

Fighting the urge to throw her arms around him, she turned and fumbled with the door knob.

Fingers fluttered down her back, firing her nerve endings. His words were a whisper on the nape of her neck. ‘This is not goodbye, Annie.’

Chapter 3

December 2009, Colombo, Sri Lanka

The rays of the sun setting over the Indian Ocean slanted through the full length glass windows of Sunil’s fifth floor apartment. It lit the room with a rich, golden glow and glinted off the slim gold watch at the cuff of his pale blue raw silk shirt.

Sunil settled in the carved ebony and leather chair and flipped open his laptop. He launched Skype and tapped on Annie’s profile. He clicked “make video contact” and sat back, listening to the ringtone.

The cuckoo clock on the wall chimed five. It would be ten thirty at night in Sydney. Annie had texted him she would be busy in the ward all day. Tomorrow morning, she would be on a flight to Sri Lanka. They would be engaged next week and married four weeks after. He heaved a sigh of relief. Not a moment too soon. He had to make sure everything went according to plan. There was too much at stake.

Annie smiled at him. ‘Good evening, from down under.’

Her face on the computer screen was clean scrubbed and free of all makeup. She looked tired—and lovely.

Sunil schooled his face, and smiled at his bride-to-be, a smile that started at the corners of his lips and dimpled his cheeks before moving to crinkle the corners of his eyes. It was a smile cultivated to set female hearts a-flutter.

Annie sat cross-legged on her rumpled bed. She had showered and her freshly towelled hair tumbled to below her waist. ‘No need to turn on the charm offensive for me, Nilo,’ she said with a roll of her eyes and a chuckle. ‘I helped you perfect that grin for your first date, remember?’

‘You have to stop calling me Nilo, Annie. We’re to be married soon, and—’

Her eyes darkened, ‘Why? I have called you Nilo since you were a little buck-toothed nuisance, chasing me through the tea bushes.’

‘I never did catch you for a kiss in the tea bushes.’

They stared at each other. ‘Okay let’s be all grown up.’ Annie bit her lip and sighed. ‘Nilo—Sunil, does this all feel weird to you?’

‘Weird? What are you talking about?’

‘We—you and I getting married. Do you feel like, maybe, we are too close, like brother and sister?’

His heart rate quickened. Sunil struggled to control the panic roiling in his stomach. She must not see his anxiety. ‘Annie, darling—’ He kissed his finger tips and placed it on the screen— ‘We are soul mates, not siblings. You have always known that we were meant to be together.’

‘True, we grew up assuming we would get married. You and I both know that it was our parents’ dream, not ours, Nil—Sunil. Haven’t you ever wondered about passion and love? Have you felt desire for another woman?’

Seated in his air-conditioned apartment, a trickle of sweat ran down his spine. ‘Come on, Annie. We love each other. We always have.’

‘It’s different Ni—Sunil, and you know it.’

She couldn’t pull out now. He wouldn’t let her. ‘Annie, I can’t believe you of all people would feel pre-wedding jitters. The affection and care you feel for me will grow into love and passion. I promise you, Annie. Trust me.’

‘How can you promise?’

‘Because, I love you, Annie, enough for the two of us. I love your naughty, teasing mannerisms and your energy. You are brilliant and patient and loving. Darling, you and I are meant for each other. I need you in my life and I will support your dreams both in Australia and here in Lanka, just as I’ve promised. Please, don’t worry about our marriage.’

He had to make her believe him. He had too much to lose.

‘It’s a lovely thing for you to say. But, you love the girl I was when we were together six years ago. You may hate me when we meet face to face at Katunayake airport tomorrow.’

He shook his head. ‘Never.’

‘We’ll see.’ Annie shook her head and yawned. ‘I need to go finish my packing. I’ll see you tomorrow—or whenever.’

‘I love you.’

‘Love you too.’ She yawned again and switched her laptop off.

Sunil dropped his head in his hand.

Memories of the past clawed into his present. Annie and him racing through the tea bushes. Jumping into the water and coming home to the combined wrath of their parents. The day when she was fifteen and she asked him to kiss her. Then wiped her mouth and pronounced it awful. He had loved her then and loved her now. He wanted her as his wife. Just not like this. He would have been overjoyed with anticipation if the circumstances were different.

He looked around his apartment, the opulence of his surroundings blurred by a film of tears. He remembered how happy and proud he had been when he signed the deeds to the property three years ago. A fifth-floor three bedroom apartment in a brand new security block in Colpetty, the prestigious beachside suburb of Colombo.

The furniture had come with the apartment. He glanced at the embroidered cushions on the red leather and ebony couch. His eyes drifted around the room to take everything in: the painting of a tea plantation by the top Sri Lankan artist; the glass doored cupboard with the crystal ware he never used; the state of the art entertainment system he had no time to enjoy; and finally, the item every successful young entrepreneur needed in his sitting room, an elliptical cross trainer.

He had attained what he had always aspired to. It brought him no happiness. It was a gilded prison.

His phone pinged. Caller ID read ‘Palitha’, but that wasn’t his real name. Few people knew this.

He thumbed accept.

‘Hello, Machan. How are you?’ The intimate term of address as cousin annoyed Sunil. His fingers tightened on the phone.

‘I’m okay.’

‘You don’t sound happy, Machan. Did you talk to the doctor? What time is her flight landing?’

‘It’s the midnight flight from Sydney and Singapore.’

‘Are you going to meet her? Do you want some company?’

‘No, thanks for offering.’ He forced himself to express the same level of intimacy. ‘Machan, I am going with her mother.’

‘The doctor will be impressed with your Chrysler convertible.’ Palitha chuckled. ‘We’ll all go out soon. In a couple of days, when she is over the jet lag.’

‘Yes, Machan, that would be good.’

‘I’ll book a table for the gang at the Blue Leopard for Saturday.’

‘I will ask Annie and let you know.’

‘No—no need to confirm, just come—’ he paused— ‘and Sunil—’ his laughter echoed, loud and sarcastic— ‘Machan, don’t forget, your future depends on your marrying her.’

Not only his future. More likely his very life.

Chapter 4

‘You have a nice figure for a sari blouse, Annie.’ The dressmaker pinned the hem of the blouse. She turned Annie around. ‘You should have allowed me to give you a deeper neckline, child. And a little higher hem on your blouse also to show your nice waist. We want people to admire your figure, no?’

Annie stood before the full length mirror, dressed in the long white satin underskirt and off white sari silk blouse. She bit her lip to suppress a giggle. What a dressmaker in Sri Lanka considered a nice figure, was one with breasts generous enough to not need enhancement with strategically placed darts in the sari blouse or require a padded bra. One where the fall of the six metres of silk sari material would drape over the shoulder in an attractive manner while it drew attention to the curvaceous figure of the wearer. A nice blouse also showed an expanse of back and midriff — preferably with the naval exposed.

‘Thank you, Aunty Leela.’ Since coming back home to Sri Lanka, she had assumed the custom of addressing all older women as Aunty and older men as Uncle. ‘The fit is perfect.’

The dressmaker cupped Annie’s face in her work worn hands. ‘God bless you, Annie. I wish your father was alive to see you now—’ she paused — ‘your grandmother also. Achchi would have been so happy you finally agreed on the marriage to Sunil.’

Annie rolled her eyes and grimaced. ‘Aunty Leela, it feels like Sunil and I have been in an arranged marriage since we were toddlers.’

‘Annie—’ her mother bustled into the room, ‘hurry up and finish with the wedding sari fitting, and get into some nice clothes. Sunil called. He wants to pick you up for the day. He mentioned a drive down south to the beach.’

‘Mum,’ Annie moaned, ‘the engagement party went on until after midnight last night. I want to rest and spend some time with you today.’ She unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it.

‘Come, I will help you.’ The dressmaker helped her remove the multiple little hooks that held the front of her sari blouse together.

‘Duwe, daughter, after six years away, you need time to get to know him better. You and I can talk in the evening.’ She opened Annie’s suitcase and lifted out a sky blue cotton lace midi dress. ‘Wear this, it looks really nice.’

‘Mum, nobody wears a lace dress for a day at the beach.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. ‘This is more like beach wear.’

‘No, this is Sri Lanka. You must look pretty for your husband-to-be.’ She wrestled the jeans and T-shirt away from Annie and handed her the dress.

It wasn’t worth arguing with her mum when she was in this mood.

‘This is Sunil we are talking about, Mum.’ Annie grumbled. ‘We bathed naked together as kids, and played doctor as children. Since when have I needed to dress up and seduce him?’ She slipped into the dress.

Her mother picked up Annie’s left hand and pointed to the ring on her fourth finger. ‘Since you accepted this engagement ring from him last night.’ She stroked Annie’s cheek. ‘Don’t look so anxious, Duwe. Like you said, this is Sunil. He is a man now—not the boy you remember. Give yourself this month before the wedding to get to know him. If he wants to romance you, then let him.’

The dressmaker gathered the wedding clothes together. ‘I will bring the finished skirt and blouse on Sunday.’ She held Annie’s hand in hers. ‘You will be a radiant bride.’ She turned to Annie’s mother. ‘I will see myself out Mrs Samarasinghe.’

Her mother put her arm around Annie’s shoulder. ‘Kunju,’ she said, her tone and the use of the childhood endearment bringing tears to Annie’s eyes. ‘What are you worried about?’

Annie perched on the edge of the bed. Her mother sat close to her and hugged her. ‘Duwe, your father asked you, on his deathbed, to continue his dream of the neuromuscular rehabilitation centre. I know how that promise has driven your decisions and your life. You also knew that he wanted you to marry Sunil. But, you have been away a long time—’ she stopped, pulled back and stared into Annie’s eyes. ‘Is there someone else you are interested in? A man in Australia?’

‘No, Mum.’ Annie blinked away the memory of a masked face, sensuous lips and suntanned skin. The dimple that flickered in his cheek. A man whose touch had made her senses sing for a few hours. ‘No, there is no one. I was too busy at work to meet anyone.’

‘Then what, Duwe. What is bothering you?’

‘Mum, He—Sunil, he’s so different to what I expected.’

‘He has grown up. He’s a man now, Duwe, and he works hard. It’s been six years—’

Annie shook her head, ‘No, Mum, it’s not that. I can’t understand the life he leads, the people he moves with.’ She lifted her left hand and stared at the engagement ring. ‘Even this ring. For goodness sakes, the star sapphire alone would have cost the earth, and to have it surrounded with diamonds, it’s madness!’ She got up and paced across the room to the window. She watched as Sunil’s car swung down the drive of the house. ‘Look at his car—who drives a white Chrysler convertible in the dust and pollution of Colombo?’

‘Duwe —’

She swung back to face her mother. ‘Where does he get the money to live like he does? I talked to his mother last night. Aunty Sirima said tea prices were down and the labour unions were making them pay higher wages to the labourers. She said they would have been forced to sell the plantation if not for Sunil. Apparently, Sunil also took over the reins of the gem business from his father when gem prices dropped during the ethnic war.’

She turned back to the window.

Her mother got off the bed and came to stand by her. ‘Aiyoo, darling, don’t worry so much. Ask Sunil. You two have always shared every little thing since you were children. He will tell you.’

Sunil swung open the door of the car and slid out. The sculpted muscles of his arms and thighs were accentuated by the tailored blue cotton trousers and tight fitted linen shirt. The sunlight glinted on the curly black hair, parted on the left and swept back. His whole persona was too perfect, as if he were emulating some Bollywood star.

He slipped off his sunglasses and raised his left hand. His smile was slow and deliberate. The same one he used on the skype calls. Today, it looked pretentious—put-on. It was so very different to the cheeky grin of the friend she had grown up with. The boy she had trusted and loved.

‘Aunty Sirima said Sunil makes enough money to keep the estate going. She seemed vague on how he did it.’

Her mother picked up the hairbrush and ran it through Annie’s hair.

‘Mum, what happened to the half share you and dad had in the tea plantation?’

Her mother cleared her throat. ‘I sold it to Sunil three years ago. He makes good money, Duwe. Now, stop making up worries and put on some makeup.’

‘Mum, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Later, Duwe,’ her mother hurried out of the bedroom.

She heard her address Sunil. ‘Sorry to make you wait, putha, son, she is still dressing. You know how girls are, no? Wants to look good for you.’

‘Aunty,’ he replied, ‘I have waited for Annie all my life, a few minutes extra won’t matter.’

Annie rolled her eyes. Really. Waited for her indeed. What utter crap. As his confidante, she knew all about his grog, girls and gambling lifestyle—well, up until she last saw him anyway. Today, she would have to coax the information of the last six years out of him.

She powdered her face and slicked on lip gloss.

Sunil was rich, handsome and charming, he was also willing to support her in her career. She should be thrilled that he was taking so much trouble and time to entertain her—even romance her, but a sense of unease persisted. There was something not quite right. She had to find out what it was.

In the recesses of her mind, she heard the echo of a mocking voice. ‘Never accept anyone at face value. They rarely are what they seem. Charm usually covers some ulterior motive.’

Chapter 5

‘My beautiful wife,’ Sunil bent to touch his lips to her forehead.

‘Not your wife as yet, Sunil.’ Annie sidestepped his arms and walked to the passenger side door of the car. She opened the door and slipped in, ‘A couple more weeks to go.’

‘All the same, darling.’ Sunil sat in the driver’s seat and reached over to help her with the seat belt. ‘We signed the register last night, so we are married in the eyes of the law.’ He started the car and turned to wave to her mother.

Annie settled back in the cream leather seat. ‘Maybe, but we’re not married in the eyes of God. Yesterday’s legal stuff was done so I could submit the papers for you to move to Australia.’

His left hand came off the steering wheel and covered hers. ‘You’re such a romantic idealist, Annie.’ His fingers caressed hers. ‘I love you for it.’

The condescension in his voice irked her. She bit back a sarcastic response.

‘There was a time when we shared the same ideals, Sunil.’ She kept her voice controlled.

He raised her fingers to his lips. ‘Ideals and dreams won’t bring success in life, Annie, hard work and determination will. You’ve been away. You can’t understand what it takes to be a success in Sri Lanka.’

She thought of the hard work and determination that had taken her from a Sri Lankan medical graduate to a surgeon and neuromuscular physician in England and then Australia. Annie pushed down the angry retort.

‘As always, I can read your thoughts, Annie.’ Sunil kissed the fingers he held. ‘Of course I am aware of how hard you studied to get where you are. Why else do you think I am willing to come with you to Australia, leaving my colleagues to run the business here?’

‘I do appreciate it,’ she mumbled, caught off guard. ‘It will be only for three years.’

‘When you are finished in Australia,’ he continued, caressing her fingers, ‘we’ll come home and have a house in a prestigious part of Colombo, we can have as many servants as you want, a nanny for every child, and you can entertain—’

‘I don’t need a house in the most expensive Colombo suburb, or the high life, Sunil.’

‘We will have the money for it, darling, so why not?’

He turned the car off the lane and onto Galle Road. The Chrysler joined the crush and clamour of buses, passenger vans, and cars. Cursing in Sinhalese, Sunil sounded the horn and swung the car around trishaws and jaywalking pedestrians.

She slipped her hand out of his. ‘Sunil,’ she began, reaching out to stroke the wood panelling in the car with her left hand. The star in the midnight blue sapphire on her ring gleamed in the morning sunlight. ‘Speaking of making money, how hard did you have to work to get this car? And—’ she wiggled her finger— ‘this rock on my finger?’

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. ‘I am involved in the three successful industries in Sri Lanka, Annie: tea, gems and tourism.’ Sunil turned to her, unconcerned with the standstill traffic outside the car. ‘You, my lovely wife, will never have to worry about finances. Just concentrate on doctoring.’

‘Tea and gems I understand, but tourism. What do you do? Offer international visitors trips to plantations and gem mines?’

‘No, nothing so boring. I jumped on a new trend—educational tourism.’

‘What do people come to Sri Lanka to learn? Culture? Cooking? Colonial history?’

He didn’t answer for a few seconds.

As they drove through the outer suburbs of the capital Colombo, the traffic thinned. A press of a button and the hinged bonnet of the Chrysler glided back.

‘The reverse: we arrange for girls and boys to study abroad. There are lots of people willing to pay money to study in Australia, England and America.’

‘Australian universities love international students—’

‘Anyway, darling,’ he cut her off mid-sentence, ‘don’t bother your pretty head with these business things. Relax and enjoy the day.’ He patted her hand.

She squirmed in the leather seat.

The boy she knew and loved had grown into an arrogant chauvinist. It made her uncomfortable, no—worse, it made her sick to think of making a life with him.

She made a snap decision, she would give their relationship two weeks. At the end of two weeks, if she felt the same unease, she would go back to Australia and ask for an annulment of their marriage.

Meanwhile, she would enjoy the day. Like her mother had advised, she would get to know him and share her plans for the future. Maybe, she could make him see their marriage as an equal partnership, and get him to explain his business dealings to her.

She owed it to her father to try her very best to make a success of her relationship with Sunil.

Annie sat back and let the wind blow through her hair. ‘Where are we going, Sunil?’

The powerful car ate up the kilometres. Sunil’s whole body seemed to uncoil and relax. The eager expression on his face brought back memories of the boy she knew.

‘A beachside hotel I know in Bulatwatté, you’ll love it. I go there when I want to get away.’

She wondered what he needed to get away from.

It was almost noon when they drove into the village of Bulatwatté. The sky was an intense blue and the trees the vibrant green of the tropics after a shower. The roads bore the wet oil slick of rain.

Little children waved and older folk pointed at the white Chrysler as it cruised through the collection of shops and little brick and tile houses that made up the village.

Sunil eased his foot off the accelerator and turned right onto a paved seaward road at a large roadside sign with the words “Whispering Palms”.

The hotel was set right on the beach. It had the appearance of a collection of coconut frond thatched huts, interconnected with covered walkways. The artificial mud and wattle walls were painted shades of blue and green, and blended with the coconut palms. The expanse of golden sand and violet-blue water stretched out from the hotel into the horizon.

It looked like a seaside fishing village, sterilised of the smell and muck.

A young man, in a batik sarong and white starched shirt, stood at the entrance to the hotel. ‘Ayubowan, greetings, Sir, Madam, I am Bandula.’ He turned to Sunil, ‘we got your booking, Sir.’ He placed his palms together, chest high, in the traditional Sri Lankan greeting. ‘I will have my man park the car, Sir.’ He accepted the keys to the Chrysler and handed it to another young man dressed like him. He turned back to Sunil and Annie. ‘Would you like a table on the beach?’

‘Wonderful,’ Sunil replied. ‘Please give us one with some privacy.’

‘Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir.’

They followed Bandula down a stone paved corridor with a thatched roof. Exotic orchids and jasmine bushes bloomed on either side. The colour and perfume was a heady mix. Annie breathed deep and let the tension in her mind and muscles melt away.

Bandula pushed aside a thick curtain and ushered them into a room built and decorated to look like a fisherman’s cottage, though more sophisticated. Fishing nets that had never been dunked into the ocean hung from the ceiling and below them, in the centre of the room, was a simple wooden table with carefully placed rush tablemats. Two hand-hewn chairs sat by the table and faced out towards the open glass doors, where the polished brown cement floor seamlessly blended with the beach. At the back of the room, an antique teak couch was covered with silk cushions.

Annie gazed out into the sun and surf. It surpassed all the beaches she was familiar with in Australia: Bondi, Manly, and Freshwater. But, in this busy seaside town, it was completely empty. She turned to Bandula, ‘Where are the people?’

‘People!’ He all but bristled. ‘Private beach, Madam. We are not allowing beggars and riff-raff to disturb our guests.’

Sunil slipped what looked like a five hundred rupee note into Bandula’s palm. ‘Thank you, Bandula. This is perfect.’

A young girl, dressed in the traditional redha-hatta, skirt and blouse, came in with two king coconuts, both cut open with straws inserted. ‘Complementary Thambili.’ She glanced from one to the other. ‘Coconut water,’ she explained.

‘We’re locals,’ Sunil said, slipping his arm around Annie’s waist. ‘Celebrating our marriage.’

Bandula’s eyes widened. ‘Honeymoon, Sir, Madam?’

‘Close,’ Sunil’s arm tightened around Annie.

‘Congratulations, Sir, Madam.’ Bandula produced a scroll of paper tied with a ribbon, and placed it on the table. ‘The menu, sir. When you want to order, please press the button at the side of the door. No-one will disturb you otherwise. If you want more privacy—’ he gestured to the doors open to the beach— ‘just pull the curtain.’ He pointed to batik linen curtains, held back with rope ties. ‘Please enjoy.’ With another hands-together salute, he and the girl left the room.

She stood still and erect, every muscle in her body taut. ‘Why did you tell him we are married?’ she snapped.

‘Because we are, Annie.’ He turned her to face him and drew her close.

His lips silenced her exclamation of protest. With one hand twisted in her hair, he slid the other down her body, moulding her to him. Annie forced herself to relax, and accept his caresses. This was her fiancé. She should learn to enjoy his touch. She opened her lips to his teasing tongue.

She felt no stirring of desire, no heightening of her senses. Her mind spiralled back to another place and time.

‘Let me give you something to take back to your arranged marriage.’

She turned her face away, breaking free of his lips. ‘Sunil, please stop. I’m not ready for this.’

‘I want you, Annie,’ he whispered in her ear.

‘You—want—’ she pulled back and stared into his eyes. ‘You planned this.’ She gasped, ‘the romantic hotel, the private room—’ she glanced at the couch— ‘you actually think I am stupid enough to be seduced by all this—’ she gestured around the room— ‘to make love to you before we are married. Sunil, what do you think I am?’ She pulled away from him.

His eyes darkened, then flickered with a deeper emotion. Anxiety? Fear? Whatever it was—it wasn’t passion, or love.

‘Sunil.’ She stepped out of reach of his arms. ‘You don’t want me—not right now, anyway.’

He caught her hands in his. ‘I love you, Annie. I need you.’

‘Need, maybe—but you don’t feel desire for me.’

He reached for her.

‘Sunil, no. I may be a virgin, it doesn’t mean I haven’t been held and kissed. I am a doctor.’

‘What do you mean?’

She took a step back and framed her words carefully. ‘Sunil. I do believe you love me. We are engaged to be married in a couple of weeks. What I don’t understand is why you feel this need to seduce me?’ She glanced at his groin. ‘I am also absolutely sure that right now, you feel no sexual desire or arousal towards me.’

Chapter 6

Annie stared into the dregs at the bottom of her teacup. ‘If we had been Buddhists or Hindus, the horoscopes would have been compared and we would know if I would be happy with Sunil. How simple that would be!’

She sat with Reverend Bob Kirkland and his wife Grace in the manse of Bambalawatte Methodist Church.

‘Marriage is more than finding happiness and personal fulfilment, Annie. And, you and I both know that the magical powers of matching horoscopes has nothing to do with it.’ Bob reached across the tea table to touch her arm. His eyes misted. ‘We knew your parents well when we were stationed at the church in Nuwara-Eliya. We helped your and Sunil’s parents settle down when they first purchased the estate. Grace and I watched Sunil and you grow from the time you were little bairns playing together in the tea bushes.’ He stopped and chuckled, ‘there was always so much love between the two of you. Although, as I remember, you and he were very different.’

‘Yes,’ Grace said, her soft voice dredging up long hidden memories in Annie’s mind. ‘You were happy to chase dragonflies and sit by the river reading, and Sunil—’ she paused— ‘he always wanted things.’

Annie nodded. ‘The newest toy, PlayStation, or computer game. Then, in our teens, he wanted the designer jeans and shoes. And his parents—aunty and uncle gave in to him every time.’

‘He came to see me two months ago to book the Bambalawatte Methodist Church for your wedding.’ Bob’s voice was laden with gentle care. ‘He hasn’t changed much, has he?’

‘He has an up-market apartment with flashy furniture.’

Grace laughed. ‘We saw it when we dropped by to get the papers signed.’

‘His clothes, the Chrysler, and even—’ she waved her left hand— ‘this diamond and sapphire ring: it’s all so pretentious. He splashes money around, but won’t tell me where he gets it. He says its business and I shouldn’t bother about it.’

Bob nodded. ‘Your mum talked to me after Bible study. Apparently, his parents are worried about the friends he keeps.’

‘Don’t go there.’ Annie scowled. ‘We’ve been out with them a couple of times. They’re pompous, self-opinionated new-rich businessmen, with wives who look like a cross between sex workers and Sri Lankan Barbie dolls. Sunil acts different when he’s with them. He pretends to enjoy their sleazy comments and sexist jokes. He even wants one of the guys, Palitha, to be his best man. I wouldn’t tolerate it, if we were to live in Sri Lanka after we are married.’

Grace moved to sit beside Annie on the couch. ‘Darling, Bob and I know the reasons why you are doing this—’ she stopped and glanced at her husband. ‘Annie, are you sure you want to go ahead with the wedding?’

Annie looked at Grace and Bob. ‘When I came to Sri Lanka from Australia, I felt confident I could make it work. Now, I am not sure. I’ve decided to give myself a week more to make up my mind.’

‘Have you told Sunil?’ Bob leant forward to take her hand.

She shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t. Only because I still feel confused. I care for him, and sometimes, when we are together, he is attentive, affectionate, even protective, and I can see a future for us as husband and wife. At other times, there is something else, an undercurrent I don’t understand, as if marrying me is something he needs to do—rather than wants to. Even worse, when he’s with his cronies, he treats me like some sort of trophy wife.’

Grace took Annie’s other hand in hers. ‘What do you plan to do this week to clarify your feelings?’

‘I’m going to show him how much I care for him, and see if he will open up and talk to me.’ She stood up. ‘In fact, I think I’ll start right now.’

Bob and Grace stood up with her. ‘We will pray that God will give you the wisdom to do what is right, Annie.’ Bob laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Remember, when you make your marriage vows in church, you will promise to love, honour and care for Sunil until death.’

Annie reached forward to take Grace’s hand in hers. ‘I have good role models for marriage, both in my parents, and you.’

Grace kissed Annie on her cheek. ‘Remember, we are always here for you.’

Annie hugged them both and ran down the steps of the manse to her car.

Her thoughts drifted to her grandmother, her parents. They had attended church here together when she was a child. Her father’s, and soon after, her grandmother’s funerals had been conducted here. She remembered how Sunil had stood by her on those days, holding her as she sobbed.

She blinked back tears. No point dwelling on the past. This journey to Colombo was about the future. A fulfilment of her father’s final wish. Her grandmother’s dreams for her life.

Annie paused with her hand on the car door. She was a twenty first century professional. Surely, she could find a way to fulfil her father’s dream, now her own, without marriage.

She heard Monica’s words in her ears, ‘You were eighteen when you made the promise to your father. If he were alive today, he wouldn’t expect you to keep to it.’

And, another sensuous male voice, ‘You are an Australian. You don’t need an arranged marriage with a man you hardly know.’

She slipped into the driver’s seat of the Toyota Corolla and, with a wave to Bob and Grace, pulled onto Galle Road.

She would work on her relationship with Sunil. A week wasn’t a long time.

Three weeks in Colombo had given her time to familiarise herself with the outrageous driving habits of the people. Today, for the first time, her mother had given her permission to leave the chauffer at home and drive the car herself. Dodging around the traffic, three wheelers, buses, jaywalking pedestrians and stray dogs, Annie joined the slow moving stream of vehicles in the business district of Colombo.

The large yellow circle with the ‘P&S’ on the front of a building brought back memories of childhood. She swung the car to the left and slipped between two other cars parked on the gravel edge of the road which formed the parking lot for Perera and Sons Caterers.

She glanced at her watch. It was ten am. Sunil had told her he would be working from home today, and they were to meet in the evening for dinner. She’d drop in and surprise him. He would be happy to see her.

When Sunil and she were young, he just eight years old, and she five, their favourite sweet had been P&S chocolate éclairs. Sunil would pretend he wanted her to share his and then, just as she bent forward for a bite, smear the chocolate cream on her face. It was a joke she fell for every time. She ran into the store and bought half a dozen of the largest. She would stop by his flat and share it with him, just for old times’ sake.

She pulled up at the gate of his apartment complex in Colpetty and punched in the entry code he had given her. Waving to the guard, she followed the drive to park in front of Sunil’s block. She pressed the entry button to apartment five, surprised when Sunil buzzed her in without asking who it was. Well, he probably had seen her drive up. She jumped in the lift and rode up to the fifth floor.

Annie tapped on the door. ‘The door is open.’ The barked command in Sinhalese surprised her. They always talked in English. She pushed the door open. The drawing room was empty. Sunil was seated at his table in the study. He looked up, stared at her, and leapt out of his chair. He strode towards her. ‘Annie! What the heck are you doing here?’

She flinched at the sharpness of his voice. ‘Well, hello, to you too, Sunil.’ She put the éclairs down on the dining table. ‘I wanted to surprise you—’

A chime indicated someone at the security door downstairs.

‘Ammata—’ Sunil swore in Sinhalese. He grabbed her arm and pushed her into the study. ‘Just stay there until I finish my meeting,’ he hissed. ‘Be quiet.’ He slammed shut the door to the study.

Listening through the closed door, she heard him buzz his visitors in and welcome them in Sinhalese.

Annie slipped into the chair Sunil had just vacated and glanced at the computer screen. It was open to the international undergraduate student application page of the University of Sydney. Probably research for the educational tourism work he had told her about.

Her eyes dropped to the desk, ‘What the—’ She muffled her exclamation.

The two bottom drawers to the side of the desk were actually not drawers at all. They had been slid aside to form a false front to a space behind. In it sat a small safe, the door ajar. With a glance at the shut study door, she eased the safe door open.

A clutch of passports. She bent and opened one, and then another. A chill speared through her. The front page of each of the six passports had airbrushed snapshots of Sunil. Each just a little different in looks with different names and dates of birth.

‘What the—’

She grabbed her mobile phone and started taking pictures. She flipped through the documents under the passports. There were letters of acceptance to a range of courses in Australian Universities with names on them—female names. The documents looked official, except the university crests didn’t look quite authentic. She was very familiar with the Sydney University’s crest and this one was definitely not right. She took pictures of them too.

She picked up an envelope and tipped out the contents.

‘Dear God.’ Annie smothered a gasp. Her stomach churned in astonishment. These were not passport or university admission photos. They were stylised sexual poses of scantily dressed young Sri Lankan women, more pornography than identity or passport photos. After a quick glance at the closed door, Annie photographed these too.

Chairs scraped back and voices were raised in Sinhalese goodbyes. Annie put the pictures back in the envelope and replaced everything in the safe, leaving the door ajar as she had found it.

She walked to the door and swung it open just as the two men were leaving. They stopped at the door and stared at her.

One man was built like an ape. The bulging muscles and shaved head reminded her of club bouncers in Sydney. He was dressed in a pair of shiny synthetic trousers and a long sleeve shirt rolled up to the elbow to exhibit muscular tattooed forearms. ‘Who is this?’ he grunted, in Sinhalese.

She recognised the other man as Palitha’s sidekick Charlie. Hand outstretched, Charlie stepped up to her. Annie accepted his handshake, ‘How nice to see you again, Annie. We must go to the Blue Leopard Night Club again.’ He swung his gaze to Sunil. ‘Why are you hiding her in the office, Machan? She will be part of the business when you are married, no?’

Sunil flinched. ‘I know what I am doing.’

The ape-man smirked. The look in his eyes made her skin crawl. ‘Ah, the doctor lady.’ He raised his hand to her in a salute. ‘Madam—’ He looked at Sunil with a leer. ‘She is pretty. Well done, Machan.’ Somehow, it sounded more threat than compliment.

Sunil shut the door. He swung round on her. ‘Annie, what the heck do you think you are playing at? I told you to stay in the room.’

‘I thought you might like me to serve some tea or cold drinks to your friends.’ She walked up to him and placed her fingers on his arm. ‘Anyway, what were those guys talking about? What is this business you should be informing me about? What was that sleaze bag implying when he congratulated you?’

Sunil turned towards her. His fingers curled on her arms. His eyes narrowed. ‘Business matters are not your concern, Annie.’

‘Really?’ She stepped back. His fingers tightened. ‘I thought you said we had no secrets. Your friend, Charlie, said I would be involved in the business, whatever it is, when we are married. What was he talking about, Sunil?’

‘Forget what you saw and heard today, Annie.’ His fingers trembled, and his nails cut into her flesh. His eyes slid away from hers. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. ‘You are my wife. You deal with your doctoring. Let me handle the business side of our finances. I need you to trust me on this, please, Annie. I will do what is best for us. For our future.’

She took a deep breath and called on all her professional training to keep calm. ‘Sunil,’ she began, reaching up to cup his face in her hands, ‘what is it? Are you in financial trouble? Is there a problem in the business? Talk to me, please. We shared everything growing up. We can deal with it together.’

He loosened his grasp on her arms and placed his palms over hers. His fingers trembled over hers. For a fleeting moment, his eyes took on a look of ensnared desperation. She was reminded of the eyes of a tiger she had seen in the zoo in Sydney. Trapped, aware of being a captive, but helpless to escape.

‘Sunil, please talk to me,’ she repeated in a whisper. ‘We will be husband and wife soon. You promised that we would not have secrets. If there is some problem, please let me help.’

‘Nothing to talk about, darling.’ Chameleon-like, he draped his arm over her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry your pretty head about business deals. Just go home, get some rest and put on your pretty face. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty for dinner. Just the two of us.’ He kissed her on her lips. ‘We’ll have dinner and dance.’ He glanced at the choux pastry on the dining table. ‘Later, we can come back here for some dessert.’

‘Sunil —’

‘Discussion closed, Annie, darling. Leave business to me. Concentrate on looking lovely.’ He kissed the corner of her lips. ‘By the way, my parents called. They want us to spend a few days in the plantation before the wedding. I talked to your mum. We’ll drive up there tomorrow.’

‘Sunil. How can you make these arrangements without consulting me?’

He shrugged and hugged her. ‘Just looking after my wife, Annie. As I always will.’

Annie drove away from Sunil’s apartment furious—at him, his attitude and at whatever he was involved in.

The images she had seen chilled her mind. The possible implications of it made her feel sick. Educational tourism he had called it—she could find other names for it.

She needed to talk to someone. Sunil was politically connected. His father was a cousin of the current president of Sri Lanka. This was Sri Lanka—not Australia, the police wouldn’t take any action against him for fear of reprisals. In addition, one of the guys she had met at the Blue Leopard was a Junior Minister in the Sri Lankan parliament.

Her mother wouldn’t believe her either, and would say Annie was worrying unnecessarily. She thought of Charlie and the other man. The thug had the intimidating look of a standover man. Maybe Sunil was in financial trouble.

There was only one person she could discuss this with. She turned her car towards uncle HJ’s house. Harold Jayasekera was an ex special-operations superintendent with the police force, and a cousin of her mothers. He would advise her.

What she was about to do was a serious betrayal of her fiancé Sunil.

But, from what she had seen, he had already betrayed himself—and her.

Chapter 7

The photographs were downloaded from her phone onto Uncle HJ’s computer. He sat with his chin in his palm looking through the pictures one by one.

His wife, Aunty Malini came in with mugs of tea and sandwiches. ‘Annie, I called your mother. I told her you stopped for a visit with us and I’d give you lunch.’

Uncle HJ closed the file of pictures on her phone. ‘I’ll clear these off your phone first,’ he mumbled. After a minute, he handed her the phone and flicked open another file on his desktop. Full frontal and side views of men and women—police mug shots—filled the screen.

‘Annie, anyone here look like the men you saw today?’

She reached for the mouse, and scrolled through. The leer on the face of the thug who had recognised her as the lady doctor was identifiable in one of the picture. ‘That one,’ she said, pointing. ‘He was one of them. I remember the tattoo. The guy who calls himself Charlie could be this one.’ She placed her index finger on the face of another picture on the screen. ‘I can’t be sure, though. His hair is longer now.’

Aunty Malini and Uncle HJ exchanged looks. ‘Come, child.’ Aunty Malini took her hand and drew her into the sitting room. ‘Tell me about Australia.’ Annie picked up her mug and followed her. She heard Uncle HJ talking on his mobile phone. He sounded agitated, even angry.

They had been chatting for about half an hour, when Uncle HJ came out of the study. He sat down opposite her and took her hands in his.

‘Annie,’ he said with heavy eyes, ‘listen to me carefully, darling. I know how much you care for Sunil. This is going to be hard for you to hear.’ His hands tightened on hers. ‘Sunil is involved in something big. We have followed the men you identified and some others for some time. We have evidence, but not enough to act on. We knew they had a connection with political influence—one which gave them protection, even immunity.’

‘Sunil always said his uncle would protect him. I—I assumed he was joking,’ she responded. ‘What exactly is it they—’

‘No, Annie, the less you know, the safer it is for you. From what you have seen, you have an inkling of what it is.’

Annie felt sick to the pit of her stomach. ‘Uncle,’ she stammered. ‘Sunil can’t be involved in what I—I think I saw in those pictures. He likes the high life, but he isn’t a crook, Uncle. He isn’t immoral. Those girls in the pictures—Sunil wouldn’t—’ tears filled her eyes.

Uncle HJ shook his head, ‘I am sorry, darling. From the pictures, the passports, his friends, Sunil is embroiled in it, right up to his eyeballs.’

She shut her eyes, her suspicions of his motives in marrying her, the unease she felt with him—it was all true. He was entangled in this horrendous activity. Marriage to him would have made her an accomplice. Anger at his duplicity overcame her sadness at his situation.

‘Uncle, what has our marriage got to do with all of this?’

‘Darling, Annie,’ Uncle HJ repeated, ‘I am so sorry. The gang want a base in Australia. We’ve suspected this for a while. Married to you, Sunil can work in Sydney for them and be above suspicion.’

Annie shivered. She was a pawn in a crooked evil game. ‘What do I do now?’ she asked.

‘Annie, I assume you don’t want to go on with the wedding?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Okay, we have two options. The safest for you right now is to leave for Australia immediately—’

‘Without any explanation to Sunil? Wouldn’t it look awfully suspicious?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, it would, they would suspect you had seen or heard something. They would clamp down on their activities and get rid of the evidence.’

‘Your investigation would be wrecked. What about what I brought you?’

‘We will act on it, what you have given us is good, but it is not enough, Annie. We need more information, concrete evidence. That will take time.’

‘Uncle, you said two options. What is the second?’

‘The other option is risky, even dangerous, but it would give us time to dig, to find more information to nail them.’

‘How much time would you need?’

‘Hard to say, at least a week to follow the leads and get some preliminary evidence.’

‘A week.’ Her laughter had an edge of hysteria.

Aunty Malini rushed over and placed her hands on Annie’s shoulders. ‘HJ, don’t get her involved.’

‘No, Aunty. I had given myself a week to decide if I wanted to marry Sunil. Now, it seems like the decision has been made for me. Uncle HJ, what do you want me to do for the week?’

‘Before I tell you, I want you to promise that you will be honest with me if you feel you can’t do it. Also, you can’t tell anyone about what you have seen—what you have brought to me today, not even your mother.’

She thought of the faces of the girls in the pictures. If it was what she suspected, God help her, she would do whatever was needed to help bring the men to justice. Yes, even if it included Sunil.

She took a deep breath. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I am sure. What do you want me to do?’

‘We need you to act normal with Sunil and his friends for the week.’

‘I can do that.’ She paused. ‘Except, Sunil wants me to go with him to the plantation for a few days before the—the wedding.’

A frown creased his forehead. ‘The plantation, of course.’

‘Of course what, Uncle?’

He raised his right hand to stroke his chin. ‘Maybe one of the missing links,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Okay, let’s play it. Go with him. Act normal, watch and listen.’

‘What if anything happens?’

‘You will have cover. We will be with you all the time.’

‘Do you want me to call the boys, HJ?’ Aunty Malini walked across the room to the telephone.

He raised his hand palm forward. ‘Not yet.’

‘It’s best you don’t know who, but there will be a person with you. We will have a plan of action to get you out, if necessary.’

‘And all I have to do is act natural and watch.’

‘Yes.’

‘How will I know who your person is?’

‘He will call you “Piya”.’

Annie knew that was the name her mother called herself as a little girl. It was a curious choice. ‘Mum said only you continue to call her “Piya” since daddy died—’

The ping of an incoming message on Annie’s phone interrupted her train of thought.

She pulled her phone from her bag and glanced at the screen. ‘It’s Sunil.’ She thumbed the “view message” button.

‘Like to leave today for plantation. Be ready by 3. Can be there by 8. Pack for five days. Return few days before wedding,’ she read out loud.

‘He has been instructed to get you away from Colombo.’

‘What should I say?’

Uncle HJ waved his hands in the air, ‘Answer it and say you’ll be ready. Then go home and pack. Go with him. Don’t try to call me. We will contact you if we need to. Meanwhile, we’ll ramp up the investigation.’

She picked up her phone, ‘Out shopping,’ she texted back to Sunil. ‘Heading home. Will be ready by 3.’

She hit send.

She stood up and looked up at uncle HJ and Aunty Malini. ‘Done.’

She was deceiving her fiancé and actively involved in a police operation. She had been so naïve to think everything would work out with Sunil. In her mind she heard a whisper from the past, ‘You’re Australian. You don’t need an arranged marriage with a man you hardly know.’ If only she had listened to him and her friends.

***

Her mother was excited at the trip. ‘You can get to know him. You know how much his parents love you. Don’t worry about the wedding. Everything is under control here.’ She bustled around the bedroom. ‘Take some saris also, Kunju,’

‘Mum, please, Sunil said it will be just family. No parties or dinners.’

She snapped her bag shut as Sunil’s car purred into their yard. ‘Anyone home?’ he called out. Soon they were in the car and driving away from Colombo.

The sky was an eye-dazzling, brilliant, cloudless blue. The sun was warm on her face. The coconut plantations, paddy fields and the myriad roadside flowering plants were a cacophony of colour.

Only a tropical island like her mother-land could turn on such beauty. She concentrated on the passing scenery, pulling on her mindfulness training to calm her mind.

Homagama, Hanwalla, Puwakpitiya—she read off the names of the villages as they wound their way along the two lane road which passed as the main highway to the hill country.

‘Look, Sunil—’ she tugged at his sleeve— ‘nowhere else in the world do roadside stalls sell the whole shebang, from banana and Thambili to slippers and broomsticks. Look how they display them — strung up in chains.’

‘Spoken like a true expat.’ Sunil was trying to look happy, but his eyes were pensive. He swerved to avoid a cyclist with a woman and two children seated on the cross bar. ‘Idiot villagers,’ he cursed. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

‘Are you okay?’ Annie touched his arm.

‘I always have been, and will continue to be okay with you by my side, Annie.’ He was making an attempt to sound relaxed, but his voice was laced with anxiety.

She stayed quiet, feathered her fingers on his knee, and prayed he would trust her, that she could help him extricate himself from the evil web of intrigue he was enmeshed in.

They passed Hatton and the road climbed. The grand vista of a wide valley backed by a broad-shouldered mountain range stretched before them. The lower regions were swathed with brilliant green tea bushes. From the upper flanks, dark, ominous rock faces clawed upwards towards the sky. Distant waterfalls cascaded down the rocks, and persistent trees and bushes clung valiantly to them.

The car wound up the mountain range.

Sunil navigated the hairpin bends, and turned at the sign ‘Watakälé’; the tea plantation her parents and his had purchased together when the Sri Lankan government nationalised the tea industry and expelled the British from the country; the place where the two of them had grown up, sharing their dreams and hopes for the future.

Surely, here, Sunil would open up and tell her what he was involved in. She would help him, as she had done when they were kids.

Chapter 8

December 2009, Watakälé, Sri Lanka

Annie jumped out of bed, woken by the joyful crowing of a rooster in Aunty Sirima’s chicken coop. She threw open the window of the bedroom she had always claimed as hers and leant out. The cool crisp mountain air and fingers of morning mist crept around her and swept into the room. The soft lace curtains caressed her cheeks.

The sights and smells of her childhood invaded her senses. The aroma of fresh picked tea leaves blended with the fragrance of fermenting tea tickled her nose. Dotted on the hillside were Indian tea plucker women with their cotton saris, the bright colours of the cloth in sharp contrast to the brilliant green of the fresh flush on the tea bushes. She heard their chatter, and the harsh shouted commands of the male supervisor. Their voices mingled with birdcalls from the shady eucalyptus trees and the distant hum of the machinery in the factory down in the valley.

This was the tea plantation as it had been during the colonial reign, and would continue—maybe forever.

She absorbed it all—remembering the many times she had stood like this. First as an innocent child ready for a day of games with her playmate, later a teenager eager to start the day of exploring and sharing with her best mate. She remembered the day by the waterfall, when as a fifteen-year-old, she had shared her first kiss with Sunil.

Her heart filled with foreboding and sadness for what she had to do. She dug deep, searching for a way to save Sunil while still stopping the evil plans of the group.

Maybe she could get Sunil to talk to uncle HJ? Maybe there was a way to get Sunil free of the web of intrigue he was caught in? Maybe she could still help him?

After a hot shower and a quick change into jeans and a long sleeved woollen sweater, she was ready for the day. Questions swirling in her brain, she walked down the corridor from the bedrooms to the living area.

‘Nice thing to happen today of all days!’ Aunty Sirima’s voice rumbled out of the kitchen. ‘No warning at all. Before the sunrising, the stupid Cook-Appu says his mother is sick and he has to go back to the village. Now, I have to make the breakfast kiribath.’

‘Sirima,’ Sunil’s father, Uncle Raja, responded, ‘Annie has been here two days and had her fill of Appu’s cooking. I am sure she will not mind some egg and toast for breakfast today. I can get some nice lamb biriyani from the shop for lunch.’

‘Are you mad?’ Aunty Sirima’s voice rose several decibels. ‘The child is here as our only son’s bride and you want to feed her bread?’

Annie paused at the foot of the staircase.

‘Sirima—’ Annie giggled at the easy-going tone of Uncle Raja’s voice— ‘this is Annie, not someone who doesn’t know us. She is like a daughter.’

They thought of her as a daughter. All the more reason she had to get through to Sunil. Find out what he was involved in. Get him away from those criminals he associated with.

She walked across the dining room and into the kitchen. ‘Aunty Sirima,’ she said, reaching over to kiss her on the cheek, ‘you’re making kiribath. With red raw rice, how lovely. I have so missed cooking this.’ She took the pan out of Aunty Sirima’s hands. ‘Let me help.’

‘No, Annie, you are our guest.’

‘Guest, Aunty, me?’ Annie laughed and turned to Uncle Raja. ‘A few years ago you used to chase Sunil and me out of the kitchen and call me a pest—not a guest.’

Uncle Raja guffawed. ‘See. I told you, Sirima. Annie is family.’

Annie turned to the sink to wash and clean the rice. ‘Aunty, how about you make pol sambol. Nothing like kiribath and coconut sambol to get the back-home feeling.’

‘Good Idea,’ Uncle Raja picked up a coconut and cracked it in half over the kitchen sink. Aunty Sirima relaxed and hurried off to rummage in the pantry for red onions.

Soon the aroma of frying onions filled the kitchen.

‘Where’s Sunil?’ Annie asked, looking up from washing the rice.

‘Aiyoo, he left for the office. Told me to tell you, but I forgot.’ Aunty Sirima struck her forehead with her palm. ‘He will come for breakfast at nine o’clock.’

‘Goodness, he had an early start to the day.’ Annie laughed. ‘Not like when we were teenagers and I had to drag him out of bed for an early morning walk. No problem, I’ll walk over and meet him half way after I put this on the stove.’

The banging at the back door leading from the kitchen to the garden interrupted their conversation. ‘Aiyoo, now what.’ Aunty Sirima wiped her oil covered hands on her skirt and strode over to fling open the door.

‘Mahattaya, Nona. Sir, Madam.’ A man stood at the door. The checked sarong and white shirt were old but clean and hung on his stooped frame. His lined face and greying hair aged him at around fifty or even sixty years old.

‘Nona, Madam, Siriwardene Cook-Appu sent me to help you,’ the man stammered in Sinhalese. He shivered, whether due to the cold wind blowing through the valley or the angry expression on Aunty Sirima’s face—it was hard to say.

Hands cupped together, he held out a tattered envelope. ‘I have letters. I am good cook, can do Sri Lankan and English foods also. Worked here as a boy, during English Periadorai, Sir time—’ he blabbered on.

Uncle Raja took the envelope from the man’s hands. ‘Siri Cook-Appu sent you?’

‘Yes, Mahattaya.’ The man brought his hands together and bowed from his waist in an attitude of humility. ‘His mother is sick and might die also,’ he stammered in English. ‘I am cousin of Siri Appu. My name is Karu,’ He pointed to the papers Uncle Raja had taken out of the envelope.

Hands on hips, Aunty Sirima looked round the kitchen. She glared at the mess uncle Raja had made while scraping the coconut and saw Annie still stirring the rice on the stove. ‘All right,’ she addressed the man, Karu, ‘stop letting the wind into the kitchen and come in. You can make breakfast, Kiribath, pol sambol, and—’ she glanced at the fridge— ‘chicken curry also. If you are good, then you can stay.’ She wiggled her index finger at him. ‘Only till Siri Appu is back. We can’t afford to pay two people.’

‘Thank you, thank you,’ Karu picked up a carry bag and shuffled into the kitchen. He dropped the bag in a corner. ‘I can make all those things and more, Nona.’

‘Annie—’ Aunty Sirima pointed to the sitting room— ‘you go and relax. I will make sure this man knows what he is doing.’

‘You—’ she poked her finger at uncle Raja— ‘check the papers and make sure he is not going to steal the crockery and things.’

‘Yes, Aunty,’ said Annie, glancing at her watch. ‘It’s almost eight o’clock, I’ll go for a walk and then go get Sunil from the office for breakfast.’

‘Good. Go. Go.’ Aunty Sirima pushed Annie out of the kitchen.

***

She wandered away from the house, towards the tea factory and office complex. Keeping away from the road, she strolled along the mud path between the tea bushes.

A large black four wheel drive vehicle swept up the road toward the factory. Shading her eyes from the sun, Annie studied the men in it. At the wheel was the ape-man who had visited with Sunil in Colombo, and on the passenger side was Palitha. A sliver of anxiety slid through her at the thought of what this might mean.

She picked up her phone. She should alert uncle HJ. He had asked her not to contact him. But, surely, this was an extraordinary circumstance.

‘Ape and Palitha here,’ she texted to Uncle HJ.

Distracted by her phone, she almost collided with a young girl.

‘Sorry, miss. Are you also going to office?’ The girl spoke in Sinhalese.

‘No problem,’ Annie responded, also in Sinhalese. The girl was dressed in a fresh pink blouse and a knee length batik skirt. She was not an Indian tea plucker. ‘You must be employed in the office.’

‘No, miss.’ The girl giggled. ‘I am living in the village.’ She pointed to the wattle and daub huts in the valley surrounded by a mosaic of paddy fields and small patches of assorted vegetable gardens. ‘I have just finished my school.’ She giggled again. ‘Sunil Mahattaya is going to arrange for me to do university in Australia.’

Annie studied the girl. She was dark skinned, with straight black hair reaching below her waist. Her slight build and height was that of a pubescent girl. ‘How old are you? And what is your name?’ she asked in Sinhalese.

‘Soma, miss,’ her face lit up. ‘I am seventeen.’ She glanced at the tea factory, ‘I have to go meet Sunil Mahattaya. He said we must take photographs to send the university. Photo man is coming from Colombo this morning. Also, a man who arranges visas and all that kind of things in Colombo.’

‘Soma—’ Annie grasped her arm to restrain her— ‘do you speak English?’

‘Little, but Sunil Mahattaya is saying they will teach in university. Also accounting, I am studying in Sydney, he told me,’ the girl stammered in broken English.

She couldn’t just stand by and let this girl walk into their trap. ‘Soma, do you have your school leaving certificate. I teach in the university in Sydney.’ It was only part false—she was a visiting lecturer.

Soma pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘Here, miss, I got all four passes, only one in the five children in our family get result like this, miss,’ the pride in her voice was obvious.

Annie glanced at the paper. Passes in Sinhalese, Literature, Carnatic music and Sri Lankan history.

‘Good, no, miss?’

Annie handed the paper back to her. ‘Soma,’ she said, ‘please listen to me. I am sorry to tell you this, but you will not get into the university with results like this. I don’t know what arrangements Sunil Mahattaya has for you in Australia, but it won’t be in university.’

Soma stepped back. ‘Aiyoo, you are lying,’ she rasped in Sinhalese. ‘This is why Sunil Mahattaya told me not to tell my amma and thathi, or my sisters and brothers.’ Her voice caught on a sob. ‘He said they will be jealous and try to stop me—just like you are doing.’

Turning away from Annie, Soma ran down the path towards the factory. Annie watched her go.

Soma would sign up with Sunil and his cronies. She shuddered to think what future awaited her in Australia. Annie turned and walked back to the house.

She no longer wanted to save Sunil.

The innocence and trust in the face of Soma had made up her mind.

She would do whatever was necessary to stop this evil.

Chapter 9

‘Why did you tell Soma she will not get into university in Australia?’

Sunil was making an attempt to keep calm, but Annie could sense his anxiety in the pitch of his voice and his dilated pupils. She sniffed, he was also drunk—or drugged—or both.

‘Sunil, I am an academic with Sydney University. I know the admission criteria. Soma showed me her school transcript. There is no way she will be accepted to any course in uni—much less an accounting degree, as she expects to.’

‘Annie,’ he said, grasped her shoulders, ‘you are my wife. I’ve said it before: keep out of my business affairs.’ His hands trembled with anger, fear or something else. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead.

She struggled to hold her own emotions in check. She coaxed his hands off her shoulders and clasped his fingers in hers, ‘Sunil, what you just said is an oxymoron. As your wife, which I am not yet, by the way—I will be a partner with you in all parts of your life.’

In his eyes she saw a reckless desperation and something else—a flicker of viciousness. It sent a shiver through her.

She dropped his hands and stepped back. ‘Sunil, I can’t do this anymore.’

‘Do what?’

‘I can’t marry you. You are no longer the person I knew and loved. You won’t talk to me. You work with those awful men and you treat me as if I am some—some sort of commodity. I can’t make a commitment to you for life. I don’t know or understand what is happening in your life, but I don’t want to be a part of it.’

‘No. No.’ with a cry between a groan and snarl, Sunil dragged her into his arms. His lips bruised hers, and his hands slipped down her body to pull her against him.

She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. ‘Stop it, Sunil. You’re hurting me.’

‘We must make love,’ he spluttered, ‘then you will not leave me. Once we make love, you will have to marry me. I can’t lose you.’ He pulled her back into his arms; his left hand grasped her body to him. ‘I won’t let you leave me,’ he gasped.

‘Sunil, what are you doing? Aunty and uncle will come if I scream.’

‘They won’t stop me, Annie.’

Annie froze. ‘They’ll let you do whatever you want, even rape me?’

‘My parents have always let me have whatever I want.’

‘And this time, you want me.’

‘Annie, I love you. Don’t make me force you. Please, let me love you. Come to me willingly. We will be married in a few days. We can build a good life together. Please.’

She felt the stirrings of his arousal against her body. He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her towards her bedroom. Bracing herself, Annie sidestepped and twisted. Sunil staggered and loosened his hold. She turned and raised her knee to his groin in a sharp move.

Sunil howled and staggered back. Annie ran into her bedroom. She slammed and locked the door. She leant against the door, panting. Thank God Monica had convinced her to enrol in self-defence classes.

‘Annie, open the door,’ Sunil hammered on the door.

She dragged a chair across and lodged it under the door knob. ‘No, Sunil. Go away. You’re drunk. We can talk when you are calmer.’

‘I am sorry,’ he moaned against the door. ‘You know I won’t ever hurt you. I love you. I got carried away. Please open the door.’ He rattled the door knob.

‘I’ll come out at lunch. We can talk in the sitting room—with your parents.’

He continued to rattle the doorknob for a few seconds more. She leant against the door, and listened to his muttered curses interspersed with sobs. She stayed there until she heard the creak of the wooden floorboard as he stumbled down the corridor, away from her room.

Annie sank into the chair she had propped against the door. She had to get away. She had to leave Watakälé. But, how?

She pulled out her phone to call Uncle HJ.

‘Psst, Piya missy,’ Annie started at the sound at the window.

She ran across the room to see Karu Appu looking up at her. ‘Piya,’ he spoke just above a whisper.

He stood straight and tall and there was no stammer in his voice. ‘Give me your handbag with your passport, then get out through the window.’ The corner of his lip lifted. ‘I watched your work on Sunil’s package — so I know you are agile enough to climb through a window.’

‘You are uncle HJ’s contact.’

‘Yes. Do you know the waterfall by the rock?’

Annie nodded.

‘Go there—now. You will see a small green lorry. It has “Watakälé Estate” painted in black on the side. I’ll be there.’

She handed her handbag to Karu and turned to pick up a coat. When she looked back, he was gone.

***

The lorry was parked on the grass by the road. Karu and another man dressed in sarong and checked shirt like him helped her into the back.

‘Sorry,’ Karu said, ‘not exactly five star accommodation.’

‘We put a quilt and a couple of cushions between the tea chests,’ the other man said. ‘Also, there is a bottle of water and sandwiches. We won’t be stopping for anything.’

She climbed into the back of the lorry and squeezed herself into the space prepared for her between the tea chests. The men positioned a couple more tea chests to conceal her hiding place. ‘There’s a torch, but try not to use it,’ Karu called.

The men jumped into the drivers cab and started up the lorry. Soon they were bumping along the estate roads.

She heard the muttered conversation in the drivers cab.

‘Machan, Xav, good timing,’ it was Karu’s voice.

‘Yes, Ro, HJ contacted me this morning and asked me to get up here quick fast.’

So, Karu’s real name was Ro.

‘Guys, please,’ she called out, ‘where are we going?’

‘You’re still awake.’ Ro, or Karu answered. ‘We’ll drive to a sea port, and cadge a boat ride to India. You will fly from Madurai to Sydney. Our people in Australia will pick up from there.’

‘I don’t have any clothes.’

‘All taken care of, so just try to sleep. We’ll be on the road for about six hours.’ Ro responded.

Her mother. She shuddered to think what would happen when Sunil and his friends found out she was gone. ‘Guys,’ she called out, ‘what about my mother? Will Sunil or his fellows try to harm her?’

‘HJ has it all in hand, Annie.’ Ro spoke through the little aperture between drivers cab and the back of the truck.

The men continued to chat. Annie drifted in and out of a semi stupor. She heard snippets of conversation.

‘HJ thought at the beginning Sunil may be the king-pin.’

‘No way, Machan, he’s an idiot. In it for the money. He has huge debts. The tea estate and gem business both mortgaged to the gang. The apartment in Colpetty also. That chariot he drives, probably even the rock he gave Annie.’

‘Yeah, he’s a pawn. Married to Annie, he would’ve been the Australian link.’

‘That guy, Palitha?’

‘Too much show.’

‘Charlie fellow?’

‘Too nerdy, not the leader.’

‘Maybe a head honcho in Australia.’

‘Fancy a trip down under?’

‘Wife will like that.’

***

The back door of the lorry swung open. She woke up with a jerk, taking in the sea breeze, salt and fish smells. She looked around, disoriented. Was this real, or some kind of nightmare?

Ro opened the door and helped her out of the back of the van. ‘Annie, we have to hurry.’ He handed her a bag. ‘There’s a change of clothes here. I’m sorry, you have to take your bra and things off and put on what’s in the bag.’

‘What do I wear?’

‘Something,’ he glanced at her chest, ‘to cover your shape. We have to make out you are a boy. You’re our younger brother, Ram.’

Xav led her into a small thatched hut surrounded by coconut trees. ‘You can change here. There is a toilet outside. It’s pretty basic, but it works.’

She slipped off her jeans, blouse and bra and slipped on the dark brown skin coloured elastic tube top which did a reasonable job of slimming down her breasts. Pulling the orange life-jacket over her head, she wrapped the faded batik sarong around her waist. She was now Ram the fisherman. She coiled her hair in a knot, and shoving the scruffy straw fishing hat on her head, she stepped out of the hut.

Ro and Xav were both bare-chested and dressed in soiled and faded batik-print sarongs. Dirty bandanas covered their hair. They were both chewing on betel and arecanut, their lips red with the stains. Their neck and arms were covered with muck. Ro grabbed her hand, ‘come, we have to rush.’

Ro hurried her down the mud and gravel path to the beach.

It was a beautiful tropical sunset on the west coast of Sri Lanka. The sun dipped low into the ocean. The lowering grey clouds picked up the golden hue of the sunset. On the sand, at the sea’s edge, there was an air of controlled chaos. Men, shouting and laughing, hurried around fishing boats painted in shades of blue, green and red. A few boats had set out into the ocean and were sailing into the sunset. A couple of the fishermen yelled out greetings in Tamil to Ro and Xav.

Ro pointed to a small white and blue fibre-glass boat with a partially rusted outboard motor. Multi-coloured fishing nets and some freshly netted fish lay in the bottom of the boat. He and Xav jumped in and helped Annie climb in after them. ‘I am Sav,’ Xav said as he started the motor and guided the boat away from shore, ‘short for Sanjeev. My brother will stay as Ro, for Roman. And you are our youngest brother, Ram. Short for Ramesh. Our home is in Talaimannar. We are Tamil fishermen. Our parents are dead. We have a sister Sunderi. She is working in the Middle East. Ro and I both speak good Tamil and Sinhalese. If we are stopped, let us do the talking.’

He looked her up and down. ‘You look terrified enough as is—they will think you are dumbstruck and overawed.’ He reached out and patted her hand. In spite of the dirt, his hand was not the hand of a manual worker or fisherman. ‘Don’t worry Annie. We’ll take care of you. Just think of this as an adventure.’

Too stunned to speak, she nodded her response.

They pushed the boat into the water and jumped in. The sun sank into the horizon, replaced by a pale moon. They had a torch in the boat, lying unlit under the seat, but neither of the men switched it on. The wind whipped up, tossing the boat. Heavy dark clouds scudded across the sky. White tipped walls of waves rose in response. Ro guided the rocking boat while Xav sat in the stern, keeping a lookout — Annie wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

‘Xav,’ she asked, ashamed at the quiver in her voice, ‘why do you have to take me away like this? In such secrecy?’

‘Ram, once it gets out how you have passed on the information you picked up from your boyfriend, there will be people who want you dead. You brought it to a head by finding out about the plantation activity this morning.’

‘Sunil—’

‘Forget you ever knew him. Stop even thinking about the life you have led before today.’

‘My job in Sydney—’

A shadow emerged from the dark, and the sea boiled white in its wake. A spotlight swept the ocean and fixed on them. ‘Damn, navy patrol.’ He looked at Annie. ‘Remember Ram, we are Tamil fishermen.’ He cut the motor and brought the boat to a stop.

‘Navathinu. Halt.’ The dark, menacing hulk of the vessel dwarfed the little fishing boat and set it pitching in the waves. ‘Identity?’ A man in white uniform flashed a light in Ro’s face.

‘Sir, we are fishing, sir.’ Ro answered in Tamil, his voice humble and hesitant. He then repeated it in stilted, broken, Tamil accented Sinhalese. ‘I and my brothers are from Talaimannar, Sir.’ He held out three tattered plastic cards with photographs and names. The navy officer grunted, He swung the beam on Xav and on her. He turned, and shouted something to his fellow officers on the boat. The patrol boat turned and headed away from the fishing boat.

Ro chuckled.

In about thirty minutes, which to Annie felt like hours, they pulled up at a jetty. ‘We’re at Dhanushkodi.’ Ro said, helping her off the boat. He pointed to a black van parked under a tree. ‘We have another three hour drive to Madurai. We will leave you there.’ He helped her into the back seat of the van. ‘Sleep, Annie. You’re going to need all the strength you can muster to get through the next couple of days.’

Ro and Xav dropped her off at a house in Madurai. There, she was met by an old couple who spoke English with a rolling Indian accent. They handed her a change of clothes. Fresh creased trousers and a silk blouse with a light linen jacket, fresh underwear, basic toiletries and makeup and a spacious leather handbag. Her passport and wallet, which she had handed to Ro at the plantation, were in the handbag, together with boarding passes for Qantas flights from Madurai to Sydney. She flipped open her wallet. Money only. Australian dollars. No credit cards, no Medicare or other documents. She rummaged in the bag. No mobile phone either.

She shuddered to think what this might mean.

Chapter 10

Sunil grabbed the master key and dashed back down the corridor. He pushed open the door. ‘Annie, I’m sorry, I would never hurt you. You know that. I love you.’ Sunil skidded to a stop and stared at the empty room.

The red cabin bag in which she had packed her clothes lay open. Her makeup was scattered on the dressing table. The blue sapphire engagement ring glittered beside her bottle of perfume.

The lace curtains fluttered at the open window. She must have climbed out through it. He ran over and leant out. The flower bed outside was trampled, his mother’s favourite purple orchids crushed.

She had nowhere to go. She couldn’t have taken the Chrysler. He patted his pocket, yes, he still had the car keys. He could see the old family Holden parked in front of the garage. There was no other form of transport on the tea plantation.

Annie’s mother was friends with the tea maker’s wife, maybe she had gone there.

He had to find her, and apologise for his horrible behaviour.

She must not call off the marriage. He had to convince her to change her mind.

Meanwhile, he had to explain the situation to his mother and father.

He shoved Annie’s clothes and toiletries into her bag and snapped it shut. He climbed out of the open window, ran to the Chrysler and shoved the bag in the boot.

He jogged round the house to the kitchen, and came to a halt outside the kitchen door.

‘Aiyoo,’ his mother screamed. ‘I knew I should not have trusted that man. How do we know Siri Appu sent him? He must be some rogue or someone. Raja, go check the jewellery. And the ornaments. He must have taken things and gone.’

‘Sirima,’ his father’s voice was, as always, cautious and patient, ‘the man may have just gone to the shop. You know, we don’t have any valuable things in the house. What isn’t sold is in the bank. Anyway—’

‘Look,’ his mother’s voice rose in volume, ‘his clothes are still there in the bag. Why will a poor man leave without his clothes? Tell me that? I knew we shouldn’t have hired him. I told you—’

‘Sirima, calm down. You don’t want to upset the children.’

‘Want to upset the children? I tell you, Raja, Annie is not happy already. She was asking all these questions about the estate and how we are managing. Also about the gem business and why you have left it all to Sunil to run. Now we can’t even give her a proper lunch.’

Sunil stood with his hand on the handle of the kitchen door.

Karu, a man who had turned up out of the blue, had disappeared at the same time as Annie. Maybe she had been kidnapped by Palitha. No. Palitha wouldn’t do that. He wanted Sunil married and in Australia with her. He would not jeopardise the operation by taking her now.

A chill swept through him. A memory of shoving Annie into his office, the safe open in his office desk. Annie, asking him if he was okay, begging him to talk to her.

If she had seen the contents of the safe, she would have drawn her own conclusions of what he was involved in. If she was suspicious about his activities, then Karu might be from somewhere else.

Sunil pushed open the kitchen door. First, he had to brazen this out with his parents.

‘Amma, Thathi,’ he addressed his parents in Sinhalese. ‘I am afraid —’

His mother rushed across the kitchen and grabbed his arm. ‘See what happens when you employ people without knowing. Thathi—’ she pointed her finger at his father— ‘will trust anybody. For all we know, those letters must have been forged. Although,’ she rambled on, with a glance at the left over hoppers from breakfast, ‘he was a good cook.’

‘Amma, please, we need to talk,’ Sunil interrupted his mother..

‘You two talk, I’m going to my study.’ His father tucked up his sarong and walked to the kitchen door.’

Sunil shook his head. ‘No, thathi, I need to speak to you both.’

Ignoring his words, his mother opened the refrigerator. ‘Aiyoo, what can we have for lunch.’

Sunil raised his voice. He switched to English. ‘Will you two listen to me?’ he shouted. ‘This is important.’

Both his parents fell silent.

‘Putha, son. What is the matter? You are upset,’ his mother crooned.

‘Annie and I are leaving for Colombo. Now.’

‘But—but why? Did we say something? Do something?’ his mother’s eyes filled with tears, ‘I must go and say I am sorry.’

Sunil grabbed his mother’s arm to stop her from rushing off in search of Annie. ‘No. She is already in the car. We had a talk. She wants to postpone the wedding.’

‘Put off the wedding?’ his mother wailed. ‘The invitations are all printed and sent. I have bought my sari also. I will talk to her.’

Sunil kept a hold on her arm. ‘No, you will make things worse. She is upset, and I told her you and Thathi will not try to make her change her mind. When we go to Colombo, her mother, Aunty Priyanthi will talk to her.’

He looked at his father. ‘Thathi, both of you please stay here. Don’t come out.’

His father nodded. ‘I realised at breakfast she wasn’t happy. Go, putha, we will stay here until you both drive away.’

‘What are you saying, Raja? You are mad, no. We can’t just—’

‘Sirima—’ his father took her arm in a firm hold and gestured towards the back door with his head— ‘for once, shut up and let Sunil do whatever needs to be done.’

Sunil dashed out of the kitchen and jumped into the car. He drove by the tea-maker’s house. The tea-maker’s wife was in the garden. Sunil slowed down and called out, ‘Mrs Perera, have you seen Annie today?’

She shook her head. ‘No. Is she visiting?’

Revving the engine, he drove off. He drove at high speed, but nobody cared about road rules in Sri Lanka. That was fortunate, because today he was breaking every one of them.

In three hours he was in Colombo.

***

December 2009, Colombo, Sri Lanka

He drove directly to Annie’s house. Soon he was parked in the drive. He leapt out and ran to the front door. His frantic and repeated jabs at the doorbell didn’t bring any response.

Annie had to be here. He racked his brains to think of any other place she might be.

After a few minutes he heard footsteps inside. ‘Who is it?’

It was Inspector HJ’s wife Malini. She was a relative of Annie’s mother, but maybe there was some other reason for her to be here. No, he was imagining things. Annie would be here and he would be able to sort it all out.

He had to.

‘Aunty Malini,’ he called out, ‘it’s me, Sunil. I am looking for Annie.’

She opened the door and ushered him in. He looked around the sitting room, ‘Where is she, Aunty?’

Aunty Malini, shut and locked the door, ‘Come into the kitchen,’ she said, bustling ahead of him. On the dining table was a list of names and addresses and a pile of handwritten notes. Aunty Malini gestured to them. ‘I am writing notes cancelling the wedding.’

Sunil dropped into a chair. ‘Aunty, please, where is she? I can make things right if I meet and speak with her.’

Aunty Malini switched on the kettle and picked up a tea bag. Soon, there was a steaming cup of sweet milky tea in front of him.

‘Aunty,’ he prompted.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know the details, Sunil, but neither Annie nor her mother are here right now.’

A deep hollow opened up in his soul. She was gone. Gone. This was the end. He was finished. He no longer cared who knew.

‘Sunil,’ Aunty Malini spoke softly. ‘Talk to me.’

He dropped his head in his hands. A sob tore through him. ‘I—I didn’t want to hurt her, but—but—’ he swallowed the bile clogging his throat— ‘the tea plantation, the gem business, my house, the car, I would have lost it all if I didn’t—didn’t do something to make more money. I had no choice. I borrowed money. I sold my soul.’ Sunil sobbed into his hands.

‘Sunil.’ Aunty Malini placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘Sunil, you are a good man, whatever you are involved in—there will be a way out.’

He raised his tear ravaged face to Aunty Malini. ‘She knows doesn’t she? I love her and I betrayed her trust.’ Sunil jumped up and ran to the kitchen sink. Bent over, he emptied his stomach.

Aunty Malini stood at the door with a glass of water. ‘She is safe, Sunil.’

‘I was trying to make a good life, to protect the business and look after my parents. Now I don’t know what to do.’

‘I can tell you what you should do.’ Sunil spun around. Inspector HJ stood at the door leading from the kitchen to the main section of the house. ‘Sit down, Sunil.’ Inspector HJ pointed to the chair Sunil had just vacated. Sunil dropped into it.

Aunty Malini slid the cup of tea towards him. ‘Drink, child.’

‘Sunil,’ Inspector HJ’s voice was clipped. ‘You have a choice, and not a lot of time to make a decision.’

‘How? What?’

‘Listen, Sunil,’ Inspector HJ said, standing up. ‘Right now, our people are watching this house. But, we don’t know when your pals will turn up. I will explain what you can do, and then you have to make a choice.’

Chapter 11

December 2009, Sydney Australia

It was a seventeen-hour flight, with a stopover and flight changes in Chennai and Singapore. Zombie-like, Annie went through the formalities of passport checks and transit lounges. On the final flight, she slept for a while. When she woke up, she sat staring at the Qantas inflight magazine, wondering what awaited her in Sydney.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and fasten your seat belts. Please make sure your seats and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. We are beginning our descent to Sydney.’

A flight attendant stopped at her seat. ‘Doctor Maryanne Shevanthi Samarasinghe?’

Annie nodded.

‘We have a message for you, doctor.’

Her heart clenched. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘On the contrary, it seems we’ve solved a problem. Your luggage has been located. Your bag will be at carousel three.’

Uncle HJ had worked fast to get her baggage on the flight. ‘Thank you.’

Annie checked her handbag. There was no key to the apartment she shared with Monica but there was money. She would call Monica from a payphone in the airport, and take a taxi to their apartment. She could talk to Uncle HJ on the landline from the flat and check on her mother.

She still had another eight weeks of leave and wasn’t scheduled to get back to Sydney until the end of February. She glanced at her watch to check the date; it was the fifteenth of December in Sydney. Well, she would go in tomorrow. Professor Pennington would be happy to see her back in the theatre and the clinics. The work she loved would take her mind off all the crazy events of the last few weeks. Ro and Xav had said that their people in Australia would get in touch with her. She would wait for them to do that.

The plane circled and dipped over the city. Leaning forward, she stared out of the window. Summer sunshine glinted off the arches of the Harbour Bridge and glimmered on the shells of the Sydney Opera House.

Layers of anxiety peeled off her. She was in Australia. She was safe.

The plane taxied to the terminal.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Sydney.’

Seven o’clock on a Monday morning. It was a busy time in Terminal One of Sydney International Airport. The doors to the arrivals lounge swung open disgorging Annie together with a motley group of tired fellow travellers, into the hot and humid air of a Sydney summer morning. Annie took a deep breath and guided the trolley with her suitcase down the ramp. Now to find a taxi.

‘Sheva, darling.’ Brown arms wrapped around her, and lifted her feet off the ground.

She tried to push him away. ‘Let me go,’ she gasped. She opened her mouth to scream.

His arms held her pressed against him, giving her no opportunity to draw away. Warm lips cut off her scream.

‘Kiss me back.’ The words were hissed in her ear. ‘I work with your Uncle HJ. Just do it. There may be someone watching us.’ The arms holding her tightened.

Feeling like an automaton, Annie obeyed. She slipped her arms over his shoulders. His lips were soft and gentle on hers. Annie blinked and swayed when he let her go.

‘Hang on, Sheva.’ The face bent to hers was chiselled handsome. Straight nose, angled cheekbone. Sri Lankan or Indian.

‘Sheva?’

He kept an arm tight around her waist, and picked her bag off the trolley with the other. His blue eyes twinkled down at her. Blue eyes on a brown skinned subcontinental. This was getting weirder by the minute.

‘Yes, Sheva. We have to give Annie a rest for a few weeks. Now listen and concentrate. This is a quick rundown. You and I have been separated for a couple of weeks. You are in love with me. So, passion is called for. Sorry if it surprised you.’ The rough, gravelly voice matched the muscled frame. ‘I’m Daniel Cooper,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Dan to you. I’m a National Parks ranger stationed in Jindabyne.’

Annie tried to pull away.

‘No, I’m your boyfriend. You should be looking up at me with stars in your eyes.’ He grinned. ‘Trust me, Sheva, it gets even more enthralling from here on.’

‘But, I’m Annie. I don’t ever use Shevanthi, much less call myself Sheva!’

‘It is your name, Doc. As of now you are Doctor Sheva Singh.’

Seated in the front seat of the black Toyota Corolla, Annie learned she would not be returning to her flat in Sydney. The next few weeks would be spent in a way she’d never imagined, even in her wildest dreams.

Dan handed her a large white envelope. ‘You are now officially under the federal government witness protection program. We decided not to change your name completely.’

‘Who is “we”?’

He ignored her question. ‘As Doctor Sheva Singh, you are a general practitioner, not a specialist. Credit cards, identity, Medicare are all in there. Also, a new mobile phone. We have cancelled all your old credit cards and the Medicare card. Your social media sites — Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, blog all have been blocked. This phone is registered under Dr Sheva Singh at your Jindabyne address. It’s a silent number. Don’t call anyone on it without letting me know first.’ He glanced at her. ‘Your calls will be monitored. Sorry, it’s for your own safety.’

The reality of what he was saying seeped into her weary and jetlagged brain. She slid the documents out of the envelope. ‘No! This is a crazy idea. There is no reason to go to this extent. I live with friends. The hospital is a secure place. I am willing to lie low for the next month or so, but, I am not going through with this charade you have set up.’

Dan gripped the steering wheel. ‘Charade? That’s what you think of an international sex trafficking and porn production ring? Your fiancé is only a small cog in the wheel, Sheva. You are a witness. The head honchos will think nothing of getting rid of you.’ He took his left hand off the wheel to shush her when she opened her moth to respond. ‘Before you say that you can look after yourself, think of the girls in the pictures, the woman Soma whom you talked to on the plantation. Your evidence could save these women from a life of sex slavery and prostitution. Think about that before you make any decisions.’

She clutched the envelope. She didn’t want to do it. But, to refuse would be a sign of weakness. She thought of her father. He would have encouraged her to be brave – for the girls involved, and for herself.

‘Sheva,’ Dan’s voice was gentle. ‘You won’t be alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way.’

If she refused, Sunil and his perverted friends would go on their merry way. No, she would not allow that to happen. She nodded. ‘OK. I’ll do it. Not because I am afraid of Sunil and his mates, or for you, but for the girls. And,’ her voice dropped, ‘for myself.’

Dan smiled. ‘Thank you. Now some practicalities. We need to give you a makeover.’

‘A makeover?’ Annie gasped.

‘Don’t look so scared, we stop short of plastic surgery,’ he chuckled. ‘We’ll take a break in Goulburn. You will have a haircut and possibly a colour wash. You’ll also be shown some makeup techniques. You will also have a quick lesson in voice and phonetics, to teach you to pitch your words higher, while keeping the subcontinental accent.’

‘Do we need to go to such extremes?’

‘We can’t take any chances, Sheva. You need a completely new persona in Jindabyne.’ He gestured to a box in the back seat. ‘You’ll have a brand new wardrobe too.’

She ran her fingers through her long hair.

Dan glanced at her again. ‘It’s just for a couple of weeks, Sheva. Your curls will grow back.’

Eight hours later, Dr Sheva Singh stepped out of Ranger Dan Cooper’s car and walked into the Jindabyne Medical Centre. Her curls were cut and straightened to a chic bob which framed her face and flicked forward under her ears. No longer sheer black, her hair shone mahogany brown with golden highlights. The thick tortoise shell frames of her Bulgari sunglasses shimmered in keeping with the colour of her hair. Clever application of mascara and lipstick made her eyes more heavily lidded and her lips thinner than normal.

She was dressed in black pants and white linen blouse, teamed with a blue cashmere jacket. Low heeled black leather shoes completed her ensemble.

Dan had handed her the clothes, complete with underwear in Goulburn when they stopped to get her hair and makeup done. Sheva had showered and dressed, then allowed the hairdresser and makeup artist to work on her. The voice therapist had given her tips on how to pitch her voice, and handed her a CD to practice to.

Dr Annie Samarasinghe, consultant neuromuscular specialist and surgeon at Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Sydney, morphed into Dr Sheva Singh, General Practitioner and family doctor in the brand new Jindabyne Medical Centre.

Dan guided her into the medical centre.

‘A few weeks, Sheva. We’ll nail the scoundrels.’

Chapter 12

Four weeks later - January 2010 Jindabyne, Australia

The strident call of Mozart’s horn concerto made Sheva jump. She missed a step, stumbled, and recovered.

Sheva gathered herself and grabbed the phone from the pocket of her exercise pants, she glanced at it without breaking her stride on the treadmill again. Call identification indicated “Rosie”. She frowned. A call from the medical centre after hours was unusual. Rosie should be back at home by six thirty. They hadn’t made any plans to meet for dinner this evening.

She thumbed her phone on. ‘Yes, Rosie.’

‘Sorry to bother you, Sheva.’ Rosie’s usually tranquil voice held a hint of panic.

‘What are you doing at there? It’s well past six.’

‘Where is the doctor?’ The voice in the background was loud, belligerent and male.

Sheva punched the stop button on the treadmill. ‘Rosie, what’s the problem.’

The treadmill whirred to a halt.

‘Please sit down. Sir—’

Sheva grabbed her towel from the crossbar and hopped off the treadmill.

‘Rosie, are you okay? Where’s Peter?’

‘Sorry, Sheva. We have a patient. He just came in. Peter locked up and left for a swim just a few minutes ago. I was just leaving when—’

‘Did you tell him we’re closed?’

The male voice was muffled. ‘Let me speak to the doctor.’

Rosie’s voice went up several semitones. ‘No, you can’t speak to the doctor. Sheva, it’s a trauma case. Incision injury left wrist, possible nerve, maybe even artery.’

‘Can you transfer the patient to Cooma Base Hospital? The ambulance should be available.’

‘He refuses to go to Cooma and insists on seeing the doctor. Sheva, I’m really sorry. Could you drop in and see him? Just this once.’ There was a couple of seconds pause. ‘Sir, please sit down. I am talking to the doctor.’

‘Okay. I’m on my way. Pressure bandage and elevate the arm, the usual.’ She thumbed the phone off and slipped it into the pocket of her exercise pants.

Sheva mopped the sweat off her face and neck and sprinted to the female change room.

The gym membership was part of the employment package in her role as senior registrar at the brand new Jindabyne Medical Centre. The prefix of “senior” meant nothing, since she was the only doctor in the centre. On the other hand, to say she accepted the position didn’t go anywhere near describing how she had come to be here in Jindabyne.

The painting of the possum on the swing door to the female dressing room had ‘Jill’ painted in red under it. The male dressing room had an identical painting on the door with ‘Jack’ written in blue under it. Presumably it wasn’t gym etiquette to differentiate possum sex anatomy on the change room doors. Given the nocturnal activity of possums in the roof of her cottage, live possums obviously had no problems in recognising the difference.

There was no time to shower or change. Sheva glanced at the mirror. The remnants of her morning lipstick and eye shadow still clung to her face. Under it, her skin was flushed after the workout. Fortunately, she glowed rather than perspired when she exercised. Unzipping the side pocket of her bag, she grabbed her makeup kit and did a quick touch up of her eyes and lips, re-establishing the heavy lidded, thin-lipped image of “Sheva”.

Bending her head, she sniffed her underarm, shrugged and sprayed the complimentary deodorant on her body. She sneezed as the cloud of jasmine scent engulfed her. Another glance at the mirror and the incongruity of the situation made her laugh. She would have never seen a patient in Sydney dressed in her exercise pants. On the other hand, she would not be called in to see a badly injured patient after hours either. Well, she had no time to waste.

‘Whoever Mr too-important-to-go-to-Cooma is, he’ll have to put up with me as I am,’ she grumbled aloud to the empty change room.

Her hair was mussed by her workout. It was definitely not a professional look, even for after-hours Jindabyne. She wet her hands and finger-combed her bob back into place. She picked up her oversize Sri Lankan t-shirt and pulled it over her head, shoved her towel in her tote bag and jogged to the exit.

‘Leaving early, Doc?’ Nora, the gym’s owner and personal trainer called out to her.

Sheva waved back. ‘An emergency at the clinic. Got to run.’

‘You’re a pushover, Doc,’ Nora’s reply carried to her as the gym door swung shut. ‘The community managed just fine before the medical centre was set up. You need to look after yourself.’

Sheva stopped outside the gym and took a deep breath. Was she looking after herself? Yes, everything she was doing here in Jindabyne was about looking after herself.

The only gym in Jindabyne was at the Snowy Mountains Holiday Resort; set on the banks of Lake Jindabyne. The view across the water at twilight was breath-taking. She indulged in a moment to admire it, remembering another evening when she had stood watching it, and the man who had stood by her side.

Turning away from the lake, Sheva crossed Kosciuszko Road and ran up the grassy incline toward Nuggets Crossing Shopping Centre.

She remembered her apprehension and anxiety when she started working in Jindabyne four weeks ago. The charm of this place was infectious, and she was beginning to appreciate the place and the people, and enjoy the quieter pace and camaraderie of small town living. People cared for each other here, with easy smiles and casual greetings for friends and strangers alike. Knowing that she was on her own, families and friends had drawn her into their circle over the Christmas and New Year holidays.

Jindabyne was only five hundred kilometres from Sydney, but it was a world away from the intense adrenaline rush and pressure-cooker atmosphere of Queen Elizabeth Hospital.

She missed her mother, her friends and Sydney, but since she had to hide away, she couldn’t have chosen a better place.

It really was beginning to feel like she had chosen to work here.

Nuggets Crossing Shopping Centre was full of summer tourists. Sheva skirted the cars, utes, caravans and trailers in the carpark, scanning the area as Dan had instructed her, looking for anyone staring at her or following her. She glanced down at her T-shirt. Dan had told her not to wear anything likely to draw attention to who she was or where she was from. This one screamed Sri Lankan tourist. She’d better pack it away.

‘Hi, Doc! You look great,’ a bike-riding teen called out as he and his mates whizzed past. Sheva grinned and waved to them. Her seminar on healthy sexuality, at the summer recreation camp, a couple of days ago, had apparently given her a sort of cult following with the kids of the area. It was another sign of the community’s acceptance of her. She continued toward the medical centre.

Judging by the large mud-splattered black car parked at the door of the medical centre, the patient was probably a wealthy farmer or local landowner used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it, neither knowing nor caring how it could inconvenience others.

‘Where on earth is the doctor? It doesn’t take this long to get here from anywhere in Jindabyne. A man could die waiting for medical attention in this place.’ The refined private school accent laced with arrogant impatience reinforced her judgement as to the sort of man he was.

She stopped, her hand on the door. Maybe she should alert Dan of the after-hours client.

It was too late to worry about that. She needed to deal with the emergency first. Sheva took a deep breath and assumed her best professional persona. ‘Good evening, Rosie. What do we have here?’ The door swung shut behind her.

Rosie was bent over the patient with her hand pressed down on the blood soaked gauze on his left wrist.

Rosie looked up. ‘Sheva, I’m so glad to see you.’

Sheva caught her lower lip in her teeth, and then smiled at the expression of frazzled relief on Rosie’s usually calm face. Smothering a chuckle, she grabbed her white linen surgical coat off the hook by the examination trolley. She shrugged on the coat, slipped her hands into a pair of surgical gloves, and walked over to the patient.

The tanned features could have been carved from the granite high peaks of the alpine region and looked about as bleak. His thick tangle of sun streaked brown hair curled at the collar of the blood stained cotton shirt, damp with sweat and moulded over his broad shoulders.

Sheva glanced at the admission notes and smothered a gasp.

The last time she had seen him, he had been wearing a mask, a sabre, a cloak and a black hat with a “Z”.

Chapter 13

The pallor around his tightly pursed lips and beads of sweat on his forehead was evidence of the pain he was in. His pupils constricted and a frown creased his forehead. Grey eyes locked with hers and swept over her face, coming to rest on the front of her T-shirt.

There was no hint of recognition.

‘I asked for the doctor.’ The voice matched the visage, haughty and authoritative. Nothing like the memory she had of him.

Anger at the dismissive tone of his voice replaced any feelings of anxiety. She held his gaze, and drew on her vocal training, ‘I am the doctor here, Mr—’ she glanced at the admission notes— ‘Mr Knight.’

She would play it cool and professional for now. However, a hint of sarcasm wouldn’t hurt. ‘I can assure you, we don’t let our patients die.’

Rosie stepped away from the couch with a sigh of relief.

‘Rosie, could you please set up the theatre? I’ll do a quick examination here before we take Mr Knight in.’

‘You are the doctor?’ His eyes raked over her again.

The astonishment in his voice would have made her laugh if she wasn’t so annoyed at his arrogance. Keeping the pressure on his bleeding arm, Sheva let her eyes meet his.

So, she didn’t live up to his high professional expectations.

Her thoughts winged back to the masquerade party. He had acted like he cared about her. He had thought she was a nurse. Maybe even then all he had wanted was to bed an Indian nurse for one night. Sunil, Roy—men—who treated women as a lesser species, as playthings for their pleasure. No. She had learned her lesson. No man would use her ever again.

‘What is it you disapprove of, Mr Knight?’

For a moment her mind filled with memories of racist remarks hurled at her in the streets of London when she was doing her postgraduate work. She blinked and drew on her training to concentrate on the moment, to be compassionate and calm under emotional pressure in medical emergencies.

Steadying, she replied with haughtiness in her voice to match his. ‘Never met a woman doctor before Mr Knight? Or maybe a subcontinental one?’

She glanced down at the front of her T-shirt. ‘Maybe you don’t like Asian Elephants?’

Keeping the pressure on his arm, she gestured with her chin to the framed certificates of her Sri Lankan Medical School graduation and Australian professional registration as a medical practitioner on the wall over the desk. Perfect copies of the original with her name abbreviated to Sheva Singh. ‘I assure you, I am qualified.’

The grey eyes slid down her body. Heat raced through her. She had never been so glad of being dark skinned. Sheva forced herself to meet his eyes. No, there was no suggestion that he saw her for anything else than an incompetent female GP.

A tinge of amusement crept into his voice. He glanced at her legs. ‘Actually, it’s your—your dress, and—’ he sniffed— ‘the cloud of whatever perfume you brought in with you.’ He glanced at her face. ‘Not quite what I expected from the medical officer.’

Sheva forced herself to remain calm. She kept her eyes on his arm. He was a man used to being in control of every situation. Today he wasn’t and it was making him anxious. Maybe even afraid. He was too proud to show it, and this was how he chose to deal with it. She would ignore it for now.

Taking care not to aggravate the injury, she unwrapped the bandages on his arm. It was a clean cut. There was no spurt of blood, it told her that the bleeding was not from an artery. That was just as well; she couldn’t do arterial surgery in this little outpost.

She let her voice drop to a slightly gentler tone. ‘We close the medical centre at five. After hours, all patients who need urgent treatment are sent direct to Cooma Base Hospital by ambulance. Others come back the next morning. People here in Jindabyne are aware of it.’ She held back what she wanted to say: ‘Of course, you wouldn’t consider yourself one of the commoners who need to comply with the rules.’

She picked up a fresh dressing from the examination tray by the couch and covered the wound. ‘I was at the gym. Hence the exercise shorts.’

Again, she swallowed the words that popped into her mind. ‘Not that I need to explain anything to you, you arrogant misogynist.’

Keeping the pressure on the wound, she picked a pair of forceps and touched each finger on his left hand. ‘Can you feel this? And this? On all five fingers?’

‘Yes, yes and yes.’ There was a momentary hesitation. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor Singh. I had no right to bite your head off. It was impolite and inappropriate.’

Sheva bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud at the tone of his apology. This was not a man used to apologising for his words and behaviour.

‘Your nurse did say you were closed,’ he continued. ‘I do appreciate your cutting short your gym routine to see me. I can’t take the time off to travel to Cooma.’ He paused and frowned. ‘I had no right to comment on your appearance. It was way out of line. I apologise for that too.’

Sheva nodded her acceptance of the apology and concentrated on the assessment of muscle movement in his hand. She placed two fingers on his left palm. ‘Hold on to my fingers as tight as you can.’

There was no weakness. In fact, he had a grip strong enough to fracture her bones. ‘You can let go now.’

‘Sorry, you did say hold tight.’ A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. His expression went from frozen and furious to charming and charismatic in a flash. It was the face of the man who had sent her senses into freefall a few weeks ago.

No. She was done with love and emotion. Her time in Jindabyne was for one purpose only.

‘You have feeling and movement in your fingers. That tells me you don’t have any nerve damage. However, you have lost a lot of blood. Rosie’s notes say it is a farm injury. I will need to clean and examine the wound before suturing it. We’ll use a local anaesthetic, so you will feel no pain.’ She nodded to Rosie. ‘And I’ll give you something to help you relax.’

His eyes narrowed and rested on her lips. She pressed her lips together. Thinning them, as she had been taught to do. Surely, he wouldn’t recognise her from a smile.

Rosie handed him the tablets of pain medication and a glass of water. He gulped it down and lay back on the trolley with his eyes closed. ‘Okay, Doc. I’m in your hands.’

Rosie and Sheva wheeled the couch into the little room which served as a semi-sterile mini-surgery. Sheva bent over to inject the local anaesthetic. Seated on a stool, she cleaned the wound and sutured it. She worked on the injury, with the patience and precision that was her professional trademark. The three of them were cocooned by the harsh light of the theatre lamp.

The rest of the medical centre slipped into darkness. The summer sunshine shifted to the gold and pink hues of twilight over the mountains and Lake Jindabyne, and stole between the shutters into the clinic.

Sheva looked up from her work only when she had cleaned, sutured and covered the wound.

‘He’s asleep,’ Rosie whispered.

Loathe to wake him, Sheva studied his face, much of which had been hidden by the Zorro mask at the ball. The sharp sculpted perfection of high cheekbones, patrician nose, square chiselled chin and wide forehead contributed to the arrogant and supercilious expression when awake. Asleep, with the frown erased, he looked young and vulnerable. The lips drawn taut in rigid control of pain, were all contoured sensuousness at rest. His closed eyelids were fringed with curling lashes a woman would die for.

This was the man who had tempted her that night. Whose words had haunted her in Sri Lanka.

Sheva stepped back. ‘Let him rest for a while.’

He was younger than she had assumed. Maybe a few years older than her. Her eyes lingered on his face. The furrowed forehead and lines etched around his mouth and eyes spoke of life experience and pain. Her fingers itched to smooth them over. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth. It would be so unprofessional and way over the requirements of the Hippocratic Oath.

His eyelids flickered open. He looked around, grey eyes disoriented.

‘Who—’ his eyes scanned her face and fixed on her lips. He frowned. ‘Who are you?’

‘Mr Knight, you are at the Jindabyne Medical Clinic. You were injured. We cleaned and sutured your wound. I am the doctor.’

A frown puckered his forehead. He sat up and shook his head. His eyes swept around the room. ‘Ah, yes. Sorry, Doctor Singh.’ He reached his right hand towards Sheva. ‘Thank you. You are good, very good. I didn’t feel a thing. I apologise for not introducing myself. I’m Roy Knight.’

Sheva peeled off her gloves and gave him her hand. ‘Sheva Singh.’

Their eyes met and held. There was reluctant admiration and some deeper emotion in his. The grey of his eyes, no longer sharp flint, was now more like a stormy evening over the Snowy Mountains. His brow furrowed. ‘Doctor Singh. You’re new here, aren’t you?’

‘The clinic is new and I’ve been here a couple of weeks.’ She pulled her hand away and forced a laugh. ‘You’ve just been too healthy to need a doctor.’

She slipped off the stool and shrugged out of her coat. ‘I saw your car outside, Mr Knight. You’ve had pain medication and are likely to feel disoriented and drowsy. You don’t live in town and I don’t want you driving home in the dark. I’d like you to spend the night here.’

The broad shoulders tensed. ‘I am not staying here.’

‘You are not in a fit state to drive, Mr Knight.’ She gestured to the door to her right. ‘We have a four-bed ward. I’ll get dinner sent in to you. There are towels and basic toiletries in the bathroom, as well as a hospital gown for you to sleep in.’

She turned to Rosie. ‘Can you please call Peter?’

‘Peter’ she explained to Roy, ‘is the clinic attendant. He sleeps in the attached annex. My house is across the street, so he’ll get in touch with me if needed.’

The grey eyes were flint again. Worse, they crackled with fire. He stood up, towering over her. It didn’t take much to tower over her petite five foot nothing frame, anyway.

Cursing, he staggered and held on to the table with his right hand. Rosie and Sheva grabbed his shoulders and eased him into a chair. He grunted and dropped his head into his right palm.

Sheva crouched on the floor and looked up at him. ‘Mr Knight, you can’t drive tonight. Is there anyone I can call?’ She glanced at his left hand. The fingers were as bare as she remembered.

‘I have my mobile phone, I’ll call my place.’

Peter bustled into the clinic.

‘Come on, mate.’ He took Roy’s arm. ‘Let’s get you washed and settled for the night.’

Rosie was on the phone ordering a take-away meal.

Roy turned and looked at Sheva. His brow puckered in a frown.

If he recognised her, it would blow her cover.

Chapter 14

Sheva shut the door of the medical centre and walked across the road to her house.

The agent had told her the two-bedroom cottage dated from the early 1960s, one of the first to be built in the new town of Jindabyne.

When she first arrived here, she had been too shell-shocked at what was happening to her life to appreciate the old-world beauty of the cottage. She had soon grown fond of it. The cedar wood exterior and gable roof gave it a rustic quaintness, setting it apart from the other regulation brick veneer houses on the street. She had fallen in love with the tiny back garden and the front lawn, where frangipani trees reminded her of the family home in Colombo.

The white roses at the front door provided a fragrant welcome home. Bending, she picked a rose for the bud vase by her bed. Maybe she’d buy the cottage when she finished here. No, she couldn’t make plans for the future. She needed to live in the moment of each day. Her tomorrows were too frightening to contemplate, as was the past.

She inserted the key in the double lock Dan had insisted on having installed, and swung the door open. Her first action was to kick off her shoes, and allow the cool slate under her bare feet to take her back to the polished cement floors of her childhood home in Sri Lanka. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting the welcoming warmth of the old house envelop her. Sheva was aware of it every time she walked in. It was as if the ghosts of past residents were happy to see her safely back home again.

She would have to tell Dan about the hen’s weekend in Jindabyne and her meeting with Roy. God, how she hated laying her life out for public scrutiny.

She dropped her handbag on the hand-crafted mahogany centre table and fell into the leather upholstered couch. The cuckoo clock over the fireplace called out seven thirty. Cursing under her breath, she glanced at the telephone.

The red light on the phone blinked in the dark room. She’d missed the six pm check-in call. Dan would be furious. She rummaged in her handbag for her mobile phone, switched it on and punched speed dial.

The twice a day calls between six and seven, morning and evening were part of the deal. She was to report anything unusual in the clinic routine or anyone who expressed undue interest in her. Tell him anything even remotely suspicious is how Dan had described it. Other than that one proviso, she was free to run the Jindabyne Medical Centre as she saw fit.

Tonight, she definitely had something to report.

The knock on the front door coincided with the kookaburra cackle ringtone on Dan’s mobile phone.

He had a set of keys to her house. ‘Come in, Dan,’ she called.

The rattle of keys and a smothered curse indicated his annoyance.

‘Where the heck have you been? Nora said you left the gym in a hurry, nearly two hours ago. Your mobile has been switched off. You weren’t answering your landline. I swung by the Medical Centre and the clinic was empty.’

Daniel Cooper was an erupting volcano when he was upset. Right now he was spewing lava. Her temper rose in response. Be patient, she reminded herself. He’s looking out for you.

‘Sorry, Dan. I was working on a patient in the so-called surgical room. I use only the overhead lamp when doing minor surgery, so the clinic looked empty. Before you ask why I was there after hours, the man refused to go to Cooma. He’s spending the night in the ward.’

Dan walked in, and shut the door behind him. She heard the click of the lock.

‘A man came in after hours? What’s his name? Why didn’t you check with me before going back to the clinic? You know the rules, Sheva.’

‘I am sick and tired of your rules. I am a doctor and this was an emergency. Anyway, he’s a local farmer, Roy Knight. And, I need to tell you—’

The volcano subsided to a simmer. ‘Roy’s one of our volunteer firemen. He should be safe,’ Dan mumbled. ‘You shouldn’t have done it. What happened?’ His eyes bored into hers. ‘You know you’re supposed to transfer patients to Cooma after hours.’

‘He needed sutures and Rosie was in a panic. She thought he may have sliced an artery—fortunately, he hadn’t. I decided to go in and see to it.’ She stopped and stared into his eyes. ‘I follow instructions, Dan, but I need the freedom to make medical decisions.’ She gathered her courage. ‘As it turned out, there’s a slight complication.’

Dan’s body tensed. ‘What do you mean “a complication”?’ he snapped.

A tremor went through her body at the seriousness of his expression. His eyes darted around the room and his hand rested on his hip pocket. She wondered if he had a gun in there.

‘There may be something you and your team missed when you investigated my activities.’

‘Impossible.’

‘I went for a weekend away with Monica and Suzanne.’

Dan laughed. ‘The hen’s trip. Yes, we knew about it. Your diary said you were in Canberra.’

‘My diary?’ Sheva snapped. ‘You tapped into my Gmail account? My google calendar? Is nothing sacred?’

He brushed away her protests, ‘We know everything. You are very thorough in your calendar entries, we even know the dates of your—’

‘The girls lied. They didn’t take me to Canberra.’

Dan went on instant alert. ‘Where were you for that weekend?’

‘Jindabyne.’

‘You’ve been here before? How did our guys miss that?’ The shock in his voice would have been amusing in different circumstances. As it was, and feeling incredibly weary, she only managed a tired grimace.

‘Hmm, it was a masquerade ball. We—the three of us were masked cat women.’

‘Sheva—’ Dan crouched by the lounge and looked at her. His eyes locked with hers— ‘there’s more, isn’t there? What happened at the party?’

‘My friends arranged a blind date for me—’

‘Let me guess.’ He swore. ‘Roy Knight.’

Sheva nodded. ‘Zorro.’

‘So, you were both masked.’

She nodded.

‘But, you recognised him, today?’

‘His name was in the admission documents.’

‘Did he give you any hint that he recognised you?’

‘No. He was shocked to see a subcontinental woman doctor. Being dressed in gym shorts and a T-shirt ruined my professional image.’ Her laugh was tinged with hysteria. ‘He’s misogynistic, racist and a couple of other things that there aren’t polite words for.’

Dan sat back on his heels. He stroked his chin with his right hand, and his eyes grew contemplative and thoughtful. ‘The job we did on changing your looks seems to have worked.’

‘Dan, I was a masked, scarlet, cat-woman with feline ears, red claws and twelve centimetre sequined red heels at the party! I wouldn’t have recognised myself. And,’ she paused and shrugged, ‘I followed the girls’ instructions to let myself go and be naughty. I’m not particularly proud of how I behaved.’

‘Did you sleep with him that night?’

‘No. I did not! I was leaving in a few days to get married in Sri Lanka.’

Getting to his feet, he raised his hands in surrender. ‘Sorry, just asking.’

‘This is such a mess.’ Sheva dropped her face into her hands.

‘We need to work laterally here.’ Dan paced across the room, then swung around to face her. ‘I know what to do.’ He pulled out his phone and punched in a number.

‘Dan?’

He shushed her with his hand, ‘Hello, Elvis. This is Ringo Two. I need you to run a check.’ He paused. ‘Yes, I am aware it is late. And yes, I need the information tonight. Name: Roy Knight. He’s a thirty-something businessman. Has a farm or business in Jindabyne.’ He listened and frowned. ‘No,’ he said with his voice tinged with sarcasm, ‘I don’t have any more.’ He thumbed the call off. ‘Supposed to be a computer whiz kid. I thought these nerds could trace anything.’

‘So, what do we do now?’

‘We wait.’

‘You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll lock up.’ She got off the couch.

Dan moved to stand before her. ‘Sheva, Roy Knight is a hurdle we have to overcome, and we will. Elvis is fast and efficient. We’ll hear from him soon.’

She moved away and glanced towards the kitchen. ‘Have you eaten? I’ve got some soup and pizza.’

Over food, Dan entertained her with stories of what he called his mongrel heritage. ‘I was adopted. My adoptive mum, who’s a Sri Lankan Tamil, was best friends with my biological mother, who was an Indian coolie girl. My adoptive father is British. They met in a tea plantation in Sri Lanka.’

Sheva calculated the years in her head. ‘It would have been the time when the British Raj owned the tea plantations.’ She looked at his cobalt blue eyes and dusky olive skin. His brown-black hair cut short and curling close to his scalp. ‘A Sri Lankan girl and a British planter. That would’ve put the cat among the pigeons.’

He laughed. ‘It sure made for some high jinks.’

They sat side by side for a few minutes.

Sheva’s eyes drooped. She yawned and stood up. ‘Maybe we should both rest a little. The spare bedroom downstairs is made up if you want to sleep. There are towels in the ensuite.’ She stopped and waved a hand at Dan. ‘Since you furnished the house, you know where things are.’

‘A little shut eye wouldn’t hurt. I am pretty bushed. I’ve been coordinating a search for a bushwalker all day. Some idiot went off track on Mount Townsend and had to be rescued.’ Dan yawned and stretched. ‘Sure you don’t mind about the car?’ He gestured with his chin to the front door.

Sheva smiled as the implication of his words sank in. ‘Dan, given the trouble I’m in and the temporary nature of my job here, the fact that people may think we spent the night together is the least of my worries, don’t you agree? Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be my boyfriend here in Jindabyne?’

Dan looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘Sounds almost like an invitation.’ He chuckled. ‘Just joking. Go upstairs and get some shut eye, Sheva. Keep the main lights off. Use the night light or table lamp in your bedroom. I’ll do the same. I’ll call you if I hear anything from Elvis.’

Sheva brushed her teeth and crept into bed without changing. After all the excitement, she expected to keep awake, but fell asleep almost as soon as she finished her prayers.

In her dreams, she went back to that night. When Roy and she were Zorro and cat-woman. In her dreams, they were together.

Chapter 15

The kookaburra cackle ringtone of Dan’s mobile phone jerked her awake. Sheva glanced at the clock radio. It was one AM. She jumped out of bed and ran barefoot down the stairs to the guest room.

The sheets were rumpled and blanket thrown back. Dan sat on the edge of the bed in the cone of light shed by the small bedside lamp, his phone fixed to his ear as he scribbled in his notepad. His hair was rumpled and shirt partially pulled out of his trousers. ‘Yes, yes, yes, thanks. Call me if you dig out more info.’ He switched the phone off and continued writing.

Dan placed the notepad down on the bedside table and held his left hand out to her. ‘The boyfriend seems to be in the clear. He checked out clean. On first round anyway.’

Sheva walked to his side. Dan patted the bed beside him. ‘Sit down.’ Yawning, Sheva dropped down beside him.

‘He’s from a well-established business family. Broughton-Knight Enterprises, corporate advocacy. His full name is Royston Broughton-Knight. The company is apparently the go-to place for big businesses in trouble. They have an impeccable record of success in saving ailing companies. His father Edward established the company fifteen years ago.’

He stopped, and jabbed a finger on the notepad. ‘One strange and apparently out of character event. About two years ago, his father handed over the company to Roy—or Royston as he is known in Sydney business and social circles—and retired with his wife to their property in the lake district in England. Elvis is following up on it.’

Dan looked at his notebook. ‘Royston was a rich, spoiled brat. Brilliant and wasted as a teen. Newington College and then Sydney University. Degrees in accounting, finance and law. Straight high distinction averages while playing rugby and getting drunk with his mates. Had a long term girlfriend—’ he glanced down at the pad— ‘by the name of Charlene, she apparently broke off the relationship about the time he took over the business from his father. Charlene hooked up almost immediately with Royston’s best mate.’

He looked again at his scribblings. ‘Some sources say that handing over the reins to his son was how Edward forced Royston to grow up and take responsibility. It apparently worked. The company is more successful now than it was when Roy took over as CEO and executive director from his father.’

Royston Broughton-Knight. The images she had of him swam across her consciousness. A man who managed to look impossibly handsome, even when lying injured on the clinic couch. Zorro—whose touch and lips had awakened feelings in her she had never felt before—and had no right to think about now.

Dan waved his hand in front of her face. ‘Come in, Earth calling to Doctor Singh. Where are you?’

Sheva smiled. ‘Sorry, Dan. Just trying to fit in the little I know of Roy into the image of the ruthless corporative executive you have just described.’

‘Successful executive, yes. However, from what I have here—’ he stabbed his finger on the notepad again, ‘—not ruthless. He manages to pull up companies with minimal loss of personnel. Even goes as far as finding alternate employment for the retrenched. There’s a story here about a fellow rugby player who was injured and couldn’t continue playing. Royston employed him and looks after the man’s family back in the Islands.’

‘A prejudiced nice guy,’ Sheva mumbled to herself. She stood up. ‘So, what now?’

‘I need to dig more. Elvis is on to it. We need to set up another meeting between the two of you. See if he recognises you or is even remotely suspicious.’

‘There’s no need to set up anything. I’ll see him tomorrow morning in the medical centre. He’ll have to come back in a week to have the stitches removed.’ She paused. ‘What should I do if he recognises me?’

‘We have two courses of action: if he checks out, we can give him limited information about the reason you are here. Have an additional pair of eyes and ears.’

‘Dan! I don’t want him involved. It’s bad enough having you hovering around me, it would be demeaning to have Roy know the truth. No! What is the other?’

‘We relocate.’

Sheva groaned. ‘Move to another place and get another persona?’

Dan nodded. ‘Not an ideal situation, but we have a number of standby locations.’ He paused. ‘Would you like to be a barmaid in Broken Hill? Or run a café in Cabramurra?’

‘I’d rather be a prostitute in Perth,’ she grumbled.

‘Hmmm, that can be arranged.’ He laughed. ‘Seriously, Sheva, I’ve been told we will have closure in two to three weeks. I’m keen on keeping this location.’

Gathering up his notes and wallet, Dan tucked his shirt into his trouser. ‘I’d better be getting home. You should be all right. Lock up after me.’

She walked with him to the door. Dan placed his hands on her shoulders. The kiss on her cheek was feather light; soft and comforting. ‘Go back to sleep, Sheva. This will all be over soon. Then you can return to your world and your work.’

She shut and locked the door behind him, thinking over her time in Jindabyne. Dan and Roy were two very different men. She thought of the people she had got to know over the last four weeks. They had accepted her as a friend and a doctor. She closed her eyes. Soon it would be over. She would say goodbye and return to the craziness and adrenaline-fuelled excitement of her work in Sydney. Her life.

The clock ticked over to two am. She could squeeze in four hours of sleep.

She dragged her feet upstairs and fell into bed, but she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Her thoughts went to Sunil. She wondered how Sunil had explained her sudden departure to Palitha and his goons. She had no way of finding out.

She drifted into a troubled sleep.

Sunil was dragging her through the tea bushes. She screamed, but the tea pluckers only pointed and laughed. Then over the mountain rode a masked man in a black cloak, and she knew she was safe.

***

Sheva woke to the cackle of kookaburras on the gum trees in the back garden. She lay in bed as the ringing call of the bellbird and the haunting whiplash cry of the currawong joined in the dawn chorus. The distant rumble of the occasional truck on Kosciuszko Road interrupted the symphony.

Just a few minutes later, her radio alarm confirmed their morning call.

‘Good morning from Snowy Mountain’s radio. Welcome to another sparkling summer morning in the Snowies. Today we have a high of twenty-four degrees here in the plains. There are likely to be some high clouds in the alpine region, increasing in the afternoon. Winds tending westerly, 15 to 25 kilometres an hour. Expect some thundershowers in the high peaks later in the evening, with a minimum temperature of six degrees.’

The announcer, Sam, was a patient. A week after she started work in the centre, his wife, Helen had approached Sheva to ask if she could give Sam the snip. It was only after she told Sheva they had six kids did Sheva understand what she wanted. Sam had taken some convincing, but a couple of weeks after the vasectomy, he seemed comfortable and the couple looked happy.

All those years of training in London and Sydney and she was reduced to suturing gorgeous farmers and performing vasectomies on amateur radio station operators. Oh well, she’d better hurry, else the haughty man asleep in what passed for a ward in the medical centre would go all glacial on her again.

Sheva slipped on a blue linen jacket over her regulation work costume of black trousers and buttoned up white cotton blouse. She combed her hair, and spent time on her eyes and lips, developing the sultry eyed, thin lipped look of “Sheva”.

Her hand rested for a moment on the gold cross in the tray on her dressing table. She prayed for wisdom to get through today. The cross was a gift from her beloved grandmother, her talisman and link to the love that had surrounded her as a child. She had hated taking it off, but Dan had told her the jewellery was too distinctive and easy to recognise.

Sheva glanced at the clock. Just past six thirty. She punched in Dan’s code on her mobile.

‘Good morning Sheva.’ Dan picked it up on the first ring. ‘Are we still on for dinner tonight.’

‘Dan, it’s not like I get too many invitations around here.’ She laughed. ‘I’ll be at the Clancy at the usual time.’

‘I thought Roy Knight might have made you an offer, given the length of time you two spent together yesterday.’ Dan’s voice was teasing and she responded likewise.

‘Hey, I haven’t seen him yet. He might ask me still. I’d better get over to the centre and sign his release forms so he can go home.’

‘No need to hurry, Sheva. I don’t think Roy is waiting in the ward to wish you good morning.’

Sheva paced to her front window. ‘What the heck! His car’s not there.’

‘It’ll be back at his farm. I passed him on Kosciuszko Road about half an hour ago. He was driving like a bat out—’

‘—Of all the idiotic things to do,’ she fumed. ‘I asked Peter to watch him. Roy’s had strong painkillers. I told him he would be groggy. He could’ve lost consciousness and crashed his monster truck.’

‘Calm down, Sheva.’ Dan was his usual relaxed self. ‘The monster truck, as you call it, is a Range Rover Sport, well suited for country driving. We will hear about it at the office if he rolls it.’

‘He could’ve ripped the stiches. Started bleeding again. And he hasn’t got any antibiotics. I spent almost an hour suturing him up.’ She grabbed her handbag and keys. ‘I’ll kill him if he destroys my handiwork.’ She glanced at the clock again. ‘I guess I’ll have to do a house call. I have a couple of hours before surgery. Do you know where he lives? And is it okay that I go?’

‘You’ve got plenty on your plate without adding murder of a reclusive farmer to it, Sheva,’ Dan said, no longer amused. ‘From what I hear, he doesn’t like visitors. I had another update this morning. He comes up as an antisocial, wealthy businessman who owns his own airplane. Lives on an alpaca farm. Checks out totally trustworthy so far.’ He paused. ‘No, wait a minute. I can get his number from the Fire Station. I’ll call his mobile and check how he is. I’ll let you know. Hang in there till I call you. Don’t do anything rash.’

Dan was protective; Sheva could read between the lines. What he meant was, ‘I don’t want you to rush off to Roy Knight’s house.’ Four weeks of speaking with him daily, and frequent dinner and coffee meetings, meant they both knew how to judge each other’s moods. Much as it riled her, she would have to agree to his requests, which were more like instructions or orders. It was part of the deal.

‘Okay.’

Dan’s voice took on an edge. ‘Listen to me, Sheva. I want you to sit tight till I give you the go ahead.’

‘I hear you, Dan.’ Sheva forced herself to sound compliant.

She heard him mutter, ‘Obstinate flaming w-,’ just before he cut the line.

Sheva dropped her phone into her bag, thinking of her first meeting with Dan at Sydney airport. Daniel Cooper, a ranger with Kosciuszko National Parks authority. He had escorted her to Jindabyne and her life had been turned upside down. It was his kindness that had helped her endure life these past four weeks.

A few weeks, he had told her. After that, she could return to Sydney and the life she loved.

Chapter 16

The voices from the medical centre sliced through the morning tranquillity of Jindabyne.

‘How was I supposed to know he would sneak out in the middle of the night?’ Peter yelled.

The thump that followed was probably Rosie slamming her bag down on the clinic table.

A couple of early riser residents stopped walking their dog and looked at her. ‘Is there a problem, Doc?’ Elaine ran the news agency next door to the medical centre and had probably been watching what happened last evening. She was an inveterate gossip. Rumour had it, Elaine could give you the latest news before it got into the Monaro Times.

Sheva smiled back at her. ‘Just another day in paradise, Elaine.’ She hurried across the road, and slowed to a stop at the door.

‘Well, you were in charge here overnight.’ Rosie fumed. ‘One patient, Peter! One patient for one night, and you let him get away. The man didn’t take his antibiotic script. He has probably ripped his stiches. You can explain everything to Sheva. You’ll have to deal with her now. This is how you prove your competence as an attendant. Don’t be surprised if Sheva fires you.’

Sheva opened the door to the centre.

Peter stabbed a finger at the file on the counter. ‘I called the number he had listed. No one picked up the phone.’

‘Relax, you two.’ Sheva raised her hands, palms facing out between Peter and Rosie. ‘Roy Knight is a patient, not a prisoner. He took a risk with his life and health by walking out of here at sunrise. Neither of you is to blame.’ She smiled at Rosie. ‘I am angry, but at Roy Knight, not at either of you.’

Rosie took the file from Peter and slapped it on the clinic table. ‘He lives out in the boondocks, Sheva.’ She flipped the file open. ‘Look at his address: twenty-six Mowamba Way, Moonbah. It’s way out in the bush. No road lights. No nothing. He’s probably lying injured somewhere in a ditch.’

The ping of an incoming message interrupted them. Sheva grabbed her phone and read out the message from Dan: “Cowboy safe at home. Told you so.”

Rosie’s face relaxed. ‘Good.’

Her phone pinged again: “Call me.”

‘Give me a minute—’ she looked from Rosie to Peter— ‘I need to take this.’ Sheva walked into her office and shut the door.

Dan picked up on the first ring. ‘Sheva, if you were a regular country GP, what would you do in this situation?’

‘You mean when I am furious at a patient for behaving like a pig-headed, arrogant idiot and messing up my surgical work?’

‘Professional hat, please.’

‘I would pay a house visit to check on the wound and make sure the patient has his antibiotics.’

‘Okay, do it.’

‘Go visit the Alpaca farm?’

‘We supplied you with the most up-to-date portable surgical kit, supplies and surgical instruments, just as you insisted. I taught you off-road driving. Do you feel up to testing it out?’

‘Of course, I can do it, Dan. I learnt driving on Colombo roads when I was eighteen. Country roads in Jindabyne are A1 grand prix circuits by comparison.’ She paused. ‘What if he recognises me as Annie?’

‘You’re smart, Doc. Improvise. Go there and push his buttons. If you think he suspects who you are, treat him like the idiot you say he is, get out of there, and let me know. We’ll take over.’

Rosie and Peter were huddled in discussion when Sheva opened the office door.

‘I’m going out on a house call, Rosie. Hold the fort at the clinic.’

Sheva opened the cupboard and pulled out the bag with drugs and surgical dressings. She flicked it open and ran her eye over the contents. She unlocked the drugs cabinet and picked up a packet of Amoxicillin antibiotic tablets.

Rosie stared at her. ‘You’re going to Roy Knight’s farm? I didn’t know you did house calls?’

‘I was so excited when reading the job contract, I didn’t bother with the small print.’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but Rosie and Peter wouldn’t understand the reason. ‘House calls are part of a country GP practice. I have to start sometime. Why not today?’ She picked up the file labelled ‘Roy Knight’ and walked out of the clinic before Rosie or Peter could say anything further.

The new car smell tantalised her nose as she opened the door to her silver Subaru XV. Sheva slid into the driver’s seat and pulled her seat belt on. She turned the key in the ignition and glided away from the clinic.

She punched ‘26 Mowamba Way, Moonbah’ into the GPS navigation system. The tracker registered 18 Mowamba Way, and nothing after. Frustration grated at her nerves. ‘Great, trust Mr Arctic eyes to live off the map,’ she growled in frustration. Well, Subaru advertised the XV as an all-terrain vehicle. Dan had trained her to drive on country roads. Today, she would test her skills and the car.

Soon she was out of Nuggets Crossing and cruising along Kosciuszko Road. Winding the window down, she filled her lungs with crisp mountain air, revelling in the difference from the pollution of early morning Sydney traffic, or the belching old vehicles and dust-filled Colombo streets.

Her mind flickered back to Dan. He understood Sheva’s Sri Lankan heritage and culture, the importance of family and the obligations of being an only child. It was probably why he had been assigned to be her carer. She wasn’t sure what today would bring, but, she was glad to know he was available if she needed help. She drew on her mindfulness training and relaxed.

Lake Jindabyne shimmered in the light of the rising sun; the wind whipped up silver-tipped waves. The mountains surrounding the lake were luminous in the dusky blue of eucalyptus droplets mingled with morning dew. White splashes glistened on the peaks, the remnants of winter’s snow cover.

Dan had explained how in the Snowy Mountains the seasons were clearly demarcated, with summer sweat and winter freeze. She glanced back at the white-capped remnants of snow on the mountains. She wouldn’t be here in July to see them in their wintry splendour.

***

‘Turn left after 500 metres,’ droned the dulcet female tone on the GPS.

Sheva glanced at the sign on the side of the road. Barry Way — Dalgety. She swung left at the roundabout.

The road pulled away from the lake. Contented cows and sheep grazed, separated from the road by barbed wire fences. Yellow signs with black icons of wombats, emus and wallabies warned her to take care on the road. Dan had told her they came out at dusk, but she kept a watch out, just in case she met one.

The GPS piped up again, ‘Turn left in 2 kilometres.’

She crossed the bridge over a little stream named, perhaps optimistically, ‘Mowamba River’.

‘Turn left in 500 metres. Turn left in 30 metres.’

There was no road sign. Trust the man to live in some outlandish, unmarked location. She glanced down at the address on the admission file. This must be Mowamba Way. At least it was a sealed road, so far.

Five minutes later, the road ended at a cul-de-sac. A small sign, reading “18 Mowamba Way”, was stuck on a stunted gum tree to point down a mud path. ‘You have arrived,’ the GPS droned.

Sheva stared down the gravel and mud track continuation of Mowamba Way. The idiot man was determined to be hard to find. Well, she hadn’t driven all this way to give up now. Sheva jumped back in the car and rolled the windows up. She glanced at the fuel gauge. It was a good thing she had filled the tank up yesterday.

‘Okay, baby—’ she patted the dashboard of the car— ‘show me what you’re made of.’ She inched forward, her hands firm on the steering wheel. Her foot was poised on the brake. Sheva didn’t know much about motor mechanics and she didn’t want to break something in the undercarriage, or whatever the bottom of the car was called.

Dan had said she would have cover. She glanced at her rear view mirror, but there was no evidence of Dan’s Silver SUV. She would have to trust him.

Although she steered clear of the larger potholes along the mud path, the occasional deep furrow she couldn’t avoid jarred the car and her. It took her back to the rutted tea plantation roads in Watakälé. She briefly wondered what was happening with Sunil and his evil mates. The thought of her mother sent a shiver down her spine. She pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on her task for today.

Mr Arctic Eyes better show some appreciation.

The opening notes of Mozart’s Horn Concerto filled the car. Sheva glanced at the mobile phone on the seat beside her. It continued the classical ringtone Dan had set for her.

She punched on the speaker.

‘Okay so far?’

She glanced over the paddock to the sheep grazing in the distance. A couple of horses dozing under the trees. She squinted. There were wallabies in the distance. ‘The only danger I am in here is from a sheep attack or maybe a wallaby assault. The dirt track is a bummer, but I’m putting my driving skills to the test. I’m okay. I don’t need to be mollycoddled or wrapped in cotton wool, Dan.’

His barked laugh brought a smile to her lips. ‘Okay, Doctor Intrepid, country GP, I guess you can’t get into much trouble out there. Call me when you finish the house call and are heading back.’

After the call ended, she took her foot off the brake and gripped the steering wheel to keep the car from sliding into a rut. Gritting her teeth, she started inching forward again.

It felt like an age. Glancing at the dial, she guessed she’d travelled just half a kilometre.

She squinted and peered into the horizon. It was either a farmhouse or a figment of her optimistic imagination. There was only one way to find out. She pressed her foot on the accelerator.

The red brick single storey building was almost completely hidden by the ring of tall poplars. Between the green branches, she could make out large, shuttered windows, a wrap-around veranda with wooden posts, and a green corrugated iron roof.

A shimmer on the roof looked like solar panels. She could see the intricate wrought iron lacework along the roof edge as she drew closer. Multi-coloured stained glass windows flashed back the rays of the sun.

A metre-high picket fence separated the house and garden from the mud track leading to it. Following the drive along the perimeter of the fence, Sheva heard the ruckus coming from the property. Roy Knight sure had an effective alarm system. She pulled up at the metre high wooden gate, noticing with relief the heavy double chains and two large padlocks firmly fastened.

The number 26 was painted on the side post. The word ‘Destiny’ was printed in small neat letters on a wooden placard under it.

Two angry hounds were upright at the gate. They had heralded her arrival, and now their front paws shook the wooden frame, rattling the chains and padlocks. Not being a dog lover, she had no idea what breed they were, but she knew enough to know they were large and intimidating.

The metal hinges on the gate creaked.

It would probably be unwise to get out of the car and confront these two. Anyway, they were far more effective than any doorbell.

Chapter 17

‘Heel, boys.’ Roy stood on the bottom step of the veranda. The dogs fell to the ground, shot up, quivered, and then raced to stand on either side of him.

The dogs and their master strode down the gravel drive to the gate.

Opening the door, Sheva slid out of the car and reached into the back to get her medical bag. The heat and dust sizzled around her. She took a deep breath and coughed. Reaching back into the car, she grabbed the water bottle, snapped it open and took a quick sip. She cleared her throat and readied herself to confront Roy.

The rumpled clothes, ruffled hair and overnight stubble on the grim set face showed that he hadn’t spent too long on his morning routine. A homemade, blood-stained sling, made from what appeared to be a tea towel, held his left arm to his chest.

Sheva winced. The stiches were probably torn and bleeding. All her good work undone by his obstinate, recalcitrant behaviour.

They stood separated by the padlocked gate. Roy and his canine guards on one side, and Sheva on the other. The absurdity of this house call struck her. The last time she had done a home visit had been to check on a patient on whom she had performed an aortic aneurysm repair. She had driven up in her BMW convertible and the butler had met her at the door of the house, or rather, the mansion. The visit had been in the upper class suburb of Point Piper in Sydney.

The dogs snarled and leapt at the gate. Roy silenced them with an impatient gesture of his right hand.

‘Dr Singh, what brings you here?’ He glanced at her dust and mud-streaked car. ‘And, in your little city car.’ His voice oozed with amused condescension.

Sheva had to look up at him over the padlocked gate. She wished she were wearing her twelve centimetre party heels, even though they hadn’t given her much of an advantage over Zorro.

‘You signed yourself out without my permission last night. You didn’t take your antibiotics. You didn’t even have the courtesy to pick up the phone when Peter called you this morning. Now—’ she pointed to the sling on his arm— ‘you have probably ripped the stitches. That is just not acceptable.’ She took a step closer. ‘And I’ll have you know the car is an all-terrain vehicle,’ she snapped.

The dogs leapt up and growled. Sheva shifted her pointing finger to the dogs. ‘Is your middle name Baskerville?’

‘Brilliant, beautiful and a literary genius. I would clap, except I am a little incapacitated at the moment.’ The corners of the compressed lips twitched in the hint of a smile. ‘At the danger of sounding cliché, what is a professional like you doing in a small town like Jindabyne, Doctor Singh?’

‘I’m on a rural placement.’ A half-truth would have to do. Their eyes met and held. Uncertainty flickered in his.

‘Mr Knight,’ she drew on all of her professionalism and patience, ‘I have driven a long way to pay you a house call. I have patients waiting in the clinic back in the town. Can we get on with the examination of the wound?’

He snapped the fingers of his right hand. ‘Ares, Tyche.’ He pointed back to the house and the dogs slunk back up the drive to sit on the veranda.

He named his dogs after the Greek gods of war and good fortune. He probably sees himself as Zeus. She glanced at him in time to see a lift of the right eyebrow. He had read her mind.

‘I didn’t ask for a house call, Doctor, and I am totally capable of caring for myself. How about you turn your all-terrain vehicle around and head right back to your patients in town.’

Anger flared through her. She took a step forward, meaning to stare him down. However, separated by just the gate, she could see weariness around his cloudy grey eyes, the dark smudges of a sleepless night and the tired lines of his face. His cheeks looked flushed. They weren’t good signs.

‘Are you feeling hot? You look like you have a fever. It could be an infection of the wound. You need the injury checked, Mr Knight.’

‘And if I won’t?’

Sheva shrugged, and squared her shoulders. ‘I’ll stand here until you let me in.’ She reached into her bag for her phone. ‘I’ll call the nurse at the and tell her where I am.’

His eyes met hers. His forehead furrowed and something she couldn’t fathom smouldered in the depths of his gaze. ‘Doctor Singh—’

The door to the house swung open. ‘Hey, Roy, let the doctor in.’

The man stood on the top step of the veranda, hands on hips. Built like a solid oak tree, he looked about to burst out of his black jeans and T-shirt. The wide face and solid muscled body were suggestive of a life in the boxing ring or some other equally physical occupation.

He bent down and reached out a muscled arm to pat the dogs. Sheva saw he had long, black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He pointed into the house. The dogs trotted in and he shut the ornate glass-fronted door. Swinging a key ring with a set of assorted keys, he jumped off the veranda and jogged to the gate.

‘The young man you are gawking at—’ Roy made no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice— ‘is Samson.’

An Islander, a rugby player; Sheva remembered what Dan had found out about Roy. She bit her lip and asked, ‘Does Samson cut his hair?’

‘Add bible scholar to the list of accomplishments.’

‘Roy,’ Samson said, slipping the key into one padlock and then the next. The chains fell open. ‘Ask the doctor in.’

A look too fleeting for Sheva to interpret passed between them.

Samson pulled the gate ajar and reached for Sheva’s bag. ‘Please come in, Doctor. There is a table and chairs on the side veranda, or you could use the study.’ His voice was refined, soft and genteel, opposite to what Sheva may have expected.

‘The study please, Samson.’ She glowered at Roy, but handed Samson the bag. ‘Less chance of cross-infection away from the dust. Thank you.’

The lips twitched in a parody of a smile. ‘I guess I’m outvoted.’ Roy swung the gate open with his right hand.

‘Welcome to Destiny, Doctor Singh.’

Chapter 18

Sheva followed Samson up the steps and onto the veranda. They turned away from the main entry and walked toward a plain wooden door at the end of the veranda.

The high ceilinged room had an office desk with two large computer monitors, both switched on to show spreadsheets and flow-charts. Metal filing cabinets and wooden bookshelves lined the walls. Sheva scanned the collection. Books on accounting and management stood side-by-side with sporting tomes and spy thrillers. A leather office chair was pushed back from the desk. There were no photographs or pictures anywhere in the room.

Judging from the half-empty coffee mug and the sandwich crumbs on the plate by the computer, she had interrupted Roy at work.

On the other side of the room, there were two smaller office chairs with a round table between them. Samson held one out for Sheva. ‘Would this do, Doctor? Would you like to wash?’ He pointed to a half open door to the right. ‘The bathroom’s over there.’

Sheva nodded. ‘Thanks, I would like to wash my hands before I take a look at the wound.’ She walked into the bathroom and shut the door after her. The stark white tiles and fittings were interrupted by pops of colour; two yellow roses in a vase by the sink and an orange hand towel with the monogram ‘BK’. She scrubbed and dried her hands, placed her hand on the door knob, then paused.

Roy’s voice was low. ‘No, I don’t want her to know anything. I can deal with this.’

‘Roy, you need a doctor. She’s the only one here, mate.’

The response was harsh, almost grunted. ‘No. I know what I am doing, Samson.’

‘You’re being obstinate, mate—’

Sheva pushed open the door, bringing the conversation to a halt. She smiled and sat down on the chair Samson had indicated earlier. Samson thought Roy needed a doctor. There was more here than a farm injury to his arm.

Well, she was a doctor and trained to diagnose the most intricate medical enigmas. If Roy was ill, she would find out.

Samson placed her bag on the table by her side. ‘Can I bring you a fruit juice? Or tea?’

‘A glass of cold water, please, Samson.’

Samson nodded and walked through a door which presumably led to the main house.

Roy dropped into the chair opposite her. ‘Dr Singh, thank you for doing this. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful.’

Sheva suppressed a smile at the reluctant semi-apology. Twice in twenty-four hours; it was probably a record for him.

‘Please, call me Sheva.’

Samson came back with the glass of water. He placed it beside Sheva and moved over to remove the sling and peel the dressings from Roy’s left wrist. Sheva studied the injury and glanced up into Samson’s face.

‘Did you change the dressings?’

Samson nodded. ‘I did, Doctor. I didn’t think you, well, I didn’t expect you to come by today. The dressings were bloodstained. And—’ he glanced at Roy— ‘a little dusty after the drive back this morning.’

Sheva opened her bag. She slipped on her surgical gloves and examined the wound. The incision was clean. The gauze and antiseptic dressing were well placed over it. ‘You did a good job.’

Samson grinned and nodded. ‘Thanks, Doc —’

‘Samson is a qualified nurse physiotherapist. You don’t have to worry about him destroying your handiwork,’ Roy interjected.

‘Pity you didn’t leave a note to let us know you have a live-in nurse, when you snuck out of the ward at five this morning. No matter, I’m here now.’

Sheva ripped open the sterile packet of antiseptic wipes and cleaned the skin around the wound. The stitches were all in place. The cut was clean with no redness or evidence of infection. She swabbed over the sutures with a gauze dipped in spirits. ‘Your hair-raising drive at five this morning hasn’t done any harm to your wound or the sutures.’

The corded muscles of his forearm tensed and flexed under her fingers. ‘Sheva, thank you. The fact that the stitches are in place is more due to your expertise than my care of the wound. Do you think you could call me Roy? And who told you I left at five in the morning? Peter wasn’t in when I left.’

‘A friend. Dan Cooper is a National Parks ranger. You passed him when he was on his way to work. You were driving, ummm quite fast.’

‘Dan called me just before you drove in. He sounded a little concerned about your off-road driving skills. He asked me to call him back as soon as you arrived. That’s what I was doing, while you were entertaining the dogs at the gate. Sorry if they scared you. They’re harmless once you get to know them.’

Making friends with his hounds was not on her list of priorities.

She kept her eyes fixed on his arm and covered the wound with a fresh dressing from her bag. ‘You look flushed and may have a temperature. We can’t be too careful with farm injuries, there are some nasty bugs going around. I’d like to have a blood sample for testing. Just to make sure.’

The muscles tensed some more. His voice turned chilly. ‘Is it really necessary?’

She continued to keep her eyes on his arm. Dan had said her eyes were too expressive for her own good as they gave her away when she lied. She wasn’t taking chances with Roy.

‘I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise, Roy.’ She picked up a sterile syringe pack and a set of sealed blood containers, and labelled the individual vials. ‘I’ll take the blood from the other arm. Don’t worry, it’s just a little prick.’ She turned to his right arm and reached for the tourniquet.

She drew the blood, and filled six vials. Placing them in the cooler pack, she tucked it into her medical bag.

Roy smiled. The dimple flashed, sending a flicker of awareness through her.

A trace of amusement and a spark of admiration lurked in the grey depth of his eyes. ‘You make even a little prick seem pleasant. I didn’t feel a thing.’

‘And here was I expecting Roy to faint off.’ Samson guffawed.

Sheva smiled, swallowing the words she wanted to say: ‘Of course you didn’t feel a thing. With my training and experience, finding a vein in a muscular forearm like yours is like locating a Red Kangaroo in a mob of sheep.’

Instead, she shut the bag and stood up. ‘I need to get back to the clinic and get these blood samples—’ she gestured to her bag— ‘to the lab as soon as possible.’ She placed the packet of antibiotic capsules and her business card on the table. ‘Here are your antibiotics. The instructions are on the pack. Make sure you finish the course. You’ll get the invoice for the drugs by post.’

‘Call me—’ she glanced at Samson and slid her eyes to Roy— ‘if you want to talk to me about anything.’

Back in the bathroom, she washed her hands and strained to hear the conversation in the room. All she could hear was Samson muttering in an undertone.

Roy was alone in the room when she came out. He stood behind the computers, his eyes fixed on one of the screens until he noticed her. ‘I’ll come with you to the car,’ he said, and walked around the desk to hold the door open for her. ‘Dan Cooper asked me to call him when you left here.’ Roy walked along the veranda and down the steps with her.

Sheva shrugged. ‘Dan’s a good friend. He’s a real worrywart.’ They walked in silence to the gate.

‘Sheva, do you have a sister. Or a close female relative working as a nurse in Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Sydney?’

Keeping her eyes averted, she pushed the gate open. ‘I am not aware of any relatives in Sydney, or anywhere else in Australia.’

‘I met this girl at a party.’ Roy’s voice had softened. ‘She had your colour and build, and your smile.’ His laugh was embarrassed. ‘When I woke up in the clinic yesterday, I thought you were her, but only for a second.’

‘You were sedated,’ Sheva pushed on.

‘I realised my mistake soon.’

‘Oh, really? How?’

‘Forgive me, Doctor, but Annie was, well, she was a lot more—what can I say?—voluptuous and, I guess, sexier than you.’

Sheva bit her lip to control the angry retort bubbling up in her throat. ‘Fortunately, sexiness is not a criteria for general practice in Jindabyne.’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose us subcontinental women all look and sound alike to Anglo folk, Roy. I don’t blame you for finding a similarity.’

His eyes rested on her hair and moved to the hollow of her neck. ‘She had the most glorious long black hair and wore a little gold cross.’

Sheva shrugged. ‘Sounds like she made quite an impression on you.’

They walked around the car. ‘I guess you subcontinental women have a way of growing on a man.’

From somewhere inside the house came a loud keening sound; part scream, part howl. Sheva swung round. ‘What is that sound? Is someone hurt?’

Roy grabbed her arm and pushed her towards the car. ‘The dogs get restless if we keep them locked up for any length of time.’

Sheva pulled her arm away from his grasp. ‘It sounded human, Roy, like someone in pain.’

‘Trust me, it’s the dogs.’ He opened the front door of the car and almost shoved her in.

‘It didn’t sound like—’

‘No, Sheva. Go back to Jindabyne.’

She slid in and allowed him to shut the door after her. He waited till she started the car. ‘Drive safely, Doc. I don’t want to get in trouble with your boyfriend.’

‘Boyfriend?’ Sheva spluttered. She pressed down on the accelerator and the car shot forward, bumping over the uneven road.

‘Men and their arrogant assumptions,’ she groused.

Sheva drove off the mud road and braked to a stop next to Dan’s SUV parked at the end of Mowamba Drive. He jumped out and came around to her window.

‘Something annoyed you. You came down the track like you had a rocket—’

‘Don’t even think it,’ she snapped. ‘Before you ask, he asked me if I had a relative who was a nurse. Then, he said how for a moment in the clinic yesterday he thought I was Annie, but then he realised Annie was much more voluptuous and sexy. The arrogant sexist oaf.’

Dan burst into laughter.

‘There is nothing funny about—’

‘It’s hilarious. Sheva, you’re jealous of Annie.’

Chapter 19

Royston Broughton-Knight stared at the computer screen. His accountant Colin had just sent him the administrative structure of the latest project, a mining company in Kalgoorlie. Roy’s eyes flicked to the other computer screen. The spreadsheet showed detailed financial statements for the company.

He would never understand how anyone could let a company get into such dire straits. Pulling it out of the rut would be a ‘by the shoestrings’ operation, and painful all round. He knew he could do it. Just as he had done many times before, successfully.

The list of companies he had dragged back from near extinction in the last year alone was sizable. Each one was a personal triumph, apart from being financially rewarding.

And yet, right now, he almost couldn’t be bothered going through it all again.

Slipping his arm out of the sling, he rested his elbows on the edge of the mahogany office desk, and dropped his head into his hands. It stretched the stitches on his left wrist. The tingle of pain distracted him from the emotional turmoil in his heart.

It was all meaningless, totally meaningless.

The aroma of freshly brewed Colombian coffee preceded Samson into the room. A black and white moggy followed at his heels. Roy raised his head and forced a smile.

‘Coffee, Boss.’ Samson placed the steaming mug of strong coffee on the table.

‘Thanks, Sam.’ Roy looked down at the moggy and laughed at the cat’s adoration of the large man. ‘You’re the only man who can shrug off three tacklers and flatten a scrum, yet cry over a sick kitten.’

Samson bent to tickle the cat under her neck, and was rewarded by a shuddering purr. ‘Well, I saved her from being dog food, didn’t I? And now Ares and Tyche love her.’ He straightened and placed his large hands down on the office desk. ‘I’m worried about you, Roy.’

‘Worried?’

‘Yes, worried. You can’t do it all alone, Roy.’

‘I won’t be alone. I’ve our whole company team backing me.’ Roy gestured to the screens. ‘Just a few days sorting out more corporate rubbish.’

Samson dragged a chair across from Roy, and fitted himself into it. The kitten scrambled up his trouser leg, and settled, purring on his lap. ‘You know what I’m talking about, mate.’

‘You think I should tell Doctor Sheva the truth about Father, don’t you? He would be furious, Sam. I can’t let out his secret.’

‘He wants you to have help, Roy.’

‘How do you know, Sam? It’s not like he can have a conversation—’

‘That is where you are wrong, Roy.’

‘What—’

Samson held out his hand to interrupt Roy, ‘I’ve read all about early onset Huntington’s Disease. I also consult with Professor Pennington regularly. There are periods when Edward can speak well enough so I can understand his words, and even phrases. Other times, I’ve learned to interpret his vocalisation. It is slow and painful for your father, but he and I talk.’

‘He doesn’t talk with me. All I ever get are his grunted responses.’

‘You’re always so busy. He doesn’t want to waste your time.’

‘Dear God, Samson. I’ve never had time for him, have I?’

‘Water under the bridge, mate.’ Samson reached across the desk to pat Roy’s hand. ‘He’s worried that the burden is too much for you. I think you should speak to the doctor. He would agree.’

‘I don’t even know if she would be clued up about HD.’

‘You’re kidding, right? Does she come across to you as a dumb cookie?’

Roy smiled at the memory of the brilliant ebony eyes staring him down at the gate, recognising the names of the dogs. ‘She asked if you cut your hair.’

Samson’s loud guffaw scared the kitten off his lap.

‘Samson, you’re right. Sheva is almost too competent for a country GP.’

They both jumped at the shrill ring of his phone. With one glance at the caller identification, Roy pressed the button to speaker and signalled for Samson to stay.

He flicked a look at the clock on his desk. ‘Mother, it’s almost midnight in London.’

‘Good morning, Royston. It is morning there, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is. What is it you want, mother?’

‘Son, I just want to know how you are. How are you?’

‘Would you like to know how Father is, too?

She drew a shuddering breath. ‘Royston, he is my husband. Of course, I care how he is. It’s no use expecting you to understand.’ Her voice caught on a sob.

‘Spare me the histrionics, mother. You walked out on him when the diagnosis was given, with a sizable settlement to set you up in comfort in London.’

‘Son, your father asked me to leave him when he found out. He begged me to stay in London, and not come back to Sydney. He wanted me to remember the good times. Your father always protected me. He knew I wouldn’t be able to stand the strain of seeing him go downhill, with the loss of movement and the dementia. It doesn’t mean I don’t love him.’

‘But, you are in London, Mother, and father is here. What about the marriage vows you made. How long ago was it? Thirty-six years. Now, how does it go? For better, for worse, in sickness and in health; until death do us part.’ He looked at Samson.

‘Mother, do you even know Father built and furnished a room just for you here on the farm? In your favourite colours: all blue, silver and white. I tried to dissuade him. He wouldn’t listen; he kept hoping you would come back to him. He probably still does.’

He drew a deep shuddering breath. ‘I don’t know why I bother to tell you this.’

She choked back a sob. ‘When did you get so cruel, Royston? So hard and unforgiving. I hardly recognise you.’

Roy laughed, a harsh sound to his own ears. ‘Most times, Mother, I hardly recognise myself. Maybe it happened when you walked out on Father and me. Or when you told my fiancée to reconsider our engagement because of the fifty percent chance that I would inherit Huntington’s disease.’

‘I only told her the truth. She needed to know.’

‘I would have told her in my time, Mother. Perhaps you did me a favour. It’s better this way.’ He paused as bitter memories flogged his brain. Charlene had moved on to shack up with Adam, a high-flying financier, within a week of breaking up with him. It was made worse by the fact that Roy had counted Adam as a good friend. She had been sleeping with him while she was still living in the flat Roy had rented for her.

‘Mother, what do you want?’

‘I would like to come visit you. You and Edward,’ she whispered.

‘Mother, you want to visit the farm? It’s over two years since you left Australia. You hardly call. Why would you want to visit now?’

‘I’m not getting any younger, Royston. I think I’d like to see Edward once more. Is that too much to ask?’

‘Mother. The truth, please. You want money.’

‘No, it’s more than that—’ she faltered, ‘Royston, I— I miss you— both.’

‘And if you come back to Australia and to the farm, will it be a permanent move?’

‘I don’t— I can’t live there, Royston. I won’t be able to stand the strain. The isolation. The horror of seeing the change in him. Your father understands. I want to visit—’

‘A holiday on the Alpaca farm. What do you plan to do after that, Mother? Go back to your London lifestyle, I assume.’

‘Royston—’

‘Stop it, Mother. You have the money from the trust funds, and the flat in Knightsbridge. You have a life there. I don’t want you visiting father. Seeing you will only get his hopes up. He will be devastated again, when you leave. You are welcome here at the farm, but only if the move is permanent.’

A muffled sob was all he heard. ‘I can’t’

Roy stared at the phone. ‘Goodbye, Mother.’ He thumbed the phone off and dropped it on the desk. ‘You mean you won’t,’ he muttered.

He released the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. ‘Well, Sam,’ he said, looking at his sympathetic friend, ‘that, is an example of a loving wife and mother.’

‘Not all women are like your mother and Charlene, Roy.’

‘If there are other kinds of women, I sure haven’t met one yet.’

Samson smiled. ‘Maybe you had one visit you this morning.’

‘Doctor Sheva? What makes you think she’s different from Mother or Charlene?’

‘She cared enough to drive here to see you. She thinks you are sick—’

‘Why ever would she think I am unwell?’

‘Maybe because you employ a full time nurse physiotherapist?’

‘Blimey, I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Well, she sure was thinking. She’s a bright one. You think she needs six vials of your blood to check for wound infection? She’ll send them to Sydney for a full evaluation.’

Anxiety caught in his throat. ‘Is there any way she could run a test for HD?’

‘Sure, but I don’t think she will. She’ll run a regular set of tests. Huntington’s Disease doesn’t show up on those.’ He bent to pick up the kitten, and, tucking her under his arm, he punched a finger at the computer screen. ‘Well, get back to work, mate. If you have to travel, take all the days you need.’

Roy scowled at the figures on the screen. ‘Might take three or four days.’

‘I’ll go get your bags packed and ready. Two suits. I’ll put in your casuals too. Maybe you could find some time to socialise.’

‘Socialise. You really mean catch up with a girlfriend in Canberra, don’t you?’

Samson’s round face split in a grin. ‘Stop being so tetchy, mate.’

‘You think a night with a woman will solve my moodiness?’

The smile faded, but Samson looked at his friend with fondness in his eyes. ‘Roy, you have to relax. Your father would want you to. Right now, it’s all work, but—’ he grinned— ‘the sexy Valerie called just yesterday to ask when you were next visiting her.’

Roy shook his head. ‘Sam, I appreciate what you are doing, but sex is not what I need. I have just too many irons in the fire. I couldn’t survive it without you, Sam. You’ve been an amazing friend. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

Samson shrugged. ‘No thanks needed. You were there at my lowest.’

Roy looked back at the computer screen. ‘Sure you can manage? I can fly back in-between Canberra and Adelaide—’

Samson’s deep throated growl cut him short. ‘I’ll be thinking you don’t trust me here, Roy.’ He reached out and patted Roy on the shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry, mate. Get the job done. No more talk of gratitude and thanks. It cuts both ways.’ He picked up the card Sheva had left on the table, his smile roguish. He winked at Roy.

‘I’ll call the good doctor if I need help.’ He sauntered to the door, the purring kitten cradled in his arms.

He turned at the door. ‘By the way, your father wants you to get tested for HD.’

Chapter 20

Maybe he was destined to be a helpless imbecile in a few years. He didn’t want to know. It was better to live for today.

Carpe diem.

Memories of years gone by crowded Roy’s brain: his father running the company, his mother occupied with her charity work and sundry committees, the couple living their parallel lives at a companionate distance from each other.

It had not always been that way. As a child, he remembered the family holidays here in Jindabyne. With his parents. In a cabin by the lake. Skiing together. Having fun together. His father setting up his consultancy firm. Mother busy helping him and keeping house. He smiled at the memory of Christmas in their three bedroom home in Sydney. Sitting between his mother and father in church, listening to their voices blend in the age old hymns.

Money. Fame. A scramble up the social ladder. A slow growing cancer that had eaten them all up from the inside. They had all changed. The business magnate, his socialite wife, and their playboy son.

As an adult, his days had been filled with work at the office, and the evenings spent clubbing with Charlene and his friends. Weekends had been for playing rugby and horse riding. They skied in winter. Summer holidays were spent setting up the farm. He had joined his father in learning the alpaca trade and choosing the Suri alpaca stock.

He had been so occupied with his own life that he had failed to notice what was happening in his father’s life.

He picked up the phone. Maybe he was he being unfair. He could ask his father’s neurologist, Professor Pennington, if he should allow his mother to visit. There was a time when his parents had loved each other. Maybe that was something that could be rekindled again.

He put the phone down. No. It was better this way.

He would cope, as he had done for the two years past. He sat back in his chair gathering his thoughts. He was unsettled today and it wasn’t just his mother’s telephone call.

Samson thought he should talk to Dr Singh and tell her the truth about his father. She was here in Jindabyne. She had no connections with his old life.

He had been unacceptably rude to her in the clinic yesterday. He was angry at his carelessness on the farm and the injury, and had taken out his frustration on her. She had been professional and courteous in her acceptance of his apology.

She would accept his request for medical help.

Roy stared at the computer screen. He was trying, but instead of seeing the charts and numbers, he saw a feisty young face with ebony black eyes that flashed like lightning bolts when angry, and grew deep like a clear winter night in concentration. A man could lose himself in those eyes. Her brown-black hair cut in a severe bob didn’t suit the heavy lidded sultriness of her face. Her accent: a pleasing blend of Queen’s English with the burring roll of the ‘R’ and an upward lilt at the end of the sentence betrayed her subcontinental heritage.

There was a certain impudent audacity about Sheva. It was obvious that she was bright and well-read. It was endearing and attractive.

She was competent. But, he didn’t know yet if she was trustworthy.

He sat back and thought of Annie. She would be married by now. Wonder how she was coping. He tried to picture her, but found himself thinking of Sheva instead.

Sheva had told him all subcontinentals looked and sounded alike to Anglo folk.

Roy smiled, remembering the way she nibbled on her lower lip, trying hard to look stern and cool, when she really seemed to want to burst into giggles. Annie had done something similar. Maybe it was a subcontinental habit.

Her whole demeanour spoke of professionalism and expertise. She didn’t fit the part of the country-town doctor. The way she handled his injury was so proficient. More like a surgeon than a general practitioner.

On the other hand, she was also all woman; Sheva, a name consonant with sensuality.

He felt a tightening in his body. He wondered how it would feel to nibble on those luscious lips or run his fingers through her silky hair.

Neither the silly Sri Lankan Elephant T-shirt, nor the severe work suit she had worn today disguised her curves. He had teased her by telling her Annie was sexier than her, and it had riled her.

At the gate, she had asked him if he felt hot. He had been looking down the hint of cleavage at the neck of her blouse. He had been more than just hot.

Dan Cooper had been mighty concerned when he called. Maybe they were lovers.

No, she was not a woman who would give herself easily, either in friendship or in love. A man would have to earn her respect and affection. It was an interesting challenge.

He smiled. His old mates in Sydney would be shocked. Look at Royston Broughton-Knight, contemplating a romance with a subcontinental girl. The second in about as many months. Not white, not a socialite from an accepted family, and definitely not a doyen of the Sydney society scene. Both girls were as different to Charlene as firebrands to an ice sculpture.

He let his mind rove over the last two years. After his romantic debacle with Charlene, he had encased his heart in armour. He had been forced to do it. His occasional dates had been in Canberra and Sydney. They didn’t expect promises or commitments. This was the way he had survived.

Now, something about the firebrand doctor had found a chink in his iron-clad heart. He should tell his father. He already knew what his father would advise him to do. He could hear his voice, as he would never hear it again: ‘Follow your heart, son.’

Heart. He doubted he even had one.

Business first.

Roy picked up his phone and tapped in the telephone number for the pilot of his aircraft. The purchase of the Cessna 210 had been one of his father’s last decisions before relinquishing control to Roy. The six-seater single-engine high-performance aircraft was perfect for his needs. Day trips to his Canberra office or business meetings in Adelaide, Sydney or even Brisbane could be done in a day or two at most.

‘Mike, how are you? I need to fly out for work. How soon can we be ready?’

‘I’m fine, Boss. Was wondering when I’d hear from you. I’m getting itchy feet here. We’ll be ready by noon, if you want.’

His father had also found and hired Mike, headhunting him from a country airline. Mike was paid a full-time salary, and kept himself busy as an aircraft mechanic at the Jindabyne aerodrome. Mike’s mannerisms and speech were stereotypical to the country, but his heart was pure gold. And his competence at the controls of the Cessna was inimitable. There was no one Roy would rather fly with than Mike.

‘It’ll be a day in Canberra and Adelaide for a few more. Maybe four or five days in all.’

‘No worries, Boss. I’d better get cracking. See you this arvo.’

‘Make it two pm. There are a couple of things to get done on the farm. We could be in Canberra for a late meeting today. Leave for Adelaide tomorrow at dawn.’

‘No fuss, Boss. We’ll be ready to go.’

Roy turned back to the computer screens. His mind searching for solutions.

He kept getting distracted by the memory of a piquant dark face.

Chapter 21

Canberra was three hours behind them. Roy snapped shut his briefcase and settled back in the seat of the Cessna.

Mike turned to him from the controls. ‘You’ve gotta be knackered, boss. You’ve had four days of hard yakka.’

‘Yeah, but we saved the Kalgoorlie Company with minimal job loss and angst, so it was worth it.’

‘I caught up with a couple of the guys at the pub, Boss. Regular battlers, who had believed the company was gone belly up for sure. You got in there and saved it. You saved some lives for sure.’

Roy chuckled. ‘More likely we saved some marriages.’

Another project successfully completed. Another notch in his belt. There would be celebrations in the Sydney and Canberra offices, yet there was no sense of elation for him. Only a feeling of futility in what he had accomplished. The company was growing, in size, fame and capital. But every time he returned home and looked at his father, he felt the emptiness of his life. His business success had no real meaning, because there would be no next generation to inherit it all.

‘Fifteen minutes to touchdown, Boss,’ Mike called out.

Roy clicked on his seat belt. The high wing of the Cessna gave him an unobstructed view of the township of Jindabyne nestled in the curve of Kosciuszko Road. He picked out the grey-black rooftops of Nuggets Crossing Shopping Centre, Jindabyne Medical Centre clearly distinguishable as a new addition facing away from the lake. He flicked his cuff back and glanced at his watch. It was six pm. Sheva would be just finishing up for the day. He wondered what she did on an evening, apart from the gym workout. Maybe she had a dinner date with the ranger Dan.

Roy was surprised at the shaft of possessive jealousy that ripped through him.

Well, ranger Dan could do with some competition.

The aircraft banked over the mountains. The dense bush gave way to gnarled, windswept snow gums, followed higher up by flat alpine vegetation. Yellow, white and mauve fields of summer wildflower carpeted the lower slopes, giving way to the green-blue of sphagnum moss higher up. Remnants of winter snow clung to the grey brown alpine high peaks.

The winding ribbons of walking tracks were barely visible. He picked out his favourite one, the Main Range trail that descended from Charlotte pass to cross the humble beginnings of the mighty Snowy River, then continued to Mount Carruthers and on to Mount Kosciuszko. A day of bushwalking would do him good. He wondered whether Sheva liked walking, smiling at the recollection of their first encounter. She’d need to wear more than her hot pink gym shorts for a day in the Snowy Mountains.

The wheels touched down with a barely perceptible bump. Roy jumped out as soon as the aircraft was stationary. He dragged out his travel bag.

‘Anxious to get home, eh, Boss?’ Mike walked around the aircraft. Ignoring Roy’s outstretched hand, Mike patted the younger man on his shoulder. ‘Take it easy, Roy. You’ve had a rough few days. Say hello to Edward next time you talk to him, okay?’

Roy nodded. Mike, like everyone else assumed his father, Edward, was on an extended holiday at their farm in rural England, supervising the company and his son from a distance. How long would he be able to keep up the charade?

Roy rolled his bag over to his car parked in the aerodrome garage, and tucked it in the boot of the Range Rover. Jumping in, he waved goodbye to Mike, drove down the mud road to Barry Way, and veered to the left. Parking on the gravel shoulder, he pulled out his mobile.

‘I trust all’s well, Samson?’

Samson sounded his cheery best. ‘Welcome home, Roy. And congratulations on another successful venture. Colin called. The Sydney office is pretty impressed with how quickly you did the job. As for here, all’s under control.’

‘Sam,’ Roy began with some hesitation. ‘Would it be all right if I swung into town for an hour or so?’

The chuckle rumbled from deep in Samson’s chest. ‘Sure. Take your time. Oh, and by the way, drop in and check with the good doctor.’

‘Doctor Sheva. Why?’

‘The same. She called yesterday. Wanted to know how you were. I told her you were away on business. Assured her I had packed your antibiotics. The lady is mighty concerned about you, Roy.’ He chuckled again.

‘She’s just doing her professional duty, Sam. I’ll drop in and check with her.’

‘See you later tonight. Don’t rush.’

It was a short ten minute drive to Jindabyne town centre. There was no traffic on the road, and Roy allowed himself the luxury of driving well below the speed limit.

He crested the hill and Lake Jindabyne stretched out before him, shimmering gold and orange under the slanting rays of the setting sun. Beyond the water, the Kalkite mountain range slumbered in a deep blue-green haze. It was peaceful and tranquil. He stopped the car and sat back, taking in the view and allowing the stress and pressure of the last four days to drift away. Starting the car again, he continued his leisurely drive towards Jindabyne, anticipation replacing exhaustion.

Turning right at the roundabout, he sped up with the traffic on Kosciuszko Road. He passed Happy Possum Gym; its sign at the driveway of the Snowy Mountains Holiday Resort creaked and shuddered in a gust of evening wind. Maybe he should drop in and surprise Sheva during her workout. That would get an interesting response.

No, he didn’t want to start the evening on a sour note. She’d said she lived opposite the medical centre. He would wait for her there.

Roy drove into the Nuggets Crossing Shopping Centre and pulled up outside the clinic. He glanced at his watch. It was almost six thirty. He had expected the clinic to be shuttered and locked, but the lights were still on.

Through the open window he saw Sheva, seated across from a man in a worn flannel shirt and ragged khaki trousers. Roy recognised Tom, a vagrant who lived in a decrepit caravan, surviving on odd jobs and handouts. Sheva reached forward and placed her finger tips on the wrist of the calloused cigarette stained hand. Whatever she said to her patient elicited an open mouthed guffaw. Roy flinched, imagining the malodorous breath from the stained and decayed teeth. Sheva smiled and stood up. She shook hands with Tom and handed him a card of tablets.

She would be furious if she noticed his voyeuristic observation. Roy stepped out of the car. Leaning on the hood, he watched Tom shuffle out of the clinic and trudge off down the road to the caravan park. He continued to watch as Sheva made a phone call and the nurse Rosie walked around inside the clinic, shutting the windows and pulling down the blinds.

They stepped out together, laughing at something Sheva said. Rosie saw him and turned to Sheva. Whatever she said made Sheva’s eyes narrow. He was a little too far away to hear Sheva’s response, but with his eyes fixed on her face, he read her lips, ‘I’ll deal with him.’ Rosie smiled and turned to lock and check the door. With a blithe wave to him, Rosie trudged off in the opposite direction.

Pushing away from the car, Roy walked across the road to meet Sheva.

Her smile conflicted with the guarded look in her eyes. ‘Good evening, Roy. I hope this doesn’t mean you need the clinic opened after hours again.’

Roy pushed up the sleeve of his shirt to expose his left forearm, the injury now covered by a length of skin coloured tape. ‘No, I had the wound dressed by my doctor in Canberra. He said it was the best surgical suturing he has ever seen. It’s healed well.’

She studied his forearm, and raised her eyes to meet his. ‘You came,’ she ran her eyes over his sky blue raw silk shirt open at the neck, Armani wool trousers and bespoke leather shoes. Her eyes fixed on his gold Piaget watch— ‘straight here from Canberra to give me a medical update?’ She bit her bottom lip, sending Roy’s blood pressure up.

‘I left for business the day after you visited the farm. I realised I didn’t say thank you, so here I am to express my gratitude and ask if you would like to have dinner with me.’ He glanced around at Nuggets Crossing Shopping Centre. ‘Or maybe coffee?’

Anxiety and apprehension flashed across her face. She hesitated before replying, ‘I am tired. I’m famished too. I’ve been at the clinic all day and haven’t had a proper meal since breakfast.’ She contemplated for a few seconds. ‘Would you like to come over to my place and I’ll fix us something? I have chicken and salad in the fridge.’ She glanced across the road at a little cedar cottage with the gable roof and dormer windows.

‘I would be delighted to have dinner with you, Sheva, but I don’t want to be a bother. Maybe we could get something delivered.’

Sheva rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘Take away food in Jindabyne? You have a choice between Ronnie’s Pizza and Wu’s fried rice. She pointed to the tired looking shop fronts. Oh, there’s Raj’s Curries, but I definitely would not recommend it. The Brasserie at Banjo Patterson’s is good. I don’t go there often, though. When I do, I end up running an informal clinic over veal schnitzel.’

She crossed the road, stopped at the front door of her house and looked back.

‘Coming?’ She pulled out a bunch of keys, and proceeded to unlock the front door.

She had newly installed double locks; a little excessive for security in Jindabyne, Roy thought. He held the door open and she walked in ahead of him.

Sheva dumped her shoulder bag on the wooden centre table and kicked off her shoes. ‘I’m so tired. I’ve been on my feet all day.’ She arched her body and shook out her arms and hands. Stretching on tiptoe, she lifted and twirled her ankles, one by one.

Her feet and ankles, like her hands, were slim and strong. The toes were painted a rose pink. Roy had a vision of holding her feet on his lap: massaging her heel and hearing her whimper of satisfaction. He pulled himself back from the fantasy of what he would do with those rosy toes. ‘I’ll let you fix dinner for me today, Sheva, on one condition.’

‘What?’’

‘You fly with me to Canberra one evening soon for a proper dinner.’

She spun round to stare at him. ‘Fly? As in— as in your own plane?’

Roy nodded. ‘My Cessna 210. I use it for business. It’s at Jindabyne aerodrome. I flew in from Canberra on it today.’

‘A lovely invitation, thank you,’ she called over her shoulder as she padded her way barefoot across the slate floor to the attached kitchen. He heard the sound of running water. ‘I’ll start the coffee. I need to run up and get out of my work clothes.’

Roy followed her to the kitchen. ‘Go ahead. I’ll make the coffee.’

‘Thank you.’ She brushed past him and ran light-footed up the stairs. ‘Mugs are in the cupboard over the coffee machine. I take mine black, no sugar,’ she called.

She hadn’t responded to his invitation for dinner in Canberra.

It was a small and cosy kitchen. The solid timber dining table and the four chairs around it were hand crafted, as was the hutch dresser, which was pushed against one wall. There wasn’t a single family photograph anywhere in the room, just as there hadn’t been any in the sitting room.

Roy picked up two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with the freshly brewed coffee. He topped his with milk from the fridge and carried both mugs to the dining table.

Two medical journals lay on the table. Both dated December 2008. He picked up one that read “Neuromuscular Disorders”. It fell open at an article titled “Being the lifeline: The parent experience of caring for a child with neuromuscular disorder”. Phrases in the article were underlined and highlighted. Roy glanced at the other journal, “Musculoskeletal Surgery”.

It wasn’t what he would have expected a country GP to be reading.

He turned the journals over. The address labels on the back cover had been cut out.

Dr Sheva Singh was hiding something.

Chapter 22

He heard Sheva’s footsteps on the wooden staircase. Positioning the journals as they had been on the table, Roy picked up the two mugs of coffee and went into the lounge.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting. A hot shower is a must for me after a day with so many patients.’

She had changed from her black trousers and white blouse into a blue cotton sleeveless dress. It clung to her body and flowed over her hips to just above her knees. Her damp hair clung in a black-brown cap of curls, but she had taken the time for mascara and lipstick.

She picked up her coffee and took a sip. With a contented sigh, she continued into the kitchen. On her way, she picked up the journals from the dining table and shoved them into the drawer of the hutch.

He followed her. ‘Anything I can do?’

She picked up a hair tie from the window ledge and pulled her hair back from her face in a short ponytail.

‘You look good with your hair loose.’

‘You don’t want a hair in your grilled chicken.’

Roy didn’t enlighten her on how much he would happily tolerate a handful of hair with his chicken for the pleasure of watching her hair bounce when she talked. Or maybe the opportunity to run his fingers through her hair, the way she had just done.

Soon the smell of chicken cooking swirled around the kitchen.

Roy’s stomach rumbled. ‘Wow, it smells amazing.’

‘It’s in the marinade. A mixture of hot-spice, ginger and turmeric. Ancient Sri Lankan recipe. My grandmother taught me to cook when I was a teenager. The mixture of spices is supposed to be good for your heart and energising at the end of a hard day’s work.’ She pointed to the fridge. ‘Can you get the salad out, please? It’s on the top shelf in a glass bowl.’

Roy took the salad out of the fridge. He raised the edge of the wrap covering it and sniffed. ‘This smells great too. What have you put in here?’

She placed the braised chicken breasts on individual plates and poured the residual sauce over them. ‘Just some vegies, fresh mint and yoghurt, with a dash of ginger and honey. Of course, we don’t eat anything without a touch of curry.’

‘I can’t wait to taste it.’

‘Sorry, I don’t have any wine’. Sheva placed glasses of water by the plates. She gestured to the salad. ‘The spice combination of yoghurt, honey and ginger is supposed to be an aphrodisiac. But don’t worry—’ her lips lifted in a smile— ‘it’s just a folk tale.’

With the way he was feeling right now, an aphrodisiac was the last thing he needed. A cold shower would be rather more appropriate.

‘I picked up the recipe for the salad dressing from my grandmother too,’ she continued. ‘I am—was her only granddaughter. She passed away six years ago. She taught me what she believed a girl needed to know before she went into an arranged marriage. Finding a good man and learning how to keep him happy was all important to her and women of her generation.’ She rolled her eyes and looked away through the window into the darkening garden.

‘How interesting, you are the second woman within the last two months who has talked to me about arranged marriage as a family obligation. Is it still common? Are you expected to comply?’

She stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. ‘In our part of the world, every girl, especially if you are born into a conservative family, like I am, is brought up with the skills to be a wife and mother, and expected to agree to an arranged marriage. These days, however, professionals like myself have a choice.’

‘Would you agree to an arranged marriage?’

‘As you said, there are family obligations, but I will do what is right for me.’

He leant across the table and looked into her eyes. ‘Would you consider it right for you to date an Anglo man?’

‘I’ve no time for dates here. I am far too busy.’

Her perfume, warm, spicy and floral drifted over to him. He glanced at her neck, seeing a thin gold chain and a small cross nestled in her cleavage. Roy blinked, he was hallucinating. There was no chain and cross on Sheva’s neck. Annie and Sheva were morphing into one in his weary, sleep deprived brain.

Sheva raised her fingers to her neck, as if to touch a pendent that wasn’t there, and pointed to the chicken. ‘Come, let’s eat while the chicken is still warm.’

They sat opposite each other at the table. Sheva bent her head and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Grace before dinner. It swung his mind back to a time when as a little boy, he and his parents had sat around their dining table in their cottage in Sydney. Holding hands while his father recited a blessing over the meal his mother had cooked. The last time he had said thanks before a meal was when, as a teenager, he had spent a year at the boarding school in Newington College, while his parents were on their world tour. It was also a very long time since his mother had bothered to cook anything.

He brought his thoughts back to the moment. To the woman sitting opposite him.

The chicken practically melted in his mouth. The flavours were an explosion of delight on his taste buds and olfactory nerve endings. ‘This is truly delicious. Next time—’ he gestured to the glasses of water— ‘I’ll bring the wine. A white would be best. I’d go for a sparkling Blanc de Noirs with your spicy cooking.

Her fingers tightened on the cutlery. She kept her eyes fixed on her plate. Her voice was soft and controlled. ‘You mentioned about meeting again. I told you, I have no time for dates.’

‘Why, Sheva?’ he pushed. ‘You just said you would do what is right for you.’

She raised her eyes from the plate. ‘True, but right now, developing a relationship is not the right choice for my life.’

‘Sheva, I’m inviting you for dinner, maybe a bushwalk up Mount Kosciuszko. Just some healthy entertainment for a Snowy summer, not a long term commitment.’

Her eyes skidded away from his. She looked uncertain, even anxious. The feelings of sexual pull and desire faded. Instead, he felt an overwhelming urge to care for her; to pick her up, and hold her on his lap. Tell her he would help her fight the demons that made her lips quiver and eyes cloud with emotion; to hide out in a one-horse town, under the guise of a country doctor.

Instinct told him he had to take it slowly with Sheva. Earn her trust. The feelings surprised him. He had always thought of himself as a pursuer and enjoyer, even a user, but never a protector of women.

He reached across the table and let his fingers cover hers. She didn’t pull away.

Her eyelids dropped, a shield over her emotion. Her smile carried hints of sadness and regret. ‘Roy, we can’t see each other. There are—are circumstances. I can’t have involvements in my life.’ She stopped, pulled her hand away from his and picked up the empty plates. She carried the plates to the sink.

It was dark outside and Roy could see her reflection in the glass window over the sink. The look on her face pulled at Roy’s heartstrings. In a couple of strides he stood behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her towards him. She didn’t resist.

‘Annie, what’s bothering you? Please talk to me.’

She stiffened and pulled away. ‘What— what did you call me?’ Her eyes widened.

‘I—I called you—I called you Annie, didn’t I?’ He frowned. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did it. Annie is the name of the girl I met at a party recently.’

He stopped. The journals with names removed. Her competence at surgery. Annie—she worked with Monica. He had assumed she was a nurse, and she hadn’t contradicted him. Monica was a consultant at Queen Elizabeth Hospital. Maybe Annie was too.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Sheva placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

There was one way to find out.

Roy pulled her close. Her body fitted into his, just as Annie’s had on that night.

Just for a moment, she rested her cheek on his chest. It was a gesture of trust that reached in and squeezed Roy’s heart.

‘No! Stop, Roy.’

‘Sheva.’ He moved his lips over her forehead. Her body trembled in his arms. She was like an exotic tropical bird that wanted to be in his arms, but was held captive by some deep primal terror.

‘Please, Roy, don’t.’

He covered her protest with his lips, and drew her sob into his mouth.

The taste of her, the smell, the hint of a subtle floral perfume on her skin, surely, these were the lips that had responded to him at the masquerade ball. He slipped his hands down her body. This was the body in the silly red cat-woman suit. This was Annie.

She was here in Jindabyne masquerading as Doctor Sheva Singh, and there was something happening in her life that terrified her. He had to find out what it was. Only then could he help her.

She pushed him away. ‘Stop, this is all wrong.’

‘Sheva, what is the matter? Are you running away from something, or someone? You’re hiding here in Jindabyne, aren’t you? Who are you, Sheva?’

She stepped back. ‘Roy, I have no idea what you are talking about, or who this Annie is.’ She walked to the front door and held it open, keeping her eyes averted from his. ‘I think you should leave now.’

Roy followed her to the door and stood just inside. He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. Her face was now controlled and devoid of all emotion. ‘I’ll leave now, Sheva, Annie, or whoever you are, but I will be back.’

She stepped back and shut the front door behind him. He heard the lock click in place. She stood at the window and watched him walk to his car and get in.

Starting the car, he drove away from Nuggets Crossing. Once he was well away from streetlights, on the shoulder of Kalkite Street, he switched off the car’s engine and turned the headlights off.

Sheva’s cottage was clearly visible to him. Although, in the twilight, his black car would pass for just another one parked on the street.

The curtains were closed, and the lights inside the cottage were on. He watched her silhouette as she picked up her phone, and paced across the lounge. In a few minutes, a silver SUV with the black and gold emblem of the National Parks and Wildlife Service drew up. Sheva opened the front door of her house.

Roy’s stomach churned in anger and bitterness at the site of Sheva held in the protective circle of Dan Coopers arms. Switching on the engine, he slammed his foot on the accelerator. The wheels crunched on the gravel as the car skidded around.

God help any wallaby, wombat or echidna who got in his way today.

Chapter 23

She had responded to Roy, just the way she had on the night of the masquerade ball. She knew Roy had recognised her by her reaction to his kiss. It had been bittersweet, both a revelation and a self-betrayal. She had always prided herself on her self-control and reserve. All it had taken was a meeting of lips to tear down her defences.

‘You think he recognised you?’ Dan’s arms tightened around her. ‘Calm down, girl, you’re shivering.’

Dan assumed she was shivering with fear. Better he think that, than he know she had betrayed herself with a kiss: a sort of reverse Judas.

‘Sheva, what happened?’

‘He called me Annie. It’s strange, but he seemed surprised himself when he said it.’

‘You did tell him, how to Anglo men, all subcontinental girls look alike.’

‘No, it isn’t so simple,’ Sheva shook her head, ‘somehow, he saw through my—my persona as Sheva. I think he noticed my medical journals on the dining table. He’s smart. He would have recognised that the articles aren’t what a country GP would read. He also commented how my work on his arm was more surgical than that of a country doctor.’

‘Did he question you or threaten you in any way?’

‘No, more like—’

The squeal of car wheels skidding on gravel rent the quiet of the Jindabyne night. Dan leapt to cover Sheva’s body with his. He shoved her back into the room and slammed the front door shut, his movements lightning fast as he snapped the double lock shut and flicked off the light.

Grabbing Sheva’s hand, he dragged her to the kitchen and pushed her down on a chair. He stood between her and the kitchen window. The lace curtains on the kitchen window barely blocked the light outside, and the street lights shone through the drapes, reflecting a dull golden glow into the room. ‘Like a blasted shop display. I need to get thicker curtains installed on all these windows.’

‘Dan, is somebody watching me. Could Sunil or his partners have traced me? Could someone be stalking me?’

‘No, not without us knowing.’ He pulled out his phone. He paused with his finger poised over the dial. ‘Your clinic attendant, what’s his name?’

‘Peter.’

‘Have you got his number? He might have seen something’

Sheva moved to the sitting room. She opened her bag and read out Peter’s number.

‘Peter, this is Dan Cooper.’ He smiled. ‘Yes, I am here across the road with Sheva. Did you see a car break all speed limits leaving here?’ He listened and chortled. ‘Thanks, good night.’

‘What the heck is so funny, Dan?’

‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Doc. Peter tells me he saw a Land Rover parked in the corner with lights off. He saw it when he returned from the pub. He looked out when he heard the skid and it was the Land Rover.’ He chuckled. ‘Your stalker is Roy Knight.’

‘Roy. But why would he—’

‘You threw him out, Sheva. He is hurt, bewildered and curious. He watched me drive up to your place and—’ he paused— ‘he saw you fall into my arms.’

‘You mean, he thinks you and I are together?’

‘He draws what, to him, is an obvious conclusion. I think the man is more than a little attracted to you.’

‘That’s nonsense. We met a few days ago.’

‘No, Sheva, you met before, and in your words, you were naughty. Did he give you any indication he is attracted to the new you?’ He stared into her eyes. ‘Be honest with me, Sheva, what happened today?’

‘He asked me to fly with him, in his private plane to Canberra for dinner.’ She paused, mortified at being forced to share her intimate secrets. ‘We—’ she shrugged. Best to brazen it out— ‘we kissed. It’s no big deal, really.’

‘Sheva, you don’t have to feel guilty about this. You can’t be expected to live the life of a nun here. You are allowed to make some friends.’ He placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled. ‘Even boyfriends.’

She shrugged his hands off and stepped back. ‘Come on, Dan. I am a professional, a woman who has led an independent life to the age of twenty-eight. I am not a helpless girl who needs a man to keep her happy.’

Dan raised his hands in surrender. ‘Whoa, calm down, Sheva. You may not need him, but he could be useful.’

‘Useful? Not the protection thing again!’

‘Give me a minute, I need to make a call.’ He moved away from her and into the spare bedroom.

Sheva went back to the kitchen and pulled out her medical journals from the drawer. She sat at the kitchen table, trying to concentrate on an article on recent technological advances in neuromuscular management of muscle spasms.

She wondered how her relationship with Roy might have developed if they had met before she made a commitment in Sri Lanka. But, they had met just before she left for her marriage, and she had chosen to ignore his and her friends’ advice.

She had chosen to trust Sunil. Her thoughts turned to Sri Lanka. She had been so wrong about Sunil. And yet, she still felt a tug of guilt at her betrayal of him. Whatever he was now, she remembered and cared for the friend and confidante he had been to her.

A smile tugged at her lips at the thought of Dan. Her protector, guide and guardian. A good, strong and brave man. She had no doubt he would risk his life to save her. With his part Sri Lankan heritage, he was the kind of man she could care for. And she did.

Three men. What a mess.

‘We have a plan.’ Lost in her thoughts, Sheva hadn’t noticed Dan return.

‘A plan for what?’

‘For your boyfriend.’

‘Roy is not—’

Dan shrugged. ‘Forget the semantics, the man is obviously very attracted to you, maybe even in love with you—’

‘He’s not, and I don’t believe in romance—’

‘Okay, Doc, let’s assume he isn’t. He’s useful to us.’

‘Dan—’ Sheva got out of her chair to stand in front of him— ‘you’re not making sense.’

‘Let me explain. Roy is a man used to getting what he wants. Right now, he is attracted to you, and seeing you with me, thinking you may even be in love with me, will raise his competitive spirit. He’ll be in touch soon.’

‘Assuming he does— and I’m not as certain as you about that— what am I supposed to do?’

‘We’ve run in-depth searches on him. He seems okay on all counts, except for the fact that he is extremely reclusive when it comes to his farm. We want you to see him. I’ll have you covered. In fact, I’ll bring you a locator beacon—’ he glanced at her handbag— ‘and you can slip it into your handbag.’

‘I don’t like it. What am I supposed to do if he asks me if I am Annie?’

‘We need to let him know enough to make him an extra protective shield around you. I need to do a little more digging before I let him in.’

Sheva gasped. ‘You want me to tell Roy the truth about Sunil and his activities? It’s humiliating. It’s horrible.’

‘An edited version. I’ll let you know when and how much.’

‘Until then, how am I supposed to behave if he contacts me?’

‘Accept his invitations and go out with him. Keep me informed where and when. I’d rather you don’t leave Jindabyne, so postpone the Canberra trip.’

‘It feels like I am using him.’

‘No.’ Dan took her hands in his. ‘Be Sheva, a trainee GP in a country town, happy to date an eligible bachelor.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘Okay, just do it. Things are heating up, Sheva, we need as much cover as we can get. Go out with Roy and enjoy yourself. Pretend to be in love with him if necessary. It won’t be for too long. We—I will be with you all the way.’ He stopped and looked into her eyes.

‘I don’t like it, Dan. But, yes, I’ll do it, because it is the right thing to do.’

She who so proudly pronounced that she didn’t believe in romance, had permission to allow herself to fall in love with Roy. Monica and Suzanne would fall over laughing.

Chapter 24

Roy dressed in the moonlight filtering through the curtains into his bedroom. Switching on the lights would wake Samson. He didn’t need his friend’s concern right now.

He hadn’t slept well the last couple of nights. He was working on a new project. It would take some delicate negotiation, and would probably need a trip or two to Canberra, maybe even to Sydney. There was nothing unusual about that. Work issues usually didn’t keep him up at night.

Seeing Sheva in Dan’s arms had unnerved him. ‘Back off you moron,’ he growled to himself. ‘You don’t need any more complications in your life.’

A brisk walk across the paddocks at dawn would clear his mind, and allow him to focus on work.

He grabbed his binoculars off the side table. ‘Here, Ares, Tyche,’ Roy summoned his dogs. They leapt off their baskets and followed him out. He strode away from the house. The gravel path meandered through the ancient eucalyptus trees, winding up the ridge.

He climbed up and stood panting at the top.

The paddocks and fenced enclosures were dark shadows spread out below him in the silvery black of the predawn mist. Distant gum trees stood proud and tall, sentinels of the Australian bush. A mob of kangaroos was feeding in a grassy flat beyond the farm.

This was all his. He had a successful international business, a beautiful home in Vaucluse and this alpaca hobby farm in Jindabyne. There was no satisfaction for him personally in any of it. It was his father’s dream, not his. Edward Broughton-Knight had named the farm ‘Destiny’. It had turned out to be prophetic.

He leant on the silver white bark of a eucalypt. The dogs whined and flopped at his feet.

Night gave way to dawn. The chatter of multi-coloured parrots and a chorus of currawong heralded the sunrise. The sun peeped over the mountains, bleeding orange and pink over the grey clouds and slanting golden rays over the yellow box gums and acacia trees in the paddocks below him. Slim drooping grey-green leaves of gum trees twirled in the rising wind. Cloud shadows chased one another across the flanks of the mountains. It promised to be a bright and windy summer day in the Snowy Mountains.

The first of the alpaca stepped out of the purpose-built heated shed into the grassy enclosure. The others soon followed. Roy raised his binoculars to his eyes. He loved watching the Suri alpaca pack, they were so placid and beautiful, with their white silken tassels hanging like dreadlocks straight down from the body, and long-lashed soulful eyes.

A couple of the young ones, known as cria, chased each other across the enclosure. Occasionally springing up in what Roy had learned was called pronking, an alpaca expression of joie-de-vivre. Roy scanned the animals, now grazing on the grass and fresh hay in their feed troughs. There was no sign of the pregnant hembra Evita. She was due to drop any time now. He lowered his binoculars. He should get back and see what was happening with her.

The phone in his back pocket began to vibrate.

‘Good Morning, Boss.’ It was Rodrigo, his farm manager. ‘Saw you up on the rise looking at our friends in the paddock. Thought I should update you. Evita popped her cria a couple of hours ago. Mum and bub are just fine.’

Rodrigo was another of his father’s finds. A trained alpaca farmer recently migrated from Chile. He and his wife Maria had been grateful for the opportunity to use their skills and live in the pristine environment of the Snowy Mountains. Rodrigo was competent at his job as farm manager, and completely trustworthy.

‘It’s a girl, Roy. Want to come down and see her?’ Rodrigo asked. ‘This is your first baby. Choose a name on your way down.’

His first baby. Would it be his only one?

‘I’ll be down in a few minutes, Rodrigo.’

Roy jogged towards the farm house. Alpaca didn’t take well to dogs and he didn’t want to spook Evita. He would drop the dogs off first. The lights were on, and Samson stood at the front gate watching Roy and the dogs approach.

‘Sam?’

Samson opened the gate to let the dogs in. ‘Don’t stress, Roy.’ He shut the gate after the dogs. ‘I saw you sneak out in the moonlight. Couldn’t sleep?’

‘Just one of those nights, mate.’ He pointed towards the Alpaca enclosure. ‘Evita dropped her cria last night. I’m off to check on her. Rodrigo wants me to name her.’

Samson laughed and snapped his fingers at the dogs. ‘Go visit with your baby. I’ll see you have a good breakfast when you return.’

Evita and her baby had joined the herd by the time Roy entered the enclosure. A couple of other alpaca stood close to the mother and baby. The stout macho, Domingo, who had sired the cria was standing closest. Evita greeted Rodrigo and Roy with a happy purring hum. Her black eyes gazed at them in contended pride. The cria, just hours old and already steady on her feet, burrowed into her mother, suckling.

‘Go on, Boss, stroke her. Let her bond with you.’ Rodrigo stepped aside to let Roy get close.

Roy crouched by the animals, and placed his hand on the cria’s soft furry head. She stilled, then pulled away from her mother’s teats and turned her eyes to him. Roy looked into soft black eyes, fringed with long lashes; eyes that had only just seen the world and yet seemed to carry the wisdom of ages. She rubbed her head on Roy’s palm with a barely audible hum.

Roy’s heart filled with protective love for this new life, the evidence of his father’s hope for the future. Keeping his hand on the cria’s head, he turned to Rodrigo.

‘Let’s name her Sheva.’

***

He wanted Sheva in his life. They were both young and unattached. He sensed a loneliness in her. They would be good together, for as long as they were both here in Jindabyne. She had been spooked when he called her Annie. He hadn’t done it intentionally. But, the more he thought about it, Sheva and Annie blended to one in his mind.

Annie had gone home to get married. If Sheva was Annie incognito, then she was hiding here in Jindabyne because she was in some sort of serious trouble, and ranger Dan had some role in it.

He needed to know, and he needed time with her to find out. Once he knew, he could help her deal with whatever she was struggling with, and perhaps they could find comfort together.

Sitting here brooding in his farm surrounded by alpaca wouldn’t make it happen.

Roy glanced at his watch. Six o’clock. He pulled out his mobile phone and realised he didn’t know her phone number, but he did have Dan’s.

Dan answered on the first ring.

‘Why do you want her number, Roy? And what makes you think I would give it to you?’

Dan’s tone sent sharp slivers of anger through Roy. He controlled his temper. ‘Dan, I thought she might enjoy getting away to the mountains for the day. She looked stressed when I met her last.’

Dan was silent for a few seconds. ‘Okay. I’ll text it through to you.’

***

Sheva answered on the second ring. ‘Good morning. Dr Sheva Singh.’

‘Good morning to you too, Sheva. Hope I didn’t wake you. You don’t work on Saturday, do you?’

He sensed her hesitance in the momentary pause, the quick indrawn breath. ‘How did you get my mobile number?’

‘I called Dan.’

Another pause.

‘Right, to answer your question, I am not on duty on Saturday. All serious cases are sent direct to Cooma. Others come back on Monday morning. And no, you didn’t wake me.’

‘It’s a glorious day, are you up to some vigorous outdoor activity?’

Sheva laughed. ‘I just returned from a walk by the lake. It’s magical at sunrise.’

‘I’ve got an idea for something even more magical. Let’s do a trek up to Mount Kosciuszko. Have you been up there?’

‘No, I haven’t. I heard it’s an all-day trek.’ She hesitated. ‘Will it be just us on the walk?’

‘Sheva, the Kosciuszko boardwalk in summer is busier than Sydney’s Pitt Street Mall at a Boxing Day sale. We will definitely not be on our own.’

‘It sounds interesting.’ Sheva responded after another couple of seconds pause. ‘The walk, not the fact that it will be full of people.’

A thrill shot through Roy. He would have her for the whole day. He would show her she could trust him with whatever was worrying her. ‘I’ll pick you up in forty-five minutes. Bring a large bottle of water and dress warm. I’ll pack us some food. Layer your clothes. Long sleeve top, walking shoes, a beanie, scarf and gloves also. It’s rough ground in places. The weather can change real fast. It can get awfully nippy real quick. The sun’s still a killer. The UV is super strong, so you don’t want to burn.’

Sheva laughed. ‘Roy, I have a natural tan. We Subcontinentals don’t burn.’

‘Brown skins burn, Sheva. I’ll bring the sunscreen and insect repellent.’

‘Insects?’

‘Yeah, March flies. A wretched nuisance for bushwalkers, but essential for the cross pollination of the native wildflowers.’

‘Flies, sunburn and rough terrain— and you call it magical.’ Sheva laughed. ‘I’ll go get ready.’

‘And Sheva, lovely as you look in them, no hot pink shorts.’

‘Very funny.’

Roy rang the farm house. ‘Sam, I’m going for a walk to Kosciuszko. Can you pack me some food?’

‘I’m glad you’re going bushwalking, it always helps you settle your head. What are you doing? The main range, Townsend, Merritts track?’

‘No. Thredbo and the Boardwalk.’

Samson guffawed. ‘A cakewalk for you. I get it. Not going on your own, are you, Roy?’ He chortled. ‘You’ve invited the good doctor for a stroll. I’ll pack food for two.’

Roy paced his drive into Jindabyne to allow her time to get ready. He reminisced on what his life had been and how it had changed. His work was enjoyable. It was challenging and rewarding, both mentally and financially. Both his bank account and investment portfolio were evidence of it. But, it would lead nowhere. There was no future for him. The charities he supported and the research foundation he was patron of were grateful for the donations. Would there be any research breakthrough in time for him? Probably not.

The futility and loneliness of his life weighed down his heart. Father had thought his mother would be there for him to the end. Roy had taken Charlene’s devotion to him as a given. Women like mother and Charlene didn’t have the resilience, or maybe even the sacrificial love needed to deal with the challenges of marriage.

No woman did.

Forget commitment and forever, he would live for today. And he would convince Sheva she needed to do the same.

CHAPTER 25

Dan picked up on the first ring. ‘I was about to call you. You’re going bushwalking with the alpaca farmer.’

‘You gave him my telephone number, but how do you know— no, don’t bother to respond, you have my phone line bugged.’

‘Guilty as accused. But, as I keep repeating, Sheva, it is for your own good— no, your safety. It’ll be a lovely day on the mountain. Take your locator beacon, and watch how you deal with Roy. Remember, you can get close, but be careful what—’

‘Dan, I don’t like taking instructions—’

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘Never mind. How am I supposed to act today?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

His teasing tone brought a smile to her lips. She had no right to be nasty.

‘I am at your command,’ she replied in the same playful tone.

‘Here’s what we want you to do. Check your wardrobe, you will have clothes suitable for the day in the mountains. It’s hard to be sexy when bushwalking, but you’ve got a good selection, so, dress to impress. Take warm clothes, water—’

‘Sunscreen, sunglasses, insect repellent, I know.’

‘Let him set the pace. We have decided to leave this to your discretion. If and when you feel comfortable, you can tell him some of the information. I have texted you the version we want you to share with Roy. Now get going, we don’t want to keep lover boy waiting.’

‘Lover boy. Come on—’

‘Hey, don’t get prickly on me girl. And, by the way—’

‘What else, Dan?’

‘Enjoy your day.’ Dan chuckled and cut the line.

***

Sheva opened the wardrobe and looked at the blouses, skirts, pants and coats— all colour coordinated, and on hangers. Shoes were on the rack for casual wear and work.

Her thoughts spun back to her first day here. Dan had walked with her through the house. Opening cupboards to display crockery and cutlery, shelves stocked with cereal, flour, sugar and cooking oil. A refrigerator with all the essentials. Even a spice rack on the counter by the stove, stocked with Sri Lankan chilli, turmeric, cinnamon, cardamom and curry powder. Sheva had followed him, jet lagged and zombie-like, as he showed her where things were in the house.

‘Dan, how and who—’

‘You are the doctor here, Sheva. The supplies were part of the contract you signed when you accepted the job, together with the payment of the lease for the house for two months. It includes the electricity for lights, cooking, heating and air con.’

‘I didn’t sign anything.’

Ignoring her comment, Dan picked up her suitcase and walked ahead of her up the stairs. ‘The bedroom, study and bathroom are up here.’ He’d pointed to the open doors, walked through into the bedroom and put her suitcase down on the rack by the bed. ‘Bed’s made. And—’ He opened the wall cupboard— ‘spare sheets and towels. Also—’ the door of a mirrored wardrobe was swung open— ‘there’re clothes here in your size. Mainly summer clothes, work and leisure. You’ve also got warm coats, gloves and scarf for the freakish cold weather the Snowies can throw at you, even in summer.’

‘Dan,’ she’d tried to protest.

Dan had stood in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders, in a gesture she now accepted as comforting. ‘You are here as the new medical officer for the Jindabyne Medical Centre. Senior Registrar is the title they have given you.’

‘Who are they, Dan?’

The question had hung in the air between them unanswered.

‘The notes for your profile as Dr Sheva Singh are in the file.’ He had gestured to a brown envelope on the pillow of the four-poster bed. ‘The township of Jindabyne are aware they finally have a medical officer for their newly opened medical centre. Your nurse, Rosie, and clinic attendant, Peter, are expecting you at work the day after tomorrow. It gives you a day to fit into your new persona. Get some rest. I’ll come by tomorrow morning around seven to brief you and I’ll bring some breakfast.’

That was the moment it had truly sunk in. She was not Dr Maryanne Shevanthi Samarasinghe. She was now Sheva, a country GP. Thank God, they, whoever they were, let her continue as a doctor. She would have died if they didn’t allow her to practice medicine.

Well, this is where she was and who she was, and she had no choice but to live it. Fear and apprehension for the future had swirled through her. She’d stumbled, stopped and held on to a post of the bed, gasping. Her body was shaking.

Dan had turned and slipped his arm around her shoulder. ‘Shush, Sheva, we know this is hard for you. It is the only way we can keep you safe. You really have no choice. It won’t be for more than six to eight weeks. I’ll be there every step of the way.’

‘Do we have to pretend you’re my fiancé?’ She’d stammered at what it may entail.

The laughter had been spontaneous. ‘Tempting as it is, here, in Jindabyne, we can be good friends.’ He’d stared down at her. ‘However, it won’t matter if people think there’s something more than friendship between the ranger and the doctor.’

***

Dan had kept his promise of friendship and support. Now, four weeks later, she had adjusted to her new lifestyle, just.

Sheva flicked through the clothes. She selected a white cashmere turtle neck sweater and a pair of dark blue stretched jeans. She hadn’t needed to use the warm coats before. She pushed aside the black one and settled on the silver green. It was a sporty anorak style, cold-weather jacket. She read the label: “90% goose down and 10% feathers”. Amused at the thought of being covered by goose down, she slipped it on. The hooded style had a cinched waist with snap tabs, zip vents at the sides, a cosy rib-knit collar and woollen cuffs she could slip her thumbs into.

She brushed her hair and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Whoever stocked her wardrobe sure had good taste. Sliding a cream cashmere scarf off the rack, she twisted it around her neck. She applied her make up with care, outlining her eyes and lips to suit Sheva’s persona.

Picking up her backpack, she stuffed a woollen scarf, a thick knitted beanie and leather gloves into it. She slipped on her walking shoes, glad she had broken them in with her morning walks by the lake.

Downstairs, she put a bottle of water and a packet of cream biscuits into her backpack, stuck the locator beacon into her bag and picked up her sunglasses.

She shut and locked the front door. Standing in the garden, she scrolled through Dan’s message. It was a sterilised version of the events that had taken place in Sri Lanka. Now, she had to find the right time to share this with Roy so they could, as Dan said in the message, recruit him to the team.

Roy slowed the car to a stop and jumped out. ‘Hey, you look amused. What’s so funny?’

Sheva’s fingers went to her neck, where her cross would have nestled.

‘Just seeing another side of you. I know the businessman and the farmer,’ she gestured to his black padded jacket, the thigh hugging black jeans, and the well-worn Akubra on his head. ‘I guess this would be the intrepid adventurer look. Or maybe the mountain cowboy.’

Roy laughed. He raised his hand to tip the brim of his hat. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied with an exaggerated drawl.

She allowed Roy to tuck her backpack in the back seat and help her into the car. They drove away from Nuggets Crossing and down Kosciuszko Road. The road curved away from the lake. They were surrounded by dry grassy paddocks. Roy gestured to a sign by the road. ‘We turn into Alpine Way to Thredbo. Kosciuszko Road continues to Perisher Valley and Charlotte Pass. We’ll go that way next time, Sheva. It’s a longer and harder walk, but fully worth the effort. Once you get there, the views from Mount Carruthers are worth it.’

He called her Sheva and said nothing about her being Annie.

Sheva relaxed.

They were into the hills and climbing. ‘This is all good cattle and sheep country. In the old days, cattle were allowed to graze right up into the mountains. Grazing stopped in the 1950s to preserve the natural plants and wetland bogs of the Kosciuszko National Park.’

‘You farm alpaca.’

‘Hmmm, they are a sort of boutique farm animal. Once set up they can be managed with minimum staff.’

‘And you split your time between your accounting business and your farm.’

There was an almost imperceptible pause. ‘Yes.’

He didn’t want to talk about himself. She would let it rest for now. It wasn’t like she didn’t have skeletons in her cupboard.

‘Where are we now, Roy?’ She looked around at the tree studded paddocks on both sides of the road and toward the green and brown mountain ranges beyond.

The tension eased. ‘We’re in the Crackenback range. Over there—’ he pointed to a quaint little brick building hidden by pine trees— ‘is Crackenback Cottage. They have an interesting little maze, chocolate and strawberry muffins. We’ll stop for tea on the way back.’

Roy took the sharp curves on the road with the confidence of familiarity. They left the paddocks behind. Majestic and gnarled gum trees and shrub hemmed the road in.

‘I love these trees.’

‘Dendrophilia, Doc.’

She cuffed his thigh with a closed fist. ‘I’m not a greenie, but I find the gum trees absolutely fascinating.’

She pointed at two stout trees with dark-brown fibrous rough bark. They stood side by side, their branches reaching up, thick, sturdy and entwined. Fresh shoots sprouted from the dry rough bark at the lower parts of the trunks. ‘Those look like two old people holding hands, their skin parched and dry with age, arms gnarled and arthritic. Their grandchildren are gathered around them.’

Roy laughed. ‘Mountain gum, Sheva. And the grandchildren are epicormic buds. When the tree is burnt and the foliage removed, these buds are triggered into life and start to grow. Once these buds sprout, the tree begins to regrow all of the lost foliage and, over time, the tree recovers.’

Roy pointed across the valley where the whole hillside was covered by silver white skeletons. ‘What do you make of those Alpine Ash?’

‘They are the ghosts of times past.’ She leant toward him, her hand resting on his thigh, to stare out of the driver’s side window. ‘There’s so much new growth around those dead trees.’

‘The Alpine Ash responds differently to fire. The trees die, never to recover. Seeds stored in gum-nuts up in the tree tops are released following the fire; they germinate and grow.’

‘So, in dying, they create new life.’

Roy turned into a sharp bend. ‘Add philosopher to the list of achievements,’ he slowed at the national park entry gate. The lady in the booth glanced at the New South Wales Parks entry pass on his windscreen and waved him through with a smile.

‘You’re not excited about the trees are you?’

Roy flicked his eyes to her fingertips spread on his thigh. With a smile, he took his left hand off the wheel to cover hers. ‘My excitement has nothing to do with gum trees.’

Her gaze slid from his face to his lap. She flicked her hand away.

Roy’s laugh reverberated through the car. ‘Sheva, you are too easy to tease.’

Still laughing, Roy pointed to a sign that read “Thredbo Diggings”. ‘Ideal spot to camp overnight. Want to come with me sometime?’

Camping out in the open with Roy. Dan would throw a fit. But, if she wanted to, it was none of his business. ‘Maybe. What’s it like?’

‘It’s beautiful, right by the Thredbo River. Twilight brings out the ‘roos, wallabies, wombats and echidnas. If we’re lucky we could even spot a duck billed platypus. Have you ever seen a platypus?’

‘No. Aren’t they indigenous to Australia?’

‘Yep, sort of a cross between a large water rat and a broad billed duck. We could even do some fly-fishing for trout.’ He smiled at her. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’ll bring separate tents and zip you up secure so the snakes and spiders don’t get at you.’

‘You have the most charming way of inviting a girl to spend time with you. If it isn’t sunburn and a fly attack on a freezing mountain, it’s a snake or spider bite by the river.’

‘It’ll all grow on you, Sheva. You’ll be a naturalised Snowy woman before you know it.’

‘Naturalised or not, I think I’ll pass on the spiders, snakes and sundry other mammals.’

‘Come on, Sheva, take some risks with your life. It’s cleansing to the mind and body.’

Sheva stayed silent.

She could tell him her whole life was a risk, every moment of her day lived dangerously close to disaster. She never knew what the day ahead would bring, and the feeling was not in any way cleansing.

In a few minutes, Roy turned into the parking area opposite a grey building with a large sign that read “Kosciuszko Express: Thredbo Australia”.

Chapter 26

They picked up their backpacks and sauntered over to join the queue for the chairlift. Roy slipped up the hood of her jacket. ‘Zip your coat up, Sheva. The wind can be fierce on the chairlift.’

They stood in place as instructed and were scooped up into the chairlift. ‘Place your feet on the foot-bar.’ Roy brought down the safety bar across their laps. ‘Sheva—’ Roy took her hand— ‘you’re not frightened of heights, are you? We’re on a 1.8 kilometre ride, rising 560 vertical metres above Thredbo valley.’

‘It’s a little late to ask me, isn’t it?’ Sheva grinned at his worried expression. ‘Don’t worry, I love it.’

‘In that case, let me point out some of the sights.’ Sheva looked down from the rapidly rising chairlift at the stout trees, covered with olive green to charcoal grey bark, and an occasional splash of mustard yellow. ‘There—’ he pointed down to the valley— ‘another one of your friends. That’s a gum tree called the Black Sallee.’

Soon they were hanging at what seemed to be an impossible height and rising. The chairlift swayed on the single thick cable and juddered over the vertical support posts as it passed over each. Roy’s hand was warm on hers. Sheva felt content, lost in a half-dream state, and safe. Roy too looked happy.

‘You should smile more.’ She tugged at his hand.

‘Haven’t had much to feel smiley about recently, Sheva.’

She laughed up at him. ‘You sound like an emoji.’

‘A what?’

‘Come on, Roy. An emoticon, one of those things you stick on an email or Facebook message.’

His eyes met and held hers. ‘For a girl who has no Facebook page, Twitter account or any other presence on the web, you certainly are familiar with social media—’ he paused and stared at her lips— ‘Sheva.’

She pulled her hand from his. ‘You checked me out.’ She slid away from him on the seat.

The movement made the chair swing on the cable. Sheva squealed and gripped the arm of the chair.

Roy reached for her hand. ‘Didn’t you do the same?’

‘No.’ She hadn’t needed to, since Dan did it for her.

‘Let me tell you what you would have found. Royston Broughton-Knight: society playboy turned serious businessman. Not very exciting.’

They were nearing the end of the journey. ‘Sheva—’ Roy increased the pressure on her hand— ‘There is something bothering you. Whatever it is, I can see it scares you. Just know I am here for you when you’re ready to talk about it.’

She nodded. He had said when and not if. It made her feel content and safe. She would tell him later today.

The chairlift swung to the top of the run and slowed. They swung the safety bar up and jumped off the seat, allowing the empty chair to swing around and travel back down the valley.

‘We are at top station, Thredbo.’ Roy pointed to a building. ‘That is Australia’s highest restaurant, “Eagles Nest Café”, and there—’ he pointed to the paved path— ‘is the beginning of our walk.’

On their right were large granite rocks beside a couple of twisted and stunted gum trees. The bark was wrinkled and contorted, magnificent in green, grey and creamy hues with streaks of reds and pink. The wind whistled and howled around them and clusters of fluffy creamy-white flowers and waxy grey-green leaves shuddered in response.

‘Alpine Snow Gums, last of the trees’ Roy gestured to them. ‘Only alpine vegetation like dwarf shrubs, herbs, mosses and wildflowers grow higher than this’

The ground around them was covered in a carpet of purple, orange and white. Roy followed her eyes. ‘I’ll tell you about those once we start the walk.’

Sheva pulled out her phone and photographed the tree and the wildflowers around them. Someday, she would look at the pictures and remember today. The colours, the emotions; all set to the background symphony of rushing wind and the soft tinkle of water in the mountain streams. She would remember the man she was with and wish they had met under different circumstances.

Sheva ran a finger over the bark of the tree. ‘The snow gums look like contortionists, dancing to a snowy symphony only they and the wildflower can hear.’

‘You see wonder everywhere, don’t you? Maybe I will pick up the habit from you. Come on, time to start.’

The first part of the track was paved and made for an easy stroll up a slight incline. Roy pointed out low heath and shrub plants growing on and around rocky outcrops and surrounded by a carpet of tussock snow grasses. Roy pointed out silvery white alpine herbfield, and the white flowers of alpine marsh marigold.

It was a rugged country, bare and beautiful. Sheva kept lagging behind, stopping to look around.

‘I’d love to say we could take our time, Sheva, but we need to move on.’

She nodded and followed him. They passed an intersection with the “Dead Horse Gap” track pointing to the left, and a little further on, a footbridge over a stream, which Roy said was called Merritts creek.

They were now on a metal walkway, which Roy explained was built to protect the plants and bog from the heavy feet of bushwalkers. He squatted to point out tunnels and tracks under the mesh.

‘The home of the broad-toothed rat, a little brown fur ball with a tail. In winter months the steel walkway holds up the snow, making a nice warm home underneath it.’

‘Are there many other animals?’

‘There’s mountain pygmy possum; it’s endangered, and southern bush rat. Also, plenty of little lizards called skinks.’ He stopped and pointed to a slim shiny brown reptile that was a few centimetres long. ‘There’s my favourite, the little dusky antichinus’

Sheva nudged him. ‘So, tell me, why is it your favourite?’

‘Their mating habits. The male becomes a total sex addict and once the breeding season begins, late in summer, he thinks of nothing else, and mates with every female around, until he dies of exhaustion.’ Roy smiled at her expression of shocked disbelief.

‘It’s true, Sheva. Don’t ask me why.’

It was time for a change of topic, Sheva decided. She gestured to a scattered ridge of sharp crags and rocks to their left. ‘Do those rocky outcrops have a name?’

‘Rams Head Range; granite rocks, the end result of volcanic activity millions of years ago.’ Roy pulled out a pair of binoculars from his back pack and handed it to her. ‘Have a look.’

Sheva stopped to look through the binoculars. ‘Wow, there are tiny trees in the cracks of the rocks!’

Roy nodded. ‘Hardy bonsai plants that survive on the microclimate provided by the boulders. Ice, snow and sun, they don’t give up. They find life, even in the toughest environment.’

She lowered the binoculars and looked up at Roy. ‘I can empathise with that.’

Roy held onto her hand when she handed the binoculars back. ‘Me too, Sheva, me too.’

They continued on along the metal walkway, her hand curled in Roy’s. Sheva, overwhelmed by the mountains, rocks and vegetation, kept gazing around, happy to let Roy lead her. They passed a sign pointing to “Kosciuszko Lookout.” Roy glanced at his watch and drew her on. ‘Sorry Sheva, can’t stop here, there’s a place I want to show you. We’ll stop on the way back.’

She glanced at the sign by a small tinkling stream. ‘The Snowy River? This tiny watercourse?’

Roy chuckled and pulled on her hand. ‘A small contribution to the majestic power that drives the Snowy Mountains Hydroelectric scheme. I’ll take you there someday.’

Sheva smiled back, aware that in all likelihood there would be no someday for the two of them.

They had been walking almost an hour when they came on a sign that read “Lake Cootapatamba Lookout”.

‘Come on—’ Roy grabbed her hand— ‘let’s step off the walkway and sit on those rocks over there by the lake. Hungry?’

Seated on a flat rock, they gazed down into the intense blue bowl of Lake Cootapatamba as Roy offered Sheva snacks from his pack. ‘This is called a cirque lake, caused by glacial activity around twenty thousand years ago.’ Roy explained.

Sheva marvelled. It was a visual feast that she had never experienced anywhere or anytime in her life. ‘This is breath-taking, Roy. Thank you for bringing me.’

Roy slipped his arm around her. It felt natural to rest her head on his shoulder. They were silent, surrounded by the commanding dignity of millennia-old mountains. Wildflowers were a colourful net thrown over the ground around them. Mount Kosciuszko and Etheridge loomed in front, the ageless shadow offering a blessing on their companionship.

‘Over there,’ he gestured to clusters of shrubs, their grey-green silvery leaves and daisy like little flowers of yellow and white, dancing in the breeze, ‘is alpine sunray. It’s said to be the flower picked on the summit in 1840 by Paul Edmund de Strzelecki – who named the mountain Kosciuszko. He pressed it and sent it to his sweetheart Adyna back in Poland. Her parents forbade them to marry. However, they remained faithful and wrote to each other for twenty-two years.’

This was a special place to Roy and he had chosen to share it with her. She shifted closer to him. It felt comforting and right.

She was no longer following Dan’s instructions to get closer to Roy. It was something she wanted to do. The urge scared her.

Roy pulled off his glove, reached out and pinched the leaves of a bush with clusters of white funnel-shaped flowers with multiple purple to red coloured spots in the throat. He brought his fingers to her face.

‘Sniff.’

‘It’s minty.’

‘The essence is supposed to revitalise and give renewed energy— bring joy to a difficult situation.’

She sniffed deeper. ‘I’ll take a litre.’

‘Me too, Sheva. Me, too.’

The sorrow in his voice reached into her heart.

He had secrets weighing him down, just like she did.

Chapter 27

What was it about this girl? He had come close to telling her all about himself and his problems. He couldn’t do that, not yet. Not without his father’s permission.

He kept his arm around her, not wanting the moment to pass.

‘There’s a sound, what—’ Sheva’s question broke the spell.

He pointed to the spongy, water-logged sphagnum moss. ‘Frogs croaking and gurgling to each other.’ He glanced up at the mountains. Heavy clouds boiled up from the west and spilled over the main range. Getting to his feet, he pulled her up. ‘Heralding a storm, probably. We need to get going if we want to reach the summit in time to see anything.’

Side by side, their gloved fingers intertwined, they walked faster. They had crossed a point in their relationship there by Cootapatamba Lake. They were content in each other’s company. Words were unnecessary.

They followed the path up and around the side of the hill to Rawson Pass. The last steep walk up the track spiralled around the mountain for a kilometre and a half. Sheva’s eyes were fixed on the blue green vista of rolling hills spread out around them. Every turn in the path laid out a changing panorama of awesome natural beauty.

‘Roy, this is mystical, other-worldly. Thank you.’

‘Sheva, the mountains are old as the continent. I’m afraid I can’t take credit for creating them. But I love this place too. Never grow tired of it.’

Her eyes fixed on the distant hills, Sheva stumbled on the rough gravel track.

‘Watch it. A twisted ankle at the summit is not a mystical experience.’ Roy took her gloved hand in his. ‘Look—’ he pointed to a small rock pool by the side of the path— ‘if you look closely you can see the little brown fish. They’re called Galaxias.’

‘They look like they’re sunbathing on the rocks.’ Sheva squatted by the side of the pool to look where he pointed.

‘Guess they need to work on their tan.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘We need to move on, and it’s getting windy.’

The wind whipped in from the southwest and swirled around them as they reached the summit. Roy tightened the grip on her hand, drawing her closer to him. ‘The temperature is dropping, Sheva.’

‘It’s freezing.’ She leant into him and fell silent, gazing out towards the rolling, barren hills stretching to the horizon in every direction. The distant mountains were smudged with eucalyptus blue.

He pointed at the ranges. ‘There, to the southwest, are the Victorian Alps. The pointy one is Mount Bogong and over there—’ he pointed to the nearer mountains— ‘are the mountains of the main range: Mount Townsend, Carruthers, Twynam and Muellers Peak. I’ll take you on the main range walk someday.’ He pointed to a brown ribbon winding through the valley and up the vertiginous face of the mountain. ‘You can see the path over there.’

They stood hand in hand on the summit of Mount Kosciuszko. He followed her eyes to the cemented structure at the centre flat area. ‘That’s the summit marker, with information on the highest mountain.’

He read in her eyes a reflection of his own feelings for the mountains, the realisation of being in a place so awesome as to be almost ethereal.

‘This is so raw and beautiful. It’s like being with God at creation.’ Black eyes gazed into his, inviting him deeper. ‘You really love these mountains, don’t you, Roy?’

There were many things in his life he couldn’t share with her. But the love of this place was something he could. ‘I come here when I need to find comfort and refreshment. The grandeur and majesty of the mountains, the freshness of the wind and the raw vibrancy of the storms take me out of myself. I see my problems in perspective and leave here with a fresh boldness, an energy and courage to face whatever lies ahead.’

‘I can sense it too.’ Her eyes misted over. ‘I feel in-the-moment here. No worries and no to-do lists. This is how it must have been in the Garden of Eden at creation. I feel like I am in some small way a part of something eternal.’

The wind picked up and swirled around them. Sheva turned her face into it.

‘Sheva, it’s getting cold. Probably dropping to near zero with wind chill. Do you want to go back?’ A gust pushed her back and blew away his words.

With a laugh, she dropped her backpack and pushed back the hood of her coat, sending her hair whipping in the breeze. She stretched out her arms, palm forward. ‘Go back? No. I want to absorb all this and hold the memory in my heart.’

Roy stepped in behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist. ‘Well, if you are doing a Titanic impression, we might as well complete the scene.’

Sheva laughed and leant back into him, wrapping her hands over his.

Her head fit against him, just above his heart. Her hair blew across his face. The strands twisted against his chest, making his heart her captive. He caught his breath and let his cheek rest on her head. He was letting this girl into his life. It wasn’t wise, but today, he didn’t care.

‘Roy, is this snow? In summer?’

A gentle snow flurry blew over them.

‘I promised you magic didn’t I, Sheva?’ he whispered into her hair.

She turned her face up and put out her tongue to catch a snowflake. It was a natural, sensual act. Tiny snowflakes clung to her eyelashes and desire spiked through him. He wanted this girl. But he had nothing permanent to offer her. His instinct told him she was a girl who would look for long term commitment. Marriage. Children. Things he could never offer any woman.

A sigh tore from his throat. Sheva turned her face towards him. ‘Are you okay?’

He pulled her tighter and dropped his lips to her neck. ‘More than okay, Sheva.’ He let his lips rest on the smooth skin under her earlobe. Her perfume tickled his senses. It brought back memories of Annie. Again, the girls blurred and mingled in his mind.

He moved his right hand up over her body, splayed his fingers over her face and ran his thumb over her lips. ‘Sheva, I care for you. I want to help you. Do you trust me?’

Her lips trembled under his touch. Sheva tilted her face toward him and closed her eyes to kiss him in reply.

Strident chatter in a language he didn’t recognise broke through the rumble of muted talk on the summit. This was followed by children’s screams, ear-splitting raucous laughter and shouts of excitement. They were surrounded with clicks of cameras and flashes of light.

Sheva stiffened in his arms. She pulled away from him and covered her face with her hands. ‘They’re speaking Sinhalese. I have to get away from here.’

‘What—’

Sheva kept her face turned away from the group. ‘They’re Sri Lankans. I—I can’t speak to them. They mustn’t see me. I can’t take the chance of someone recognising me.’

Roy took her hand in his. ‘Okay, let’s get you out of here.’ He picked up her backpack and kept his body between her and the main group till they reached the path leading down from the summit. Sheva ran down the path. Roy kept pace with her. Soon they stood at Rawson Pass.

‘What was that about, Sheva?’ Roy asked, panting.

‘I can’t explain here.’ She turned to face him, her eyes tight with anxiety. ‘Please, I have to get away.’

Roy slipped his gloves off and cupped her face in his hands. ‘Look at me, Sheva. You said you trusted me. Know this. I will not allow anything to happen to you.’

Her smile was tired and tender. ‘If only it were so simple, Roy. Let’s get back to Jindabyne.’

They walked back to Eagles Nest at a brisk pace. He sensed she didn’t want to talk, but the silence between them was companionable, not oppressive. After a while, she took off her glove and slipped her fingers into his palm. He took his glove off and wrapped his fingers around her cold ones. Whatever the demons were that had driven her to hide in Jindabyne, they would fight them together.

Chapter 28

Once on the chairlift, Roy slipped his arm around her. She rested her face on his shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, ‘for bringing me here, and for not pushing me to explain my bizarre behaviour up there on the summit.’

She had her hood pushed back. He pulled her closer. ‘It’s been a good day, Sheva. Don’t worry, I’m here for you.’ He pulled her hood over her hair and tightened the cord.

Her grateful response was whipped away in the wind.

Sheva refused a coffee in Thredbo. She was skittish, anxious to get back to Jindabyne. She almost ran to the car. Roy handed her a cushion once she had her seatbelt on. ‘Have a nap, Sheva. It’ll be about thirty minutes to Jindabyne.’

She nodded and snuggled into the seat. Soon her eyes drooped shut. Roy drove well below the speed limit, taking the sharp bends even slower so as to not wake her. He ignored the impatience of other cars as they tailgated him and whizzed past, some honking their impatience.

***

‘No, no, I don’t want to do this. Let me go. Amma, amma,’ her voice was tortured and her dream state words only partly intelligible. Some of it was not in English. She struggled against the tight clasp of the seat belt.

Roy pulled off the road and onto the gravel edge of Alpine Way. He reached over and unclipped Sheva’s seatbelt. ‘Sheva, honey, it’s okay. It’s only a dream. No one will harm you.’ He wiped the tears off her cheeks with his fingertips and her eyes flew open. Roy recoiled at the stark horror in their black depth. He pulled off his own seatbelt and took her into his arms.

She burrowed her face in his shoulder, her hands gripping his shirt. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t need to see this. I haven’t had a nightmare for days. Not since—’ she paused and swallowed on a sob.

He ran his fingers over her hair. ‘Sheva, relax. You’re safe with me. Let it out. Tell me about it. It’s something from back home in Sri Lanka isn’t it? The people there on the summit brought it back to you, didn’t they? What happened to you? Were you hurt? Abused?’

Sheva lifted her face and pulled back from his embrace. ‘I—Roy, I do owe you an explanation.’ She shuddered and dropped her face in her hands.

Roy reached over her and clipped her seatbelt back on. He turned on the ignition. ‘Hang on a few minutes, Sheva. Let’s go somewhere we can talk without being disturbed by impatient drivers. Somewhere I can give you my full attention.’

The black leather seat cocooned her and made her seem small. She looked young and vulnerable. ‘Roy—’

Roy took his left hand off the wheel and placed it on hers. ‘Just a few minutes, Sheva.’ He swung off to the left at the sign “Lake Crackenback Resort”. In a few minutes, they were parked at the edge of a lake. The water, with hardly a ripple, mirrored the blue grey walls of the café they were parked next to and the misty hills of the mountain range they had just driven down. Rows of small chalets lined the edge of the lake. Roy leapt out and walked around to swing open the passenger side door. He took Sheva’s hand as she slipped down to the grass.

‘You haven’t eaten since the snack we had at Lake Cootapatamba. And it’s quiet here at this time of the year. We can talk in private.’

Roy pushed open the door of the café with the large stylised sign ‘CUISINE’ on the wall. The smell of roasted coffee and fresh baked bread wafted around them.

At the sight of Roy, a waiter ducked into the kitchen and soon after, a smiling middle-aged man in a chef’s hat walked out. He approached Roy with outstretched hands. ‘Che piacere vederti, Mr Knight.’

Roy reached for his hands. ‘Buona sera, Alonso. It has been too long.’

Alonso turned to Sheva. ‘Ah, Madame, welcome. You will have a meal. A late lunch maybe? I recommend smoked trout salad with fresh pear, garlic chives, rocket and poached egg. The trout is from our farm, right here in Jindabyne.’

Roy let go her hand to slip his arm around her shoulder. ‘Your recommendations are always perfect, Alonso.’ He turned to Sheva. ‘What do you say?’

At her nodded assent, Roy gestured to the seating area outside the main café. ‘We’ll take a seat on the deck. Over in the corner by the lake.’

‘Your wish is my command, Capo.’ He led them out of the café onto a shaded wooden deck extended onto the lake.

Roy held the chair for Sheva to sit down. As he was sitting opposite her, he added, ‘And Alonso, I’ll have the coffee. Your special cappuccino please.’

Alonso nodded. ‘Good choice, Capo. Freshly ground, as always. And for you, Madame?’

‘Long black, please,’ requested Sheva.

The food was delicious. Determined to make her relax, Roy talked about the alpaca farm. He explained to Sheva how the Suri alpaca were the gentlest and most beautiful breed, and greatly valued for their fleece. He pulled out his mobile phone and showed her a picture of the baby born just yesterday. ‘Baby alpacas are called cria, and this one is a girl. She has your eyes,’ he teased, ‘so I called her Sheva.’

They talked and before she knew it, Sheva had finished all the food on her plate. They sat with steaming mugs of coffee before them.

‘Fed and watered, Sheva. Time to talk.’

‘I’ll tell you all I can, Roy.’

She took a deep shuddering breath and started speaking: ‘My father passed away before I went to medical school in Sri Lanka. My postgraduate medical training was in the UK. I then accepted a job in Sydney. My ambition was—is—to complete my training in Neurovascular surgery and neuromuscular diseases at Queen Elizabeth Hospital, and then go back to Sri Lanka to take up where my father left off. To build a facility for neuromuscular disability, where people with a range of disabilities, currently just left to die, can be helped.’

‘You’re Annie, aren’t you, Sheva?’ Roy held her eyes.

She nodded.

‘I asked you at the masquerade ball, and I’ll ask you again, why the arranged marriage?’

‘I can’t expect you to understand, Roy, but in Sri Lanka, a single professional woman is a lesbian or in some way inadequate as a woman. Marriage legitimatises and permits a woman to a have a career.’

‘That’s so outdated.’

‘That’s subcontinental culture.’ She shrugged. ‘I wanted a man who would support me in my career, and I believed marrying Sunil would accomplish it.’

‘Sunil—’

She raised her hand to silence him. ‘You know some of it from what I told you the night of the ball. Sunil and I grew up together as best friends. His parents and mine were neighbours. We were both only children. The families were close. Sunil’s father owned a gem business. Together they bought a tea plantation when the British left Sri Lanka. My father was a surgeon on the cusp of starting his neuromuscular rehabilitation centre when he died of a heart attack. I have a trust fund and Sunil promised to help me as well.’ She stopped and sighed. ‘I should have listened to you and my friends. It was a foolish decision to think Sunil and I could pick up where we left off six years ago.’

He curled his fingers around hers, wanting to absorb her pain.

‘I hardly knew Sunil when I met him in December,’ she continued. ‘He and his friends seemed to have money to burn. It was a bizarre experience. Sri Lankan families live on an average income of about three hundred dollars a month and yet Sunil and his friends lived the high life. They drove Audis, Chryslers and BMWs, lived in sophisticated gated communities and spent their evenings in five star resorts. I enjoyed their—his company—for a while.’

‘What happened in Sri Lanka, Sheva? Why did you have to change your appearance and your name?’ He reached over to touch her hair, remembering her gorgeous curls.

A tear hovered at the corner of her eye. Sheva blinked it away. ‘I trusted him completely. I realised very soon what a gullible idiot I was.’ She looked at him with the mere glimmer of a smile. ‘I remembered what you said that night.’

‘What I said?’

She nodded. You told me that people change. You advised me to never accept anyone at face value, and that charm usually covers some ulterior motive. How prophetic it turned out to be!’

‘Prophetic? What happened?’

Sheva pursed her lips and her eyes sharpened to flash with anger. ‘I discovered documents in his study. Multiple passports with a variety of names and doctored pictures of Sunil.’ She paused and her hands clenched on the table.

‘Was he involved in something? Drugs? Gun running?’

‘Worse,’ she spat out. ‘Much worse. I also found pictures of girls and other documents.’ She stopped and took a deep breath. ‘They revealed that Sunil, my loving fiancé, was involved in sex trafficking, under the guise of arranging places in Australian universities.’

‘Dear God, Sheva! How –?’

Her laugh was brittle. ‘How did I cope? I fell apart – but only for a few moments. Again, I remembered something you said.’

‘Me?’

‘I told myself I was a professional, an Australian. I didn’t need an arranged marriage. I realised that what I thought was my future all planned out was as ephemeral as a morning mist.’ She paused.

‘Did you confront him?’

‘No,’ she stopped and smiled. ‘I photographed what I found. Then I went to a police officer I trusted with the information. To cut a long story short, I was smuggled out of Sri Lanka hidden in a truck and then a rusty fishing boat. I flew to Sydney via India.’

She looked so fragile. And yet, under it was a strong and independent woman. One who was willing to take on what was probably an international crime syndicate single handed. His heart swelled with admiration for her. He felt a sense of satisfaction that his words had in some small way helped her. But, above this, he was humbled that she would trust him with her secret.

He held her hands in his. The feelings taking root in his heart were new to him. He had never felt this overwhelming need to care for and protect a woman.

‘Now,’ Sheva concluded with a sigh, ‘you know the whole sordid tale, the reason why I have to call myself Sheva and work in Jindabyne, as a country GP.’

***

Sometime, as they talked, Alonso had refilled their mugs with fresh coffee. Roy’s left hand had remained on hers throughout. His fingers wrapped around hers. He hadn’t said a word.

Her back straight and eyes blurred in exhaustion, she looked at Roy across the table.

‘So,’ he said, ‘you are under a witness protection program, and Daniel Cooper is some sort of police undercover operative.’

She nodded. ‘Dan says it should soon be over. I have to remain here until they “clean things up,” in his words. As for the administration at hospital, they think I am still on vacation in Sri Lanka. Even Monica has no idea I am in Australia.’

‘Where’s your mother?’

‘Dan says she is safe, happy and well looked after.’ Her voice quivered, and she blinked away the tears. ‘I am not allowed to call her. Dan says it would be too dangerous. I hate that, but I have to do it for her safety.’

Roy’s voice took on a harsher tone. ‘Do you have to pretend he is your boyfriend?’

‘No, just call him daily morning and evening.’

Roy stood up. He pulled Sheva up with him. ‘Listen to me, Sheva. I think they are using you as bait to flush out whoever this international crime network are.’ He stopped and growled, ‘I don’t like it. It’s a dangerous ploy.’

‘Using me as bait?’

‘Yes. They probably can’t do anything while Sunil and friends are in Sri Lanka. They want them here in Australia, where they can get the local operatives too. So, they stick you out here in Jindabyne. Somehow, they will find a way to leak the information. Getting Sunil and his cronies to follow you here to Jindabyne will mean the authorities can arrest them under Australian jurisdiction.’

She thought about it. It made sense. Dan’s worries about her security in her house. His concern as to the friends she made. Her thoughts flitted to the girls in the photographs.

‘Dan is confident that he has it all under control. My temporary inconvenience is a small price to pay for the lives of young innocent women. I will do anything to bring those thugs to justice.’

‘I think it’s personal for Dan.’

Sheva frowned, ‘What do you mean?’

‘You may be pretending he’s your boyfriend Sheva,’ he tucked a curl behind her ear, ‘I don’t think it is make believe for him. If he’s in love with you—’ He touched her lips with his— ‘I can’t say I blame him.’

Chapter 29

The cria wandered over and nuzzled into him. Roy squatted to scratch her head. The happy humming was relaxing. Yesterday had been a good day for his father, and Roy had used the time to tell him about the new addition to the herd. It had made his father happy.

He had also taken the opportunity to tell him about a couple of other current projects. It had taken time, but his father had managed to stutter out words—semi-sentences of advice. Exhausted, he had fallen asleep soon after. Roy lived for moments like this. Times when he saw glimpses of what his father used to be. Evidence that his brilliant mind was still functioning inside his broken body.

The rumble of the quadbike heralded the arrival of Rodrigo. ‘Hey, Boss. She’s coming along real good. Sheva sure loves you.’

Roy continued to stroke the cria.

Sheva, the woman with ebony eyes that sparkled with humour and clouded in pain. Pain he wanted to absorb, heal. Black hair softer than the finest alpaca fleece. He smiled, imagining the response if he admitted that to her.

Thoughts of Sheva filled his waking hours, and invaded his dreams. His body stirred at the memory of her snuggled into him on the mountain walk. He dragged his thoughts back.

‘There are a couple of the other hembras pregnant, boss. Should be a good year for both fleece and breeding.’

Roy nodded. ‘All thanks to you, Rodrigo. You’ve done an amazing job, especially given the dry conditions. I’ve not been much use, have I?’ Roy watched as the cria ambled back to her mum. ‘Do you need me to hire someone to help in the shearing?’

Rodrigo’s ample frame shook with laughter. ‘Maria and I are doing fine, boss. I’ve herded in a farm with over one hundred animals back in Chile. Your alpaca are like caring for family. As for water, the bore water you provided is just fine for these ones.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Here, Sophia, Anna.’ Two of the alpaca sauntered over to him. He stroked their necks. ‘You go make some big money, Boss. And take some time to play, okay?’ He jumped on his quadbike. ‘I need to work on some of the fences. Need to keep the ‘roos out.’

Roy stayed in his crouched position. He wanted Sheva and not just for her body or passion. He wanted her mind and soul. He needed to know her completely, but that required commitment and promises for a future. He could never offer her that. He dropped his head in his hands.

He shuddered at the thought of what the future held for him.

He felt a soft nudge on his cheek. The cria was back. Her forehead bumping his face. He looked into the long lashed black eyes. ‘Are you trying to tell me something, Sheva baby? Should I go to her and let her decide?’

The cria winked at him. He laughed and rubbed her head. ‘Right. Thanks for the wise advice.’

He stood up and walked back to the house.

Roy pulled his mobile out. She should be almost done at the clinic.

Sheva answered on the second ring. ‘Good evening, Roy. I hope my namesake is doing well.’

‘She’s doing just dandy. I’ve just left her feeding with her mum. I’m done for the day. Do you want to have dinner together? Samson was fixing a salmon casserole when I left the house. I’ll pack some of it and drive over.’

The usual moment of hesitation.

‘Sheva, it’s me, I’m not the enemy.’

‘I know, Roy. I guess I’m not used to trusting people anymore.’ She paused. ‘Constant vigilance makes for a lonely existence. It would be nice to see you.’

‘Good, I’ll drive over there soon.’

‘I’ve got some veggie fried rice and chocolate biscuit pudding to contribute to dinner. I think you’ll love the biscuit pudding. Another of my grandmother’s recipes.’

‘Full of aphrodisiacs, I hope,’ he joked. He loved hearing her laugh. ‘I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Sheva.’

***

The soft strains of ‘Eine Kleine Nachtmusik’ drifted through the room.

They had so much in common. The love of classical music: especially Mozart. They both enjoyed detective thrillers—Rankin, Daniel Silva and Connelly. Sheva and Roy both felt a deep need to help those less advantaged than they were.

He couldn’t offer her commitment, but what he had was the financial means to help her dreams come true. ‘Sheva—’ he played with the edge of her bob— ‘I have a proposition for you.’

‘What sort?’ She raised her eyebrows.

‘A business one—a philanthropic one. My firm contributes to a number of charities. I would like to make a contribution towards the rehabilitation centre you want to build in Sri Lanka. Maybe, pay to have the building put up.’

‘You’ll do that for me?’ She flung herself across the lounge and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘Thank you. Thank you. That is—is so wonderful. If I have the building, my trust fund will do for the equipment.’’

Roy hugged her back.

The hug turned into a caress.

He held her face cupped in his palm and teased his lips over hers. Her breath caught on a sob as she opened her lips to him. Their coming together was tender, passionate—and hungry. Sheva fisted her hands on his shirtfront. Roy drew her onto his lap. His hands in her hair and on her body. He breathed her in: her perfume and something more subtle: the scent of desire. She was Annie, she was Sheva — she was all he had dreamed of on his lonely bed every night.

‘Sheva,’ he whispered against her lips. ‘I want you, honey.’ He trailed his lips down her cheek. He kissed the erratic pulse beat in the hollow of her neck. ‘I know you want me too. Let me love you. Let me comfort you for a while.’

She stilled in his arms. She moved away from him and gazed into his eyes. ‘You want us to make love.’ It was a statement—not a question.

Oh, he could drown in those ebony orbs. ‘Sweetheart—’ he touched his lips to hers again— ‘I want you so much.’ He shifted her on his lap, so she was in no doubt of how badly he needed her.

Sheva stilled, and then slipped off his lap. Sitting with her knees bent on the couch, she dropped her forehead on his chest. ‘I am sorry. So very sorry, Roy.’

He raised her face with a finger under her chin. ‘Why sorry, Sheva?’

‘I—I do care for you. And I won’t lie. I do want to make love with you.’ She stopped and took a deep breath, ‘I can’t do casual sex, Roy. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given you the impression I would—’

Roy pulled her back into his arms. ‘Sheva, Sheva, darling.’ With a whimper she responded with a passion to match his own. ‘Whatever else it is, sex would never be casual between us.’ Her dark eyes grew deeper with desire and a tumult of other emotions Roy couldn’t read. ‘What do you want, Sheva?’

She paused, except for her hand that inched around his neck, and her fingers that tangled in his hair. ‘I want to feel your hair in my fingers,’ she whispered. He kept still, amazed at the deep satisfaction and tranquillity he felt at her touch. Her other hand moved to his shirt, ‘I want to look at you.’ Slowly, she slipped the buttons off. Sliding her fingers over his bare chest, her fingers moved through the hair on his chest. Resting her palm over his heart, she pushed his shirt open and laid her cheek on his chest. Her lips brushed his bare skin. ‘This is what I dream of, but, I can’t.’

He tightened his arm around her. He had been wrong to rush her. She was a woman who needed to be romanced. ‘I understand, Sheva. Let’s take it slowly.’

‘Sex is special to me, Roy. I—I’ve been waiting until marriage, and I understand you can’t make a commitment like that to me. My girlfriends in Sydney never understood my choice either.’ Her fingers continued to rest on his chest. ‘I understand your situation, Roy,’ she continued, ‘I don’t move in your social scene. I’m Sri Lankan. Not white Anglo-Saxon Australian. I know you need a wife suited to your life, and your social standing as a high flyer businessman. I’m sorry – much as I want to be with you, I can’t do a temporary affair.’

The implication of her words sank into Roy’s brain. He leapt off the sofa and pulled her up with him. ‘You think I don’t want to commit to you because of who you are? You think your ethnicity, colour or social standing matter a jot. Is that what you think of me? None of it matters, Sheva. But I can’t. Do you hear me? I can’t. I just can’t.’ He realised he was shouting.

Sheva pulled away from him. ‘Stop it Roy. What are you talking about?’

He dropped back on the couch. Resting his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head in his hands. ‘It’s not you, Sheva. I can never commit to any woman. Never get married. Never—never, ever be a father.’

His body burned with shame and the pain of the confession he had made to her.

Sheva knelt down beside him. ‘Roy, why not? Are you unwell? Is that why Samson is there with you? Please, let me help you. I care for you, Roy, and I am a doctor.’

‘I’m not sick. Well, not yet.’ The words were wrung from him.

She stroked his hair. It was comforting, almost hypnotic. ‘Roy, what is it? I trusted you. I shared my life with you. Can you not do the same?’

The buzz of his phone interrupted them. He glanced down and read the message from Samson: “Edward is agitated, I can do with your help. Sorry to spoil the evening.” He raised his eyes to meet Sheva’s.

Yes, it was time she knew the truth about his father’s condition—and his.

‘Sheva, you want to know why I can’t make a commitment to any woman? I’ll show you why. Will you trust me on this?’

Sheva stood straight and dry eyed. Her eyes met his. ‘I trust you, Roy.’

He stood up and buttoned his shirt, picked up her handbag and handed it to her. ‘Come on.’ He took her hand and pulled her to the door.

Sheva shouldered her bag and locked the front door behind them. ‘Where are we going, Roy? To the farm?’

He opened the door for her before crossing around to his side and climbing in. Once she’d clicked her seatbelt in, he turned on the engine. ‘Hold on tight. I need to get home quick.’

‘Roy, what is it?’

‘What you wanted: the truth.’

‘What is the truth?’

‘Something you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, Sheva.’

Chapter 30

Roy swung the car on to Kosciuszko road. On their right, Lake Jindabyne brooded, grey and menacing. The wind whipped up waves on the usually placid surface of the water and sent dark clouds churning over the mountains.

‘There’s a storm brewing.’ Roy’s fingers were rigid on the steering wheel. The tendons of his wrist were sharply defined under his slim gold watch and silk cuff of his shirt. Sheva shifted her eyes to his face. Every muscle was tense, his mouth a tight line of controlled anxiety. His eyes were fixed on the road with resolute intensity. The atmosphere in the car matched the weather: bleak and brooding.

Twilight deepened and night crept around them. Roy swung off Kosciuszko Road. There were no streetlights on Barry Way. The headlights cut through the dusk, picking up the shadows of wallabies standing by the edge of the road. Roy didn’t slow down.

A wombat ambled across the road. Roy braked and swerved to avoid it. They left the buildings behind. There were now no other vehicles on the road. Dark clumps of bush were broken by the dim shadows of pine and gum trees and the ghostly silver-grey of white box and ghost gums.

The car was a cocoon of silence. She reached over to place her right hand on his thigh. His muscles contracted under her fingers.

The signpost reading “Jindabyne Aerodrome” was barely visible. To break the thick ominous stillness between them, she asked, ‘Is this where you keep your plane?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please, Roy. Talk to me. What is it? It’s something to do with the farm isn’t it? I sensed it on the first day when I drove over to see your arm.’ She kept her hand on his thigh.

He kept his eyes on the road, but took his left hand off the wheel to cover hers.

‘Sheva, I talked to Dan after our walk to Kosciuszko. He explained to me how incredibly brave you’ve been. I promised him that I would watch out for you—and I will. But, what is happening in my life is far more personal, even horrible. I have no right to get you involved.’

He fell silent again.

‘Roy, by being here with you, I am already involved,’ Sheva persisted. ‘Professionally and personally, I have seen and experienced life at its lowest and worst. Whatever is happening at the farm, let me help you.’

Roy nodded. ‘Thank you.’ Weariness and a deep sadness laced his voice. ‘I hope you don’t regret your offer.’

The car turned into Mowamba Way.

The darkness was absolute. The stars and moon were completely obscured by menacing black clouds. Flashes of lightning speared over the mountains and the accompanying thunderclaps echoed across the plains. Empty paddocks stood stark and eerie in the bursts of light, like some Martian landscape.

Sheva had never seen anything like this. She remembered Sunil and her sitting side by side in church, listening to the hellfire messages that Reverend Bob preached. ‘His chariots of wrath the deep thunderclouds form, and dark is His path on the wings of the storm,’ she murmured, under her breath.

‘What was that, Sheva?’ Roy’s face was set in a rigid mask.

‘The scene—it is almost apocalyptic’

His laugh was harsh, pained, ‘Yes, good analogy.’

The car bumped over the unsealed section of the road leading to the farm.

She touched his hand, wanting contact and longing to assure him she would be there for him. His fingers tightened, white-knuckled, around hers. ‘We’re almost there,’ he managed to choke out.

‘Roy, whatever it is, we can deal with it together.’

A crash of thunder muffled his reply.

The gate was open and Roy swung the car in and up the drive, braking to a stop at the veranda’s steps.

Samson pushed open the front door and shut it behind him. He stood on the veranda, watching them.

They jumped down from the car and when Roy came around to meet her, she put her palm on his chest. ‘Go, I’ll be right behind you.’ She followed Roy up the steps and to the front door, their footsteps echoing on the timber floor.

‘I don’t know what set him off, Roy—’ Samson glanced from Roy to her— ‘and I’m sorry to mess up your evening.’

The wooden front door was surrounded by an intricate panelling of stained glass. The coloured glass shimmered like a jewel in a flash of lightening. Samson grasped the brass knob and pushed it open.

There was a sound, a cross between a wail and a howling scream. It was a cry of pain, anger and profound sorrow. It chilled Sheva to the bone.

Samson shut the front door behind them.

Roy glanced back at her. ‘Are you all right, Sheva?’ She nodded her assent.

They were in a corridor with high, ornate ceilings. The hardwood floor was covered by a magenta thick pile carpet. The muted lighting came from a single three armed chandelier. Framed photographs adorned the walls. She followed Roy and Samson, glancing at the photographs as she passed them. Family pictures; one of an older couple and Roy as a teen, another with him as a child; Roy in the University of Sydney Rugby jersey, with his team holding up a trophy; Roy at graduation, in ski gear, and in another, on horseback. Other framed photographs were of a beautiful middle-aged woman and a distinguished older man.

Samson talked as they walked down the corridor. ‘You know how he likes the Sunday evening service on the Christian radio station? Well, I recorded it and played it for him today. He dozed off and I switched the music off. He woke up and started screaming. I haven’t been able to control him since.’

Wood swing doors with glass panels stood closed at the end of the corridor. Samson pushed them open.

They were in a spacious room with a high ornate ceiling, from which hung a shimmering, crystal chandelier. Painted roses decorated the intricate cornices and the polished timber block floor was cosy with oriental rugs in blue, green and silver. Three walls of the room were papered with a soft blue-white floral design, but the wall facing the door had thick cream coloured linen curtains, drawn across what Sheva presumed were ceiling to floor windows. Two couches upholstered in maroon oriental damask sat along the walls of the room, between which a marble fireplace was laid with tidy logs, ready to be lit.

Despite all of these marvellous details, Sheva’s eyes were drawn to the person in the wheelchair at the centre of the room. He was facing away from the door, towards the windows. Staccato explosions of noise came from him, disconnected vocalisations of larynx and vocal cords that refused to obey the directions of the brain. Her brain whirled with thoughts and possible diagnoses.

Roy stepped in front of her and swung round to face her, his body shielding the man. ‘Sheva, I’m sor—’

‘No, stop right there, Roy. I’m a doctor. Whoever it is in the wheelchair—’ she glanced into Roy’s eyes— ‘is obviously someone close and special to you, and unwell. I am here. Let me see your patient.’ She moved away and around him.

The sound continued. The volume increased and grew even more anguished. Samson rushed over to the wheelchair.

She ran through the differential diagnosis: Stroke, cerebral palsy, cerebellar tumour— then her brain clicked. The decisive sign was the arms flaying on either side of the wheelchair. Arms clothed in long shirtsleeves. A gold watch glimmered on the left wrist. The limbs moved in a writhing dance-like movement. The fingers twisted and grasped at air, uncontrolled. Staccato sounds continued to grind out from the tortured larynx.

They were all classic signs of chorea.

Sheva looked into Roy’s eyes. ‘He has Huntington’s Disease.’

His eyes narrowed in amazement. ‘How? You haven’t seen him yet.’

She pointed. ‘The movement of the arms, the sound of his vocalisation. The shirt and watch.’ She paused and took his hands in hers. ‘Who is he, Roy?’

‘My father.’

The sound was louder. More agitated.

‘Roy, I’m here,’ she grasped his arms. ‘Let me see him.’

His lips turned up in a smile, but his eyes were bleak. ‘Thank you.’ He placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. ‘Wait here. Let me talk to him.’

Samson leant over the wheelchair. ‘Please, Mr Knight. Calm down, sir. What is it you want?’ He picked up a board and held it up in front of the wheelchair. A white board with pictures: a glass, cup, plate, book, toilet seat, bed, and music notes.

The writhing arm reached forward from the wheelchair towards the board. A trembling finger stabbed at the music note.

‘Music. You want me to put on music.’ He moved aside.

Roy dropped to his knees before his father. He took hold of the twisting fingers and stilled them in his own. ‘Father, I have a doctor here to see you.’ He listened to the slow stuttering sounds his father made and shook his head. ‘No, it’s not Professor Pennington, but I think he would approve of her.’ He looked at Sheva and signalled for her to approach.

Sheva moved to stand beside Roy. She stood beside him for a few seconds and then dropped to her knees by his side. Roy continued his hold on his father’s hands and kept his eyes on his face. ‘Father, this is Doctor Sheva Singh. She runs the new medical centre in Jindabyne.’ He smiled at the sounds from his father. ‘Yes, the one you helped build.’

He turned to Sheva. ‘Sheva, this is my father. His name is Edward, Edward Broughton-Knight.’ He stood up and moved back, allowing Sheva to slide closer to his father.

‘Here, Doc.’ Samson placed a low stool beside her. ‘You can’t stay on your knees.’ She got off her knees and sat on the stool.

She reached out and took the flaying hands in hers. She wrapped her fingers around the thin wasted fingers. The pressure partially stilled the erratic movements. She looked into his eyes, fixing his gaze. ‘Mr Broughton-Knight, I am a trained neuro-muscular specialist. I know Professor Pennington. I train with him. We do surgery together.’

His neck jerked and twisted. The face and lips contorted in a grimace. She caught phrases and part of words. ‘Sir? You want me to do what?’

Roy bent over her. ‘I think Father wants you to call him Edward.’

Sheva didn’t take her eyes off the older man. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away. The figure in front of her was the wasted shadow of a handsome man in his mid-fifties. His grey hair was well groomed and his pale, sunken cheeks were clean-shaven. His tailored silk shirt and trousers fresh and ironed—if a couple sizes too large for the almost-skeletal frame. Her heart filled with sorrow. The grey eyes and sharp features were exactly like Roy. The strong bone structure all the more pronounced by the muscle loss. She glanced at Roy, who stood by the wheelchair.

‘Yes, I look just like him. I’ll show you some pictures of him in his Sydney University rugby jumper later.’

The sound coming from the wheelchair drew her attention back to Edward. It was an irregular, crudely musical vocalisation. His right leg raised, writhed and banged down on the footrest of the wheelchair. He repeated the movement. Once, twice—a fitful rhythmic cadence.

She kept her eyes on Edward. She mouthed the words she could make out. ‘Survey—cross—Prince—’ kept her eyes focused on his eyes as best as she could— ‘Samson, did you say you were playing the recording of last Sunday night’s service? Was it 104.3 Praise FM?’

‘Yes, Doc.’

Sheva wracked her brain. She had listened to it too, a Sunday service from the Anglican Church in Parramatta. She tried to recall the hymns. Something with cross, prince and survey.

‘Roy, did your father—did Edward sing in a choir?’

‘He loved it. He sang bass with Lavender Bay Anglican Church. Hated when he had to miss choir practice.’ Roy smiled. ‘He even went straight from the airport to choir practice after an eighteen hour flight from London once.’ He paused. ‘Sheva, you don’t think he’s trying to sing?’

She nodded.

Still holding on to Edward’s hands, Sheva smiled at him. ‘You miss choral music don’t you? I think I know which hymn it is. So, let’s sing together, shall we?’

The delight in his eyes was obvious. The noise he made sounded like, ‘Yes—yes—yes.’

She settled on the stool and held her body erect. Keeping hold of Edward’s hands, she started singing, ‘When I survey the wondrous cross. On which the Prince of glory died—’ She stopped at his stuttered moan. ‘Come on, Edward. I don’t think my voice is so bad.’ She laughed. ‘You want the other tune. I know it—Rockingham.’

Edward’s face twisted in the parody of a smile.

‘Okay, you’re on.’ She held his hands. ‘Join me. I’ll sing the tune. You can join with the bass. From the beginning.’ Sheva tapped her foot in keeping with the slow rhythm Edward was stamping.

‘When I survey the wondrous cross.

On which the Prince of glory died,’

Sheva kept her eyes locked on his. Her clasp limited the twisting and flaying of his arms. ‘Come on. Edward. We can do it.’ Tears rolled down Edward’s cheeks. A ragged sob broke from his throat. Sounds emerged to join her voice:

‘My richest gain I count but loss,

And pour contempt on all my pride.’

The words were hardly comprehensible, but the notes were clear. The muscles on his face contorted. He was remembering. She did too. Memories of other times. Times when she was growing up in Colombo. Choir practices with her father. Singing duets with him. His tenor to her soprano. Sheva started on the second verse:

‘Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,

Save in the death of Christ my God.’

The Adam’s apple shuddered in the wasted neck. She looked into his eyes. In the grey depth she saw a shadow of the brilliant intelligence now dimmed.

‘All the vain things that charm me most,

I sacrifice them to His blood.’

There were no more tears, just a twisted smile of sorrow and acceptance. Edward’s eyes drooped shut. Sheva imagined him back in the choir stalls of the Lavender Bay Church. His friends around him. A man of substance.

The sounds grew softer. The pounding of the foot on the footrest ceased. Sheva relaxed the hold on his hands. She continued singing. Her voice now soft and muted. A soothing lilt of a lullaby.

‘Were the whole realm of nature mine,

That were a present far too small;’

Edward’s mouth relaxed. A dribble of spit escaped from the corner of the lax lips. The thrashing arms quietened. A soft snore escaped from his chest. Sheva continued singing. Her voice now a whisper. Tears she had held back streaked her face.

‘Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands my soul, my life, my all.’

She placed Edward’s hands on his lap. Nodding to Samson, she got to her feet. ‘Where’s Roy?’ she mouthed.

Samson gestured to the door. ‘He’s outside.’

Chapter 31

Roy listened to the last two lines of the hymn. Sung in her pure soprano: ‘Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all’.

He had confronted her with his father. He had expected shock, anger, anxiety, disgust; but, Sheva had been both professional and caring. His shoulders shook. A sob wrenched out of him.

It would stay burned in his memory forever. The image of her sitting at his father’s feet, singing; her eyes glazed with tears she refused to let fall. Her voice: soft, melodious, cajoling, coaxing his father to join her. Holding the melody while his father joined in with a semblance of a bass. The hymn. One of those his father loved. One that Roy had sung with his father as a boy.

Lightning flashed cross the paddocks. The wind picked up, swirling leaves and dust in spinning tops across the garden and lawns. Distant eucalypts swayed and bowed to the power of the elements. Thunder growled the warning of an electric storm. The alpaca would be spooked. He should check with Rodrigo. But he had neither the heart nor the inclination to care about the animals right now. It mattered nothing. His success at work, the farm.

Meaningless. Totally meaningless.

He sensed her beside him. Her hand rested on the wooden rail next to his, barely touching his. Her voice was crisp and professional. ‘How long has it been since first diagnosis of HD, Roy?’

He looked down at her. She was looking across the garden, not at him. Her hair blew around her face. She was calm, collected and in control. This was the professional, not the sensual woman he had held in his arms a short time ago.

‘About six years ago. He was having some minor problems with concentration at company meetings. He developed what we thought was a nervous tick, but he wouldn’t see a doctor. Professor Pennington is a close family friend. He picked up the early symptoms when Father had a couple of falls at work. But didn’t make a definitive diagnosis. Father started making notes to himself. He would get really furious with himself for forgetting things, misplacing stuff. Mum continued to attend the parties and events without him, making excuses for his absence.’

Bitterness laced his voice. He took a deep shuddering breath. ‘I didn’t notice. Can you believe it? His only son and I was working all day and playing all night and weekends. Rugby, skiing, partying—apparently too busy to notice the changes in my father.’

She moved her hand to cover his. ‘Roy, it happens. Those closest often miss the early symptoms.’

‘Well, I didn’t want to see. None of us did.’ He shook his head. ‘He was the all-powerful Edward Broughton-Knight. He established the firm fifteen years ago. Made it into the corporate giant it is today. This farm—’ He waved his hand to encompass the trees and paddocks— ‘was his idea. For relaxation, he said. He made it happen. It was his dream. And this—’ he gestured back at the house— ‘is how it all ends.’

How could he make her understand the desolation in his soul? The heartbreak. The futility of the future.

‘So how did he—you find out?’

‘The CEO of the company came to me three years ago. He suggested Father needed a break. So, I talked to Father. The man who had never willingly taken more than a week’s leave agreed to four months in England, visiting his mother and checking out a small hobby farm he purchased in Bakewell. I had a crash course on running the company and then I was on my own. He called me four weeks after he got there.’ Roy stopped. The memory of the day still made him shudder.

Sheva moved close to him. She slipped her arm around his waist and rested her head against his chest. His hands remained clasped on the rails.

Roy spoke in a whisper. ‘He told me his mother had come clean on what killed my grandfather and great-grandfather.’

‘They died of early onset Huntington’s Disease. He realised he was a carrier of the gene. He also knew he had a fifty percent chance of passing it on to his children.’

She looked up into his eyes, understanding. ‘You.’

Roy nodded. ‘He wanted me to take over the company. He made me promise, Sheva. He made me swear no-one in his professional and social circles would see him deteriorate. He didn’t want pity. He wanted to be remembered for the business genius—the giant he had been.’

‘You have kept your promise, Roy. Is it only Samson and Andrew Pennington who know the truth?’

‘My farm manager Rodrigo and his wife Maria know father is ill. They don’t know the details but are totally loyal to him. They won’t talk to anyone.’

‘What do your business colleagues and his friends know, or think they know?’

‘Father planned it all out. He let it slip to friends, colleagues and even the media he was handing the company to me. He hinted it was to make me grow up and take responsibility. Said he was near burnout, and he and mother were taking a few years away in their farm in Bakewell.’

‘People believed that?’

‘Not completely. They think he still runs the business from England. The gossip mongers say I moved here as a protest. To get away from responsibility. The rumour mill has me flying to Sydney on weekends. Probably inviting friends for parties here on the farm.’

‘What about your mother, why isn’t she here with you?’

The bitterness in his heart leached into his voice. ‘My mother accepted a generous payment from Father and decided she would rather live in London in our Knightsbridge flat than return to Australia to live with and care for a disabled man. She avoided having to deal with the inevitable decline of Father’s health.’

Sheva shrank back and stared at Roy. ‘She left him, and you.’

He nodded, and moved his hands to her shoulders. ‘That wasn’t all she did. I had a fiancée, Charlene. Mum told her that I could be a carrier of the gene.’

‘So, this Charlene knows about your father?’

‘She called off our engagement immediately, told me she couldn’t be the wife of a disabled man.’ Sheva’s shoulders tensed under his hands.

‘She swore to silence and, in return, I let her keep the ring, the car and all the gifts I’d given her. Anyway, she believes the story that he’s in a nursing home in England.’

She stepped closer to him. The touch on his cheek was feather light. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be—it wouldn’t have worked anyway. Mother did me a favour in speeding up the inevitable.’

‘Roy, have you been genetically tested for Huntington’s disease?’

Mozart’s Horn Concerto began to blast from her hip. ‘Oh, not now.’ Sheva stepped back and pulled her mobile phone from the pocket of her skirt. She tapped the screen. ‘Dan?’

‘Where are you?’ There was anger, irritation and an unusual touch of harried anxiety in Dan’s voice. ‘I came by your place. Your car is parked in the garage and the house lights are off. Are you in bed? Why aren’t you answering the doorbell? Peter says he saw your farmer boyfriend’s car leave a little over an hour ago. He thought you were in the car.’

‘Dan, I called you at six thirty.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m with Roy. I’ll put you on speaker.’ She tapped the screen again and Roy could hear the crackle of background noise from Sheva’s phone.

‘She’s with me at the farm, Dan,’ Roy said. ‘She’s safe.’

‘Roy, you have no right to take her to your godforsaken farmhouse. You have no idea what is happening.’

Sheva frowned. ‘What’s so urgent?’

‘Things are moving faster than we anticipated Sheva. We need you here in Jindabyne. I’m coming to get you.’

‘Dan, listen to me—’ Roy bent close to the phone— ‘you cannot drive out here tonight. There’s a thunderstorm brewing. I can drive Sheva back early tomorrow.’

‘Sheva, are you planning to spend the night there with him?’

‘If it’s safer, if I want to, then of course I will stay here.’

‘I don’t like any of this.’

‘I didn’t arrange for the thunderstorm, Dan,’ Roy cut in.

Sheva threw Roy a look for being difficult. ‘Dan, I’ll keep the phone switched on. There’s too much of static now. You’re breaking up. I’ll call at six tomorrow morning.’ She switched the phone off.

Roy stared at her. ‘There isn’t much static, and he wasn’t breaking up.’

She shrugged. ‘Hard to shut him up when he’s in a mood. Anyway, am I spending the night here?’

‘Sorry, Sheva, it looks like you’re stuck in this “godforsaken farmhouse”—as Dan called it—’ he put a hand on the small of her back as they walked back to the house— ‘but there are rooms aplenty. I know which one would be perfect for you. My father furnished it for Mother with clothes and everything.’ He glanced at Sheva. ‘You’ll find something you can wear. She’s a little bigger than you.’

Samson stood just inside the front door, waiting for Sheva. ‘He’s asleep. You’re a real miracle worker, ma’am.’

Sheva smiled back. ‘I’m a doctor, Samson. I did what I had to do.’

Chapter 32

The queen size bed was covered with a blue and white handcrafted quilt. The walls were covered in pale blue paper with white roses, and the high ceiling and decorative cornices were the cerulean of a summer sky. An armoire with a mirrored door, a matching cabinet of drawers, and bedside table with a blue shaded lamp completed the room.

The room whispered of love, hope and a sense of anticipatory waiting.

‘You’re imagining things, woman,’ Sheva mumbled to herself. She kicked off her shoes and let her bare feet sink into the thick oriental pattern rug in blue and grey.

She dropped onto the quilt and ran her fingers over the soft silk. Her mind flashed back to Roy’s words. Edward had decorated the room in the hope his wife would come back from England and live on the farm with him.

Now, Roy kept it clean and pristine. Did he hope his mother would come and stay on the farm, or did some other girls visit? Were the parties on the farm just a joke, or did he entertain women here? Sheva stifled the shaft of jealousy that stabbed through her. She had no claims on him. What he did here on the farm, or anywhere else, was not her concern.

Sheva fought the physical and emotional exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. She slid off the bed and opened the armoire— she might as well take up Roy’s invitation to make herself comfortable.

There were dresses, skirts, blouses, and a row of shoes, all designer and new or nearly so. She moved to the cabinet and opened the top drawer—night clothes, most still in the original wrapping. Edward had kept his wife’s clothes, even bought new sets, hoping—always hoping.

Sheva pulled out the top one and slipped it out of the plastic cover. A filmy blue negligee and a matching white lace dressing gown. She picked them up and headed to the ensuite.

The bathroom was tiled in blue and white with a lavish touch of silver fittings. She undressed and hung up her clothes on a hanger, then turned on the shower and stepped under it. The spray of hot water washed away the dust and sweat, leaving her feeling a little more relaxed. Drying herself on the thirsty blue towel, she slipped into the negligee. Throwing the dressing gown over it, she padded barefooted into the bedroom.

She glanced at her image in the full length mirror, and paused to laugh out loud at the reflection. A twenty-eight year old, dark-skinned Sri Lankan in the expensive lingerie of an upper-class doyen of society. Still smiling she headed for the bed. She pulled back the quilt to reveal blue sheets, pillows and blankets. Shedding the dressing gown, she slipped under the blanket and let the soft sheets cocoon her. The weariness she had pushed to the back of her mind overcame her and her eyes drooped.

The knock on the door was soft. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed the dressing gown. She padded over and opened the door a crack.

Roy stood with his hand on the handle. He too had showered and his hair was damp and curling. He was dressed in a faded blue cotton t-shirt and a pair of black woollen track pants.

‘Sheva, are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’ She glanced back at the bed, ‘just making myself comfortable.’

‘Sorry to disturb you. Would you let me in, please? I need to talk with you.’

Sheva stepped back and pulled the dressing gown tight around her.

Roy stepped in and clicked the door shut. His eyes flicked over her. ‘You look good enough to eat.’

‘Well, I hope you didn’t come here for supper—’ she stopped and stammered— ‘I don’t mean—you know—I don’t think—’

Roy placed a finger on her lips. ‘Let it go,’ he murmured, his lips tilted in a smile. He took her hand and led her to the bed. Sitting on the edge, he pulled her down beside him. ‘Don’t look so anxious. I promise, I’m not planning to seduce you.’

Sheva sat down on the bed. She slid away to keep a distance between them.

‘Dan called me again,’ Roy continued. ‘He said it is critical I watch over you—his words, not mine—until I can get you back to Jindabyne tomorrow morning. In Dan’s words, “until you are back in his jurisdiction.” He was emphatic about it. He sounded really worried.’

‘I’m in a house with locked doors and safety locked windows.’ She glanced at the single window covered with thick blue linen curtains.

‘Not enough—I mean to watch over you.’

‘How?’

‘Sheva, I’m staying in this room with you.’

Sheva glanced at the bed. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, there’s only one bed.’

‘Hmmm,’ He looked around. ‘Father wanted a wingback armchair reupholstered in mother’s colours. You’ve probably figured out what those are. I never got around to fixing the chair. It’s still in the dining room. I’ll drag it in. It’ll do for me to sleep in.’

‘Roy, you are overreacting. I’m okay here. I’ll lock the bedroom door.’

‘No, I gave Dan my word. I mean to keep it.’ He cupped Sheva’s face in his hand. ‘Thank you for today. You said you were just being a doctor—’ he stared into her eyes— ‘but no. Today, to my father, you were an angel.’ He looked at the bed with the quilt turned back. ‘You were ready for bed, Sheva, sorry. I’ll go now and bring the chair from the dining room.’

She watched as Roy carried in a chair and positioned it by the window. ‘Good night, Sheva. Go to sleep. I’ll be right here.’

Sheva didn’t think she would go back to sleep. However, in the dark of the moonless night, mindful of the man seated a few feet from her, she drifted off.

She woke to a rumble of thunder. Samson must have switched a veranda light on after she went to sleep. In the light filtering through the curtains, she could see Roy crouched in the chair. His legs were stretched out and his head slumped forward. His long arms were hanging over the armsrests of the chair.

She sat up and glanced at her phone. It was almost midnight. Her movement must have woken Roy, who shot upright in the chair. ‘What is it?’ He glanced at the window. ‘Did something wake you?’

Sheva slid out of bed and walked over to him. She took his hand in hers. ‘I’m fine. It’s you who looks terrible.’ She tugged his hand. ‘Come on. Get in the bed with me. It’s not like we haven’t even had a cuddle.’ She looked back at the bed. ‘It’s a King size. Plenty of room for two–with room between us.’

Roy sat up in the chair. A frown creased his forehead. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I am sure we both need sleep, Roy. Tomorrow’s probably going to be a busy day.’

Roy got into bed and held his hand out to her. She slipped in and scooted to the edge of the bed. She drifted off to sleep, content in the knowledge that he was close.

***

She woke to the chatter of birds and a cicada chorus. Sometime in the night, she had slid close to him and they lay side by side on a single pillow. Roy leant over to touch her lips with his. It was a kiss that hinted of passion, but gave, rather than demanded a response.

Sheva rested her cheek on his chest and breathed him in, allowing herself to relax with him for a minute before sliding off the bed. ‘I need to dress. We have to leave soon.’

‘Yes, as soon as Samson rustles us up some breakfast.’

Chapter 33

Her perfume clung to the pillow. The essence of Sheva. She had rolled across the bed and turned toward him in the night. She had cuddled into him and rested her head on his chest, her body warm against his. Roy had cradled her in his arms, fighting the urge to wake her with his lips.

He had promised to protect her and she trusted him, so he had held her as she slept, his own body tensed and coiled with desire and longing.

Hands behind his head, he listened to the sound of the shower. He let himself imagine the water cascading over her body. The water moved down her curves in time to Mozart’s Horn Concerto. He hadn’t told her he had played French horn in School, but he thought she would appreciate it.

The notes continued and he realised it was Sheva’s phone. He leapt out of bed and grabbed the phone off the bedside table. ‘Hello?’

‘Roy. Where’s Sheva?’ Dan’s voice shot through the phone like a series of bullets.

Roy bristled. ‘She’s safe, Dan. I’ll bring her back to town as soon as we have breakfast.’

‘Breakfast be damned, Roy. She needs to be back here where we can keep her safe. Now.’

‘Dan—’

‘Roy, things are moving faster than any of us could have anticipated,’ Dan shouted into the phone. ‘I need her here in Jindabyne.’

‘I hear you,’ Roy said, trying to placate Dan. ‘I don’t understand, but if it’s about keeping Sheva safe, I’ll do anything you want.’

A moment of silence. ‘Roy, the guy Sunil.’

‘Yes. The fellow involved in sex trafficking.’ The hairs on Roy’s body tensed at the mention of the Sri Lankan who Sheva was supposed to marry.

‘Well, I’ve been informed he has been spotted arriving in Sydney.’

‘Did they pick him up at the airport?’

‘No, they’re following him. It’s our chance to get the whole blasted ring. Break the operation.’

‘Do you think he knows about Sheva being here in Jindabyne?’

‘I can’t see how, but we can’t take a chance. Get her back here, and don’t stop for anything or anyone.’

Roy heard the sound of a chair pushed back and the jingle of keys. ‘I’m driving out to meet you. Get on the road now. And Roy—let me explain to her what’s happening. It’s my responsibility.’ Dan cut the line.

‘What makes you think she’ll be willing to wait,’ Roy mumbled. He rushed to the door of the ensuite. ‘Sheva,’ he banged on the door. ‘Dan says he needs you in Jindabyne now. Apparently, there are some things happening. Something to do with Sunil.’

Sheva opened the door. She stood wrapped in the blue towel, her eyes wide. The fingers holding the towel tensed. ‘Did he say anything specific?’

‘He didn’t give details.’ Roy kept his eyes on her face. ‘Get dressed. I’ll ask Samson to pack some sandwiches for us. We need to get on the road soon.’ She nodded. He stopped at the door and turned back. ‘Sheva, are you okay?’

Sheva hadn’t moved. Her eyes narrowed and flashed in anger. ‘Damn him. Maybe,’ for a moment her voice faltered, ‘maybe Sunil knows where I am. Dan did assure me –’

Roy turned to face her. ‘Sheva, you are an incredibly strong woman, and you can deal with this. I will be there. And Dan knows what he’s doing.’

Sheva took a deep breath. Her voice was firm, ‘Yes, I haven’t come this far to let them win. I started it. I will see it to the conclusion. Whatever that may be.’ She stood straight and met his eyes. Roy’s heart filled with pride at the look of unwavering courage in her gaze.

Sheva shrugged and turned to where she had hung her clothes from the night before. ‘Let’s get going.’

Roy dashed through his morning toilette. He was ready in less than ten minutes.

Samson stood in the corridor at the open front door. He had a carry bag with sandwiches and a flask in his hands. At his foot was Roy’s .308 Winchester rifle wrapped in a towel.

‘Samson, where’s Sheva?’

He gestured to the sitting room. ‘She’s saying goodbye to Edward.’ He glanced down to the rifle. ‘I wrapped it up so you don’t frighten her.’

Roy nodded. ‘Good thinking.’ He walked down the corridor to the sitting room, where his father was dressed and sitting in his wheelchair. Edward was facing the full-length windows. The curtains were drawn open to a glorious view of the green post-storm paddocks and hills, the alpacas grazing in the slanting golden rays of morning sunlight.

Sheva knelt before Edward’s wheelchair. She gripped his thin, twitching hands close to her chest to keep them still. ‘Edward, it was lovely to see you. Thanks for the duet. I will be back sometime. We might even sing a few more hymns together.’

His father’s face jerked, the lips wrenched in a grimace. Rasping disjointed sounds emerged.

Sheva smiled. ‘You want me to take care of Roy.’ She looked up at Roy standing at the door. ‘Yes, Edward, I promise you, I’ll look after your son.’

She stood up, looked into the weary grey eyes and bent over to place her lips on his forehead. Just for a moment, the crazy uncontrolled jerking stopped. Roy hadn’t seen his father so peaceful for a long time. He walked over and Sheva took his hand. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s hit the road.’

Roy looked at his father. The grey eyes sparkled. The lips twisted. He would have sworn his father was smiling.

***

They left the house and climbed into the car. Samson opened the back door and wedged the hidden gun behind the driver’s seat.

‘Hang on, Sheva.’ Roy shot out of the driveway and negotiated the rough road at speed. Keeping his eyes fixed on the gravel path, he reached behind and picked up the brown carry bag. ‘Bacon and egg sandwiches and a flask of coffee. Bon appetit.’

‘Thanks, Roy.’ Despite her anxiety, she took a bite of the sandwich. ‘Yum, delicious. Here—’ she held it to his mouth— ‘You haven’t eaten either.’

Roy smiled and opened his mouth. ‘Heavenly,’ he moaned around the food.

‘I’m glad you appreciate Samson so much.’

The corners of his lips twitched as he negotiated the car onto Mowamba Drive. He swallowed the bite. ‘No, not the sandwich—although his cooking is good—it’s just you, feeding me breakfast. And, that’s after spending the night with me.’

‘Stop it.’ She realised he too was trying to lighten the situation. She took another bite of the sandwich and stuffed the other half in his mouth. ‘Now, that will keep you from teasing me.’

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Sheva placed her hand on his arm. ‘Roy, last night, you didn’t answer me. Have you been genetically tested?’

‘No. I’d rather not know.’

She nodded. ‘I understand, but you should consider getting it done. You do have a fifty percent chance of inheriting the gene and developing HD, but knowing would give you a way of planning your life.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘I’ll help you deal with it, whatever happens. I promise.’

‘Thank you’ his reply was non-committal.

They continued driving in silence.

Roy turned the car onto Barry Way. A grey, dust-covered car drove towards them in the opposite lane and Sheva recognised the silver SUV and the National Parks logo. Roy braked and brought the Range Rover to a stop by the side of the road. The other car braked on the opposite side of the road.

Dan leapt out and crossed the road. He wrenched the passenger door of the Range Rover open. ‘We need to get back to Jindabyne, Sheva.’

Sheva slipped out of Roy’s car. ‘It’s Sunil isn’t it?’ She snapped at Dan. ‘What the heck is happening? Is he here in Australia? And whatever happened to your Elvis and the information network?’

Dan shrugged. ‘Take it easy, Sheva. I’ll explain, but first, let’s get back to Jindabyne.’

She glanced back at Roy— ‘I thought Roy was driving me to Jindabyne.’

‘No, I knew Dan was meeting us halfway, I’ll follow—’ he stopped at the strident tone of his phone. Pulling it out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen.

‘Just what I need: a summons from the fire station. There’s a fire near East Jindabyne.’ He glanced at Dan. ‘Did you know?’

Dan nodded. ‘Heard about it this morning. I thought the bushies had it under control.’

Sheva turned to Roy. ‘Go join them, Roy. You’re needed there. Dan and I will drive back to Jindabyne.’

Roy looked from her to Dan. ‘You drive in front, I’ll follow you to the city.’ They both jumped into their cars.

They were both breaking the speed limit, though neither man seemed to be aware or care.

Sheva sat by Dan’s side in the car, feeling the tension emanate from him. ‘Dan, I need to know. What exactly is happening?’

His voice was grim and determined. ‘Yes, it’s him all right. Sunil landed in Sydney yesterday. They recognised him at customs, thanks to the pictures you took of his many personas.’ He paused and scowled, his lips pursed in concern.

‘And?’ she prompted.

‘They didn’t stop him.’

‘Why? He’s somewhere in Australia now. He could know where I am. What is going on, Dan?’

‘There is no way he could know you are here, Sheva.’ Dan turned into a parking spot by the clinic. He reached over and held her hands in his. ‘The Australian Federal Police tracked him from the airport. They have the house in Sydney he stayed in last night surrounded. The latest I have is information to say he has left Sydney. It seems like he is on his way to a rendezvous possibly somewhere around Goulburn or Canberra. They have a tail—more likely a couple—on him. They will get Sunil and his goons together.’

‘Wait. What am I supposed to do while all this takes place?’ Sheva spat out words.

‘You go to the medical centre and run your clinic, just like you do every day.’

Chapter 34

The tortured wheeze and strained chest muscles were clear evidence of an acute asthma attack. Helen’s shoulder muscles tensed. She grabbed the arms of the chair and struggled for breath. ‘I’ve been taking my medication and I had a double dose of Ventolin this morning—’ she stopped to drag in a breath— ‘but the smoke is really getting to me. We haven’t had a bush fire like this around here for as long as I can remember. I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor. I was alone at home, and was really scared. Sam’s at the radio station keeping everyone up to date on the fires.’

Sheva kept her hand on Helen’s pulse. ‘Helen, you did right in coming in immediately. I’ll have Rosie set you up on a nebuliser, but I want you to try to calm down. You’ll feel better soon.’

‘Thank you,’ Helen wheezed. ‘Last time I had an attack, I had to go by ambulance to Cooma. A transfer won’t be possible today.’

Anxiety churned through Sheva. The East Jindabyne bushfire must be getting worse. Roy was out there fighting it. She knew he was trained, as was his platoon of firemen, but she couldn’t help but worry.

‘Is the road to Jindabyne cut?’

Helen shook her head. ‘Not yet.’

Rosie and Sheva helped Helen to the side room and set up the nebuliser. They stood by her side until Helen was breathing easier and her heart rate returned to normal, then Sheva left Helen in Rosie’s capable hands and went out to the reception area. For the first time since she had started work in Jindabyne, there were no patients waiting to be seen. The excitement of the bushfire must be keeping everyone glued to radio and television. She went into the kitchenette, plugged in the coffee percolator, and switched on the radio.

Sam’s voice came through on the radio. ‘Fire crews are stretched to the maximum with two major fires. The first blaze, East of Kosciuszko Road in East Jindabyne, is currently threatening to breech containment lines. The second is a new bushfire following a recent lightning strike. This fire is in the forests east of Mowamba River, and is currently uncontrolled. Authorities tell us it is likely to jump the river and is posing a threat to property on Barry Way and farms in Mowamba Way, Moonbah and Dalgetty areas. All property owners have been put on high alert for possible evacuations.’

Sheva stopped with a cup of coffee half way to her lips. Roy’s farm would be under threat. He was in East Jindabyne fighting the fires and wouldn’t know about this new one threatening his property. Samson and the manager would be the only ones there, and Samson wouldn’t be able to leave Edward to help fight the fire.

She picked up her phone and dialled the farm. Samson’s usually placid voice sounded stressed and harried. ‘Samson, how bad is it there? And how is Edward?’

‘Doc, I’m glad you called. I can’t get Roy on his phone. The fires are pretty close to the back of the property. I should be out there fighting it. But I can’t leave Edward here alone.’

She made a lightning decision. ‘Samson, the East Jindabyne fires are still raging. Roy wouldn’t be able to answer his phone. Get Edward ready. I’ll get there as soon as I can to pick him up. I’ll bring him here. You can help fight the fires.’

Samson breathed a sigh. ‘Thank you, doc.’

Sheva cut the line and punched in Dan’s number. He picked up on the first ring.

‘Is there a problem, Sheva?’

‘Actually there is, Dan. I need your help to—’

‘I’m right here.’

The front door swung open. Dan strode through into the clinic.

‘What’s the problem here, Sheva?’ He glanced around the empty clinic. ‘Where’s Peter?’

‘Peter’s in the kitchen fixing coffee.’ She gestured to the door leading to the kitchen. ‘Dan, I need your help to get Roy’s dad out of the farm. Did you know that the farm is under threat?’

‘I heard about the fire approaching Barry Way. And that they will probably begin evacuating the properties soon. What do you mean, get Roy’s dad out of the farm? I thought Roy lived there with his staff. His parents are in England.’

Sheva grabbed her handbag. ‘No, he has his father on the farm.’

‘He has his father on the farm! How the heck did he keep it a secret from us? We did every possible check on him. God knows what else the investigator missed.’ Dan was erupting like a volcano.

‘Dan—’ she grabbed his arm to stop him— ‘work it out with your colleagues later. Right now, I need to do this. Roy’s father is disabled. He has Huntington’s Disease. There’s only Samson the nurse and the manager on the farm. If I can get Edward—Roy’s father—out, Samson and the manager can fight the fire and save the farm.’

‘No,’ Dan shook his head, stunned by the revelations and the interruption of his rant. ‘You can’t drive out there.’

‘I don’t want to drive to the farm and get Edward out and back by myself. That’s why I called you. I need help. We can do it together, Dan,’ she pleaded, clutching her handbag to her shoulder. ‘I have to try, anyway. Samson can’t protect the farm and manage Edward. I have already told him I am coming over. Please—’

‘I can’t stop you from doing this?’

‘I’ll go myself if you won’t come with me.’

Peter stepped out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee. Sheva turned to him. ‘Peter, I’m going out for an hour or so. Rosie’s with Helen. Tell Rosie to keep any other patients until I get back. And please have a bed ready in the ward.’

Peter nodded, then glanced at Dan. ‘Dan—what—’

‘Just do as she says, Peter,’ Dan snapped. Sheva grabbed his hand and practically dragged him out of the clinic. ‘I don’t like this, Sheva,” he said as he followed, shaking free of her hand. ‘However, I’ll do it for you.’ He strode towards the Subaru, ‘We can take my car.’

She jumped into the passenger side and snapped on the seat belt. ‘Dan, why did Peter defer to you?’

Dan pulled away from the clinic and onto Kosciuszko Road. He sped up. ‘Because he works with us,’ he replied.

‘Peter is with the rangers?’ She paused. ‘No, he’s with the police, isn’t he?’

Dan nodded. ‘Well, sort of.’

‘Peter’s been watching me.’

‘Peter has been watching out for you, Sheva. We needed to have all bases covered. Short of moving in with you—’ He stopped and smiled— ‘there was no way I could know what was happening to you twenty-four-seven.’

The car swung on to Barry Way and pulled to a side to allow two racing fire trucks to pass. Dan merged in behind them, speeding up to keep pace.

‘What about Rosie? Does she work for you too?’

‘Oh, she’s a fully qualified clinical nurse specialist. She has done some stuff for us before.’

Sheva sank back in the seat. This was bigger than she had thought. She had assumed she was working with strangers, with medical professionals, but her every action was being scrutinised and analysed then reported back to Dan and his people. Whoever ‘his people’ were.

She was a helpless pawn in a game she had unwittingly instigated.

They turned into Mowamba Way. The sky ahead of them glowed an ominous red and orange. The wind swirled burned leaves and grey ash onto the windscreen. Dan continued onto the mud track to the farm, his face set in concentration as he navigated the potholes and ruts.

Soon they turned into the drive of Roy’s farm.

Dan stopped the car and Sheva leaped out. Heat and ash swirled around her. She staggered and caught her breath. Recovering, she dashed up the steps and banged on the front door.

She heard Dan’s footsteps coming up behind her.

‘Samson, Samson,’ she called out.

The door swung open. Samson looked anxious and frazzled. Behind him she could hear loud keening cries from Edward. Ares and Tyche whimpered and crouched by Samson.

‘Doctor Sheva. Thank you—’

Sheva put a hand on Samson’s arm and eased her way through the front door. ‘Please get Edward into the car, Samson. Just throw in his medication and whatever else you think essential, and the wheelchair if possible. We’ll take him back to Jindabyne and the hospital. You work with the manager to save the farm.’

She ran through to the sitting room and dropped to her knees in front of the wheelchair. ‘Edward—’ she caught his flaying arms gently— ‘the fire’s getting close to the farm. Roy’s out with the fire crew at another fire in East Jindabyne. He doesn’t know the farm is under threat. We need to get you out of here. I have a ranger with me. Dan and I will get you to the hospital in Jindabyne.’ She paused. ‘Can you understand what I am saying?’

Edward’s head drooped. The muscles of his neck twitched and twisted. A cross between a groan and a wail rent through him. Sheva realised that he understood. Leaving the farm meant he may not be able to keep his condition a secret. She leant closer. ‘Edward, we don’t need to tell anyone in Jindabyne who you are. You will be just another patient in the medical centre. Will you trust me?’

He gave a contorted nod and let out a stuttered sound, which she interpreted as his agreement.

Samson came in with a bag full of clothes. ‘I think he’s saying he trusts you, Doc.’

Soon Edward was strapped in the back seat of the Subaru with his bag, his wheelchair in the boot. Sheva jumped in the back with Edward.

‘His medication, Doc.’ Samson handed her a plastic case. ‘There are typed instructions on the schedule.’

Dan pulled out of the driveway and drove towards Mowamba Drive. Samson sprinted away from the house as they drove away.

The air was now thick with grey smoke, ash and burnt leaves. The sky behind them had a hellish glow.

Even with the air-conditioning on full, they could feel the heat of the fire.

Chapter 35

A ping indicated an incoming message. Dan kept his right hand on the wheel and reached into his pocket with his left. Sheva, seated in the back seat and holding Edward’s hands in hers, saw his regular phone on the passenger seat beside him. This other phone must be his official line.

He listened for a minute, then snapped the phone shut and slipped it back in his pocket. The Subaru picked up speed. ‘Sheva,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘We need to get back to Jindabyne quick fast. Hang on. And keep Edward as calm as you possibly can.’

They flew past oncoming Fire and Rescue vehicles and an occasional farm truck. Sheva held on to Edward’s hands, relieved that he was calm and quiet, seemingly resigned, with only an occasional twist and jerk of his body.

They left the glow of the fire behind them.

Soon, they were on Kosciuszko Road and nearing Jindabyne. The sky in the east now glowed red and orange. The East Jindabyne fire was still burning.

Suddenly the stutter of approaching helicopters filled the air. ‘Good,’ Dan muttered, ‘back-up.’ Sheva looked out of the window. Two large black helicopters emerged through the red and orange haze. These didn’t look like fire or rescue helicopters, and they weren’t water bombers either. They circled and slid down towards the edge of town.

Dan pulled up outside Sheva’s house. He leapt out and wrenched the back door open. ‘I don’t want you going back to the clinic right now. Rosie has been instructed to close the clinic. She will deal with any emergencies. You’ll have to put Edward here in your house.’ He reached in to lift Edward out of the car. Peter dashed across from the clinic.

Sheva opened the front door of the cottage. ‘We can put him in the downstairs bedroom.’ She turned to Peter. ‘This gentleman has Huntington’s Disease. He needs help.’

Peter nodded. He pulled the wheelchair from the boot and assembled it. He reached into the back seat and helped Edward into the wheelchair. ‘I understand Sheva, I’ll go settle him in. You look bushed. Go to your kitchen and have the coffee you missed earlier.’ He picked up Edward’s bag from the boot and wheeled Edward into the house.

Sheva stood at the front door, watching the two black helicopters hover and land in the playing field at the edge of town. Dan had called them “back-up”. Surely, this wasn’t part of a regular fire and rescue operation.

Suddenly, Dan was in front of her and shielding her from view as he slammed shut the door.

‘You are a sitting duck at the open door, Sheva,’ he said through gritted teeth as he left her to walk back into the lounge room.

Surprised at the anger in his voice, she swung around to face him. ‘Dan, I want to know what is going on—now.’

Dan dropped on the couch. Sheva sat down beside him and turned to face him. ‘I’m sorry, Sheva.’ He drew a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Somehow, things didn’t go as we planned. I am not sure if we screwed up, or there is something more happening here.’ He paused and frowned. ‘Remember that I told you he—Sunil—was being tailed to Canberra?’

‘Yes,’ a tentacle of icy fear gripped her heart.

‘Well it turned out he wasn’t exactly heading to Canberra. Our tails reported to us when he overshot Canberra and headed towards Berridale and Cooma.’

Sheva dropped her head in her hands. The tentacles of fear reached through her body and up to her throat. They threatened to choke her. ‘He’s heading here, isn’t he? This is what I feared. Somehow, he knows I’m in Jindabyne. How could he have found me? After everything you guys did?’

Dan rubbed her back. ‘I can’t tell you that, but you are safe. The helicopters you saw, they are the armed response group of the Australian Federal Police. We have full cover.’

‘Two helicopters for one man?’

He moved his hand away and leant back. ‘There are two cars. I am not sure how many there are in each. Some of them may be Sri Lankan or Indian. Others are probably local heavies.’

‘What if Sunil or one of the others gets here?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m prepared, as is Peter. Rosie’s keeping a watch out. Our team will cut Sunil and his friends off at the bridge over the dam. The trackers are excellent. Sunil and his thugs have no idea they are being followed. They’ll drive right into the ambush.’

His phone pinged and he pulled it out of his pocket. ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Yes, she’s with me.’ He listened and nodded. ‘Yes, Peter’s here too.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll tell her. It will help her understand everything a little better.’ He snapped the phone shut.

‘Tell me what?’

‘I have news which will make you feel better,’ he said as he put the phone back. ‘Our people in Sydney raided the house where Sunil stopped on his way from the airport. The guys they arrested there talked. We’ve since taken down two more places in Ashfield and Newtown—both posing as student dorms.’ He folded her hands in his and forced her to look at him. ‘They saved sixteen girls. The computers they picked up have enough information to bust the rings in Australia and Sri Lanka wide open. You did the right thing, Sheva.’

‘Sunil. He’s still free, isn’t he? He could turn up here at any moment.’

‘Not for long. They’ll cut him off at the bridge over the dam. He doesn’t have a chance.’

‘I need to check on Edward.’ Sheva shook her hands free. She had to keep busy. Keep her mind from wondering about Sunil and his plans, or Roy and his safety.

Peter had settled Edward in his wheelchair. He turned as Sheva walked into the room. ‘Sheva, I guess you know I am more than just your clinic aide.’

Sheva nodded.

‘Please understand that our main concern was keeping you safe.’

Sheva sighed and collapsed onto the edge of the bed. ‘I know, but it’s a lot to get my head around.’

‘Why not stay here and spend some time with your patient? I’ll go join Dan.’ He checked the locks on the windows and pulled the curtains closed before leaving the room.

She sat on the edge of the bed. Edward reached his hand towards her, it flailed and hit the arm of the wheelchair. The stifled staccato grunt expressed his frustration.

Sheva wheeled Edward closer to the bed and sat cross-legged opposite him. She grasped both of Edward’s hands in hers. His lips twisted in a smile.

‘Edward, my father died when I was eighteen. He was a neuromuscular specialist and surgeon, the best in Sri Lanka. I was an only child. I felt the weight of expectation,’ she paused as Edward vocalised a few broken words. ‘Yes, I think it must be what Roy feels too.’

Starting from her days as a teenager in Colombo, Sheva poured out her life story to Edward. She told him how Sunil and she had grown up together in the tea plantation. She told him how hard it had been to go to the police with the pictures she had taken in Sunil’s flat. How even now, knowing what she did about Sunil and his activities, aware he would probably kill her if he got to her, she felt a deep sense of betrayal of her childhood friendship.

The wasted fingers she was holding contracted on hers spasmodically. The broken sounds coming from his tortured larynx made her believe that he understood and empathised with her feelings.

Finally, Sheva sank to her knees before the wheelchair. She brought Edward’s hand to her face. She couldn’t hold back the tears. ‘I’m so scared. I’m frightened for what might happen if Sunil gets here and I’m so terrified for Roy. I don’t want him to get hurt in the bushfire.’ Her tears wet the wasted fingers.

One twisting arm moved toward her head, the trembling hand rested on her hair. It was a blessing. His mouth twisted, struggled.

The words stuttered out: ‘It … will … work … out …’

Chapter 36

The wail of ambulance sirens tore through the silence.

Sheva leapt to her feet.

Dan stood at the door of the bedroom. ‘Rosie called. They are bringing in a badly burnt male patient.’

She breathed in deep and squared her shoulders. ‘What if it’s Roy?’

‘I don’t think it is one of the firemen. Even if it is Roy, you’re the only one here capable of treating him.’ Dan glanced at Edward, who was visibly agitated, his hands flaying as he keened his concern. ‘I have Rosie’s older sister Melanie here. She’s also a trained nurse and will stay with your patient. Peter and I need to be with you. Let’s get you to the clinic.’

With Peter and Dan on either side, Sheva jogged across the road.

She stepped into the clinic. Yes, she was a professional. Whoever the patient was, and whatever his condition, she was qualified and competent to deal with it. She took another deep breath. ‘Rosie,’ she called out. ‘Get an intravenous ready, a cut down set also. Saline, Dextrose, pull out what we have. Check what intravenous antibiotics are in the cupboard. Morphine—’ She thought a moment, what else would she need— ‘Peter, locate the tracheostomy equipment. I’ve seen it in the theatre cupboard—’ she looked around— ‘keep the ECG monitor and defibrillator on standby.’

The ambulance sirens grew louder and closer. Sheva shrugged on her surgical coat and slipped on a pair of sterile latex gloves.

Brakes screeched outside, and there was a loud clang as the ambulance doors crashed open.

Peter flung open the door to the clinic. ‘Are you okay?’ Dan’s hand was firm on her shoulder.

She was calm and in control. She shrugged. ‘I can deal with it, I’m a professional. This is my job. And whoever it is – I have a patient to treat.’

Two paramedics rushed in, their blue overalls brown with ash and soot and flecked with blood. One of them spoke as they carried the gurney between them, ‘Two men turned their car at the bridge to avoid the police and drove back right into the fire. The fire had jumped Kosciuszko Road by the time they got back to East Jindabyne. The car was engulfed in a fireball.’ Loud rasping groans came from the patient under the white sheet. An oxygen mask covered his face. ‘One of the firemen got this one out alive—barely. The other’s dead. Incinerated.’ The acrid stomach-turning smell of burnt flesh filled the clinic. Peter and the ambulance officers lifted the struggling man onto the examination couch.

They slid the patient from the stretcher to the couch and Sheva stepped up as the paramedic continued, ‘We couldn’t get into a vein to set up fluids, and didn’t have the apparatus to do a cut down. So, gave him oxygen and rushed him here.’ He moved to give her access to the patient.

The patient’s right arm slipped out from under the blanket. Raw red third-degree burns covered most of the surface exposed. But the skin on the back of the hand and fingers was unburnt, and dark brown in colour.

It wasn’t Roy on the stretcher. She let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding and looked at the man’s hand again. This must be one of Sunil’s group. She shifted her eyes to his face and froze.

The curly black hair she had playfully tugged when they had sat on the Mount-Lavinia beach in Sri Lanka just a few weeks ago was charred almost to the scalp. The lower right side of his face was a reddened mass. The right eye was swollen and partially shut, but the left side of his face was barely singed.

The walls of the room shrank in on her. She wanted to scream, to run away from the clinic, leave it to someone else to treat this man who had said he loved her and then betrayed her in the most horrible manner possible.

Her teeth clenched as she drew on every fibre of strength and professionalism she had.

This was a seriously injured patient.

Who he was shouldn’t matter to her.

His eyes fixed on her. ‘Annie,’ Sunil croaked. Raising his arm, he jerked the oxygen mask off. ‘Go away—get help,’ he spoke in Sinhalese. His body convulsed as he struggled to breathe.

‘Sunil—’ she struggled to keep her voice soft and calm— ‘I am the doctor here. I need to assess how badly you are burned, and then I can help you,’ she responded also in Sinhalese. Replacing the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, she peeled back the sheet covering him, making an assessment of the burn area as she went. ‘Rosie, patient has lower chest, abdomen, groin and right lower limb third degree burns, covering about fifty percent of his body.’

‘No,’ Sunil stuttered in Sinhalese, pushing the oxygen mask off, ‘get the police. Get protection. The other guys are armed. They want to kill you.’

Dan moved to stand by Sheva. ‘Sheva, did you call the man Sunil?’

‘Yes, I did,’ she replied. ‘This is Sunil. Right now, it doesn’t matter who he is. He is a patient who needs urgent resuscitation, so let me get on with my work.’

‘We need to get him under arrest.’

‘Police,’ Sunil screeched brokenly. ‘Get the police.’

Dan stepped up to Sunil, ‘I am the police Mr Sunil Dantanarayane. You are under arrest for—’

Another spasm wrenched through Sunil’s body. ‘I can’t die—’ he gasped— ‘before I talk to Annie.’

Sheva pushed between Dan and the couch. She leant close to Sunil, ignoring the smell of burning flesh that made her want to gag. ‘Sunil, you are seriously burnt and I am, firstly, a doctor. Despite everything, I am going to try to save your life. We will give you something for the pain and set up an intravenous to get fluid into you.’ She placed her gloved fingers on his unburnt hand. ‘Try not to fight it, Sunil.’

She turned to Rosie. ‘Get the cut down, Rosie. There’s no way we’ll get an intravenous into a vein. And give him a fifteen morphine.’

‘No—’ Sunil struggled against her restraining hand— ‘no morphine until I talk,’

Dan stepped up and bent close to Sunil. ‘Okay, Sunil, I am Dan Cooper, a Special Forces operative with the Federal Police. You can talk to me. Let Sheva—Annie—continue with the treatment.

‘No morphine until I talk.’

‘Rosie—’ Dan turned to Rosie standing ready with the syringe— ‘hold the morphine.’

‘He’ll be in excruciating pain,’ Sheva snapped. ‘You don’t overrule me in the clinic, Dan. Rosie, give him the morphine.

Dan gestured at Rosie to move away from Sunil. He looked at Sheva, ‘Let me talk to him first. You can set up the intravenous fluid.’

Sheva shook her head, furious at Dan, as she peeled back the sheet to expose Sunil’s feet. The right ankle was red and scorched, with no skin, but the left looked relatively unscathed. She located the medial malleolus and landmarked the saphenous vein. Picking up the scalpel, she made a horizontal incision. There was hardly any bleeding, so it was imperative she get the fluid into his body soon.

Placing the syringe with morphine on the treatment trolley, Rosie moved over to stand by Sheva. She sponged away the few drops of blood on the incision Sheva had made, and handed Sheva the forceps. Soon, the cannula was inserted into the vein and the saline flowing. Stepping back, Sheva peeled off her gloves. ‘Get the IV antibiotics into the tube, Rosie.’

Dan was bent over Sunil with a small object in the palm of his hand. He was recording the conversation.

She heard the muted stutter of Sunil’s voice, interrupted by tortured breathing, gasps of pain and what could only be muffled sobs.

‘So, you turned police informant.’ Dan’s voice was low and insistent.

‘Yes, when Annie was gone, Inspector HJ told me what to do.’ Sunil gasped in English. ‘I followed—followed what he said.’

‘Sunil, please—’ Sheva moved to the top of the couch— ‘I am going to give you the morphine.’

Dan reached close to Sunil’s mouth with the recorder.

‘Annie,’ he whispered, reaching out his arm, ‘I have always loved you. I am sorry, so sorry. I had no money—none—needed to save the estate—the business—look after Amma and Thatha–I sold my soul to the devil, Palitha—’ his voice dulled and faded— ‘they looked after—paid for—loans. I did—did—dirty work. You were the ticket to—to get—Australia. When you left—couldn’t do it.’ A sob wrenched through his body. ‘Forced me to come—to kill you to prove—prove my—my loyalty.’ He moaned. ‘I—I planned to take the bullet. Sorry—sorry.’ Tears left clean trails down his ash-stained, fire-reddened cheeks.

Sheva held his hand in hers. ‘Sunil, why didn’t you talk to me? I would have helped you—no, it doesn’t matter now.’

‘Too late—too late. Letter—sent you a letter—explained—please, forgive—when I am dead. Take care of Amma and Thathi.’

‘I am not going to let you die, Sunil.’

His breath rasped and his body shuddered.

‘His airways are blocking up. I need to do a tracheostomy.’ Sheva glanced at Rosie. ‘Give him the morphine, now,’ she instructed.

Dan held on to her arm. ‘Not yet, Sheva, I need to—’

Sheva pulled out of his hands. ‘Shut up, Dan. What you want or need is irrelevant. I am a doctor and have to save his life.’ She glared at Rosie. ‘Do it.’

Rosie picked up the syringe of morphine and turned to Sunil.

Ripping off the stained gloves, Sheva pulled on a fresh pair and slipped on a mask.

She sat on a stool by the now comatose Sunil. His breath was coming in laboured rasps. Swollen by smoke inhalation and accumulation of mucus, his airway was closing up. She had to act fast.

Rosie lifted Sunil’s head and slipped a pillow under his neck, extending his windpipe.

Sheva felt for Sunil’s larynx and slipped her finger down to the space between it and the cricoid. Sunil’s breathing became progressively more laboured.

‘Scalpel, forceps.’ Rosie handed her the equipment. Sheva made the incision into his windpipe. Rosie stood by, mopping the small amounts of blood. ‘Sucker.’ Sheva drew out the ash and thick mucus.

‘Clamps. Trachy tube. Clasps.’ Rosie followed her instructions. Sheva slipped the tracheostomy tube into the windpipe.

‘Rosie, inflate the balloon.’ Sheva held a piece of gauze to the opening. ‘He’s breathing on his own.’

Sheva ripped the bloodied gloves off and flung them in the bin, then pushed her seat back and staggered away towards her office.

Dan followed her and coaxed her into a chair in the corner of her office. ‘Sheva, I need to go alert our people that Sunil is here. Trace the letter he mentioned. Peter will be with you.’

She shut her eyes, and nodded. The tears she had held back streamed down her cheeks. Tears for Sunil. Tears for his parents. For a lost dream. She longed for it all to go away.

Sheva wiped her face when Peter came in with a steaming mug of coffee. ‘Lots of sugar and a caffeine hit.’ He handed her the cup. He walked over to stare out of the clinic window, then shut and locked it, drawing the curtain across to cut out all outside view.

‘They got all the guys in the other car,’ He said. ‘They were armed, as Sunil told us. We think we’re clear for now.’

‘But, you can’t be sure, can you?’

‘Sydney and Canberra are working on the mop-up operations. We will know soon. Meanwhile, we need to be vigilant.’

Sheva sipped the coffee and sat back, running through what needed to be done for Sunil. He needed a blood transfusion, the debris removed and possibly quick skin grafts to minimise further fluid loss and septicaemia. None of the specialist treatment was possible here. She should check with the paramedics if they could transfer him to Cooma hospital. However, she doubted if they were equipped to deal with this degree of severe burns.

‘Peter, check if Kosciuszko Road is open. We can’t do much more for the patient here. He needs a blood transfusion and transfer to a specialised burns unit.’ She paused to consider an idea that just occurred to her. ‘Peter, can we get one of those helicopters that brought the police to fly him to Canberra?’

‘I’ll find out and follow up with the ambos and our people about transferring him. I’ll be in my room making the call. Meanwhile, Rosie is watching the patient, and I’ll be back soon. We will call you if anything changes.’

Picking up the steaming mug, Sheva took another gulp of coffee and let the caffeine course through her. ‘Thank you.’

Peter shut the door and Sheva rested her head on the back of the chair. A short shut-eye would help.

Chapter 37

She was caught in a bushfire. Roy was in a car and the fireball was heading directly for him. She was running towards him, screaming for him to get out, but he laughed and continued driving. She reached the car and ripped the door open. It wasn’t Roy but Sunil in the car. ‘Why did you leave me?’ Sunil sobbed. ‘We could have been together. I love you. I would have looked after you, whatever happened.’

‘No,’ she responded, ‘I don’t love you, I love—’

The door to her office swung open, she jerked awake.

Roy strode in. The door swung shut behind him. He had changed from his firemen’s suit and was dressed in the casual blue jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing in the morning when he left to fight the fire. The clothes were rumpled, and he had smudges of soot on his face and traces of ash in his hair.

Sheva sprang to her feet. ‘Roy. Thank God you’re not injured.’ She stepped toward him. Her hands reached out to hold him.

Roy stopped her with an outstretched arm. ‘No.’

Sheva dropped her hand. She raised her eyes to his — and took a step back. He looked exhausted. But there was more. The easy camaraderie and affection of this morning was gone. In its place was the man she had met the first day she visited the farm. Confusion, sorrow, and anger flashed in his grey eyes.

‘Roy,’ she moved closer, ‘whatever’s the matter?’

He kept his arm outstretched between them. It was as if he needed a physical barrier to prevent her getting close.

‘Before I say anything, thank you for what you did for Father. I have just talked to Samson. He and Rodrigo were able to work with the Fire Fighters. They stopped the fire well away from the Alpaca enclosures.’

‘Roy, that’s great news, but, I don’t need your thanks and gratitude — you’ve done so much for me —’ she stopped and looked into his eyes. ‘Roy, what’s wrong. Why’re you staring at me?’

Roy’s lips tightened. He drew a quivering breath.

‘Why, Sheva? Why did you not tell me the truth? I have been thinking about it for the last sixty minutes — ever since I pulled that man —’ he gestured with his head towards the clinic, ‘— out of the car.’

‘You were the one who pulled Sunil from the burning car? Dear God, you could have been killed!’ The thought made her shiver.

He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. A photograph. He held it between his thumb and index finger — inches from her face.

‘The man had this clasped in his hand.’

They looked so happy. She was leaning into Roy, her hair blowing back onto his face. He had his arms around her, his face bent to her neck.

‘It’s us — on the summit,’ she gasped. ‘The Sri Lankans were taking pictures. Somehow it must have got to the people Sunil was working for. It explains how they knew where to find me.’

‘I was such a hero. Pulled a man from a burning car just before it was engulfed with flames. He was conscious, talking.’

‘You talked with Sunil?’

Roy slipped the picture back in his pocket. ‘I asked him what the heck he thought he was doing —he showed me the picture.’

‘He would have said he was looking for me. He would have called me Annie,’ she whispered.

‘No.’ Roy took a deep breath. ‘He said he was looking for his wife.’

‘Roy, — it’s not what you think —’

‘You told me you were running away from a fiancé, a boyfriend. All the while you were married to him. Why lie to me, Sheva? I would have helped you anyway.’

She stood silent. So, Roy believed that Sunil and she were husband and wife in every sense of the word. And that she was only pretending innocence when she refused him.

‘I thought that I had finally met a woman I could trust.’

Anger gathered in the pit of her stomach and churned up her throat. Her head throbbed. How dare he judge her. She shouldn’t care what he thought of her. But, it hurt.

No. She wouldn’t let him see her pain. She stood straight and stared back at him.

‘Sheva,’ Roy hesitated.

Rosie pushed the door open. ‘Sheva—sorry—I can’t get a pulse. We’re losing him.’

Sheva pushed past Roy and ran into the clinic.

Rosie had managed to set up the ECG leads on Sunil’s chest. Sheva glanced at the printout from the machine. It was a random waveform, with no clearly identifiable QRS complexes or P waves: the pattern of ventricular fibrillation. She picked up her stethoscope and placed it on his chest. There was only a soft murmur.

Peter had rolled in the defibrillator and was standing by with the paddles. Sheva nodded her thanks and slipped her hands into the plastic handles of the paddles. She positioned the paddles as best she could over the burnt skin.

‘Peter, switch the machine on.’ The current zipped through Sunil’s body. He jerked, shuddered and went still.

‘We’re losing him,’ Rosie said, her eyes fixed on the ECG machine.

‘No change. Still fibrillating. Peter, again.’

They repeated the process, watching as the irregular waveform became smaller, slower and then flattened. The machine emitted a high-pitched note as Sunil’s heart stopped beating. The reading of the ECG was now a sheer horizontal line.

‘No,’ Sheva cried.

The line shuddered then tended up. The ECG picked up: one, two, three beats, another shudder in the tracing.

Sheva grabbed the defibrillator. The ECG continued recording Sunil’s heartbeat. They watched the troughs and peaks normalise.

‘We did it.’ Sheva slid onto the stool with the paddles still in her hand, looking at the still unconscious Sunil, her childhood best friend, her teenage boyfriend, her fiancé of just a few weeks ago. Her mind went to his parents. He was their only son. They had no idea of what he had been doing. They would be devastated and heartbroken.

She said a prayer for the lives destroyed by Sunil and the people he worked for, for the girls who, even now, would be struggling with the painful effects of their actions.

Peter’s phone pinged. He stepped away into the office to take the call.

Sheva placed her stethoscope on Sunil’s chest. The heartbeat was soft but regular. He was alive for now.

Peter came out of the office. ‘Sheva, the helicopter is on standby to take Sunil to the burns unit in Sydney.’

‘Are they taking him to Queen Elizabeth Hospital?’

‘Yes, the ambos will be here to transfer him to the helicopter.’

Sheva reached for her phone. ‘I know the head of the unit well. I’ll call him and alert him as to what I have done and the condition of the patient.’

Peter grabbed her phone. ‘No—’ he handed her a clipboard— ‘you’ll need to write transfer notes.’

‘Am I still under witness protection?’

Peter nodded ‘Yes, you are Sheva.’

The door to the clinic opened. Dan walked in, having heard the tail-end of their conversation. ‘I’m afraid you are, Sheva.’ He turned to Peter. ‘You will be accompanying the prisoner to hospital. I’ll stay here.’

He turned to Sheva. ‘Get his transfer notes ready, Sheva. The guys will be here in a few minutes.’

She sat in her office and wrote it all down. If only this were all a bad dream. If only—but no, this was reality.

Peter picked up the clipboard with her notes. ‘Peter,’ she called after him, ‘make sure you have the emergency kit with extra morphine.’

The paramedics came in with the stretcher and Sunil moaned as they moved him onto it. Sheva unhooked the saline bottle and handed it to one of the paramedics. They carried him out of the clinic and out of her life. She heard the whack-whack of the helicopter take off.

Chapter 38

Rosie slipped on a fresh pair of gloves and bustled around. She rinsed and put the used equipment away in the sterilizer, placed the blood-stained linen in the waste bin, the paddles and defibrillator in the cupboard, and the stained gauze and cotton in the biohazard bin. Finally, she mopped the floor.

The clinic was empty and clean. It was as if the last couple of hours hadn’t happened.

Sheva wished with all her heart it hadn’t.

Queen Elizabeth Hospital Burns Unit was the best, but even there, it would take a miracle to save Sunil’s life. If he did live, he would be arrested, and disabled for life.

Then there was Roy. She had not seen him since Rosie interrupted them in her office.

The door to the clinic swung open. It was Dan. ‘Sheva,’ he began, ‘we found the letter Sunil was talking about. It was delivered to your PO Box yesterday. There was so much happening, I forgot to check it.’

‘Well, let me see it.’ she held her hand out.

‘Sorry, Sheva—’ he raised empty hands— ‘the letter, all seven pages of it, is with the authorities.’

‘My letter. It was personal. Sunil told me—’

‘Sheva, there is nothing private or personal for you about this situation. I am sorry.’

‘What was in it?’

‘The letter is being finger printed and analysed by people who understand these things. As for what is in it, I can tell you, but first, let’s go and get some coffee, or something stronger.’

‘I’d rather know about the letter.’

‘It’s a long story, Sheva, let’s go. Rosie—’ he glanced back at Rosie— ‘will hold the fort.’

‘No problem at all,’ Rosie responded as they walked out of the clinic.

‘I guess we’ll go to my house,’ said Sheva, too exhausted to argue.

The ash and dust swirled around them, obscuring the afternoon sunlight. ‘Is the fire still burning?’ asked Sheva, squinting through the haze.

‘The fires are all contained. The wind changed direction and blew ash into town. I think the good people of Jindabyne have had as much excitement as they can take for a day.’

It wasn’t until Sheva unlocked the front door that she remembered her other patient. The house was quiet.

‘Dan, where’s Edward?’

‘Roy took Edward back to the farm. The Dalgetty fires are under control, so the farms have been given the all clear and people are allowed to return to their homes.’

‘I’m glad. With all the excitement of the bushfires, I don’t think anyone other than Melanie, Peter, Rosie and the two of us even saw Edward, let alone realised who he was. It’s unlikely that there will be any questions. The Broughton-Knights will keep their secret a little longer.’ She flopped down onto her couch. ‘Did you talk with Roy before he left?’

‘Go clean yourself up, Sheva. I’ll make some coffee, and see if there’s something for us to eat here. We can discuss things after.’

Sheva looked up, frowning at Dan. ‘Do you know what happened between Sunil and Roy? Did you speak to Roy?’

‘Don’t worry, I explained the situation to him.’

Sheva shook her head when Dan tried to help her up. She started walking towards the stairs. ‘Sunil told Roy that he was looking for his wife. Roy saved him, he pulled him out of the car.’

‘I know.’

She turned at the foot of the stairs. ‘How?’

‘Roy came over here when you were in the clinic fighting to save Sunil’s life. We—eh, we talked.’

‘What happened?’

‘Given he barged in when I was on an important phone call and accused me of sleeping with you, it’s a miracle I was able to have any sort of conversation with him,’ Dan growled.

Sheva pulled away. ‘Why — why would he think that?’ She blinked and grimaced. Waves of anger swept away the fatigue that weighed down her body. ‘No — don’t tell me. He thinks that Sunil and I were married. Then, I came here to Jindabyne and now sleep with you. How dare he make those assumptions!’ She ran up the stairs. ‘I don’t want to ever see him again!’

Dan followed her up the stairs. ‘I — I explained it all to him. The Sri Lankan custom of legally registering the marriage at the engagement. I told him you were just a week away from the church wedding and consummation of the marriage.’

He leant against the bathroom doorframe and watched her turn on the shower. Steam filled the room and he closed the door. ‘I’ll want my pyjamas to change into,’ she called through the door. ‘They’re in the bottom drawer—’

‘I know where to find your pyjamas, Sheva.’ Dan chuckled. ‘I was the one who put them there.’

‘Dan,’ she called out to him, ‘I still need to know what was in the letter.’

‘After you have showered,’ he called back as he walked towards her bedroom.

***

They were sharing the couch and a generous tray of scrambled egg and cheese on toast. Dan spoke of how he had described Sheva’s role in the Flycatcher project to Roy. He had explained to Roy how she had been under instructions to not reveal that she was legally married to Sunil. That she couldn’t apply for an annulment without revealing her location here in Jindabyne.

‘How did he take it?’

Dan smiled and tucked a lock of damp hair behind her ear. ‘Let’s say he was suitably chastened.’

‘Did Edward hear what he said?’

‘Given that Roy was yelling at me —’ the smile widened. ‘I would say he did. He was staring daggers at his son when they left.’

‘Dan—’ Sheva struggled to keep her head from falling into the eggs— ‘you are putting off telling me about the letter. Why are you stalling? Tell me what it said.’

‘Yes, you need some closure, if it is possible.’ Dan put his fork down on the coffee table and took a sip of coffee. ‘In the letter, Sunil explains what he did after you left the tea plantation. He also gives detailed information of the people and places involved in Operation Flycatcher, both in Sri Lanka and here. But above all, Sheva, the whole letter is testimony of how much he loves you and how your love and belief in him gave him the strength to do what he did.’

‘What did he do, Dan?’

‘When you left the tea plantation, Sunil panicked. He dashed off to Colombo, and met your uncle, Inspector HJ, and his wife at your home.’

‘Wasn’t Amma, my mother, there?’

‘She had already left.’

‘Did my uncle arrest Sunil?’

‘No, Inspector HJ gave him a choice and Sunil chose to become a police informant. He says in the letter, he did it for you.’

‘For me?’

‘This is where it starts getting complicated. He knew, even before Inspector HJ told him, that your leaving would be suspicious, and the people he worked with in Sri Lanka would somehow want to find you, so Inspector HJ hatched a plan with our people here. They decided to drip feed information to the gang, through Sunil and other sources, lead them on a proverbial wild goose chase and get the heavy weights from Sri Lanka, here to Australia, where they could be arrested.’

‘Roy was right.’

‘Roy. What about him?’

‘He said you—well, your people—were using me as some sort of bait. What is the word—honeypot?’

‘He’s wrong. We never meant it to happen. It never was our intention to let them anywhere near Jindabyne, but this is where things fell apart.’

‘The picture of me and Roy.’

‘Yes, Sunil writes how one of the higher ranking crooks, a current politician in Sri Lanka, had informed tourists travelling to Australia to watch out for a recent expat from Sri Lanka. When they saw the picture—’

‘I guess I look more like Annie than we thought.’

‘They are smarter than we assumed. Apparently, one of them worked in computers and was running facial recognition on all the pictures people brought back from Australia.’

‘So, they brought in the cavalry to Jindabyne, just on one photograph?’

Dan shook his head, ‘Like I said, Sheva, we underestimated the tentacles of the Australian operation. There is a guy, or was until we picked him up an hour ago, who acted as their liaison person here in Jindabyne. During summer and winter vacations, he provided women to tourists and winter ski field workers. This guy checked you out and reported back. I am still kicking myself for not picking him.’

‘I know almost everyone in Jindabyne. Who would possibly—’

‘Your patient, Tom.’

‘But he’s a homeless man, and mentally ill.’

‘Tom played a skilful role, and we fell for it. Anyway, Sunil writes that to prove he was still with the gang, he took on the job of coming to Jindabyne to stop you from being a witness.’

‘He—he was going to kill me?’

‘No.’ Dan shook his head. ‘He was leading them into a trap set by our people, and he had written you the letter to warn you. The bushfires got in the way of the operation. If it all failed, and they got to you, he was going to turn his gun on them. He was willing to die to protect you, Sheva. Now,’ he pointed back up the stairs to the bedroom, ‘go have a nap. I’ll call you if we get any news from the hospital.’

***

The shadows lay long across her bed when she opened her eyes. An appetising smell of lamb and herbs wafted up the stairs from the kitchen. Sheva sat up in bed, disoriented. Her mind was hazy as to what had happened. The bushfire. Edward. Sunil, here in Jindabyne. Roy. It all came back.

Sunil had been ready to lay down his life to protect her, but he still might die. She glanced at the bedside clock: it was five in the evening. Dan should have an update from the hospital’s burns unit. She climbed out of her pyjamas, slipped on her jeans and t-shirt and ran barefooted down the stairs.

Rosie and Dan sat with their heads bent together, huddled at the dining table. Dan held his phone in his hand. They both looked up when she entered the dining room.

Rosie pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Sheva, are you hungry? I’ve made a lamb stew.’

Dan remained silent.

Sheva looked from one to the other. ‘Thanks, Rosie. Dan, have you heard from the burns unit?’

Dan and Rosie exchanged glances, Dan came around the table, stopping before her. ‘Sheva, I am so sorry.’

She knew what that meant, but she didn’t expect the sobs that racked her body and came from deep in her soul.

Dan pulled her into his arms and rubbed her back. ‘He had another cardiac arrest soon after they admitted him. They were unable to resuscitate him.’

Sheva fisted her fingers on Dan’s shirtfront. ‘I should have—’

‘No, Sheva. Peter was with him. He monitored him all the way. I talked with Peter and there was nothing anyone could do.’

‘Peter is an attendant—’

‘Peter is a fully qualified paramedic, Sheva. He worked with the Flying Doctors. Sunil was in good hands.’

Sheva took a deep breath and breathed out through clenched teeth. ‘Just another piece of information I was unaware of.’ She pulled out of Dan’s arms and dropped into a chair.

‘When we were growing up,’ she whispered, ‘he was the brother I longed for. I called his parents Ammi and Thathi, and he called mine Mum and Dad.’ She paused and smiled at the memory. ‘When I was fifteen, my classmates would talk about kissing their boyfriends. I asked Sunil to kiss me. It was so gross, I swore I would never kiss a boy again.’

Her hands clenched on the table. ‘Now, I have to tell his parents I betrayed him, drew him to follow me to Australia and let him die.’ She dropped her head on her hands. ‘Maybe I should have told Sunil—confronted him with what I saw that day in Colombo. Maybe he would have given it up for me.’

‘Sheva, you know it wouldn’t have happened. He couldn’t move out of the business. They would have killed him, and you.’ He continued to rub her back. ‘Thanks to you and Sunil, we have the whole torrid trail of Flycatcher. The business is more than sex tourism; it involves drug smuggling and gun running. The four who were caught at the bridge opened up like tin cans when they learned we had Sunil in custody. One of them was the politician from Sri Lanka. Your old friend Palitha was in one of the houses we raided in Sydney. We got him too. HJ and the Sri Lankan authorities have Charlie and the rest.’

His phone pinged. He read the update and smiled. ‘Right now, Sheva, there are twenty-eight young Sri Lankan women freed from a life of sex slavery in Australia.’

She remembered the faces in the pictures she had seen in Sunil’s safe. They were young, innocent, vulnerable girls. ‘What—what will happen to the girls?’

‘They are in a safe house. We have counsellors and psychologists with them. They’ll be looked after.’

‘Thank God. Dan, can I go back to Sydney? When can I speak to my mother?’

Rosie and Dan exchanged glances. Dan cleared his throat. ‘We have discussed it, Sheva. You can speak to your mother.’

‘You know where she is.’

Dan smiled sheepishly. ‘She’s having a great time on my parents’ vineyard in the Barossa Valley. Everyone thinks my mother’s sister is visiting from Sri Lanka.’

‘She’s in Australia, thank goodness.’ She reached for her phone.

‘No—’ Dan covered her fingers with his — ‘you can call on my phone, but before you do that, we need to discuss your future.’ He glanced at Rosie. ‘Sheva, we would like you to stay here and continue working in the medical centre for a few weeks. For you to leave immediately might—might—be suspicious. We can’t risk it.’

Sheva took a deep shuddering breath. ‘You aren’t really certain that you’ve snared all parts of the operation, are you?’

‘Sheva, we believe we have them all, but we need to be absolutely positive.’

Sheva shut her eyes. Memories of the last weeks flashed through her mind. The love and caring she had felt from everyone around her far outweighed the sadness of the last eight hours.

She looked across the table at Rosie and Dan who, she now realised, together with Peter, would have protected her with their lives. ‘I do love working with you guys. And the people here have been so accepting and so generous. Somehow, Sydney seems so far away. Another life. I have been happy here.’

Dan stood up. ‘Rosie will spend tonight here with you.’ He cut off her protest with, ‘Please, Sheva. I need to talk with the team. Surveillance will be continued around you for a while more, but it will be more overt now, so don’t let a few cops and a police car spook you.’

She walked to the front door with him and they hugged before she opened the door.

‘Sleep well, Sheva,’ he said as he gave her a squeeze, ‘and I may have a surprise for you tomorrow morning.’

Chapter 39

Roy sprinted up the mountain. Ares and Tyche trotted at his heels.

The wind whipped around him, carrying remnants of the bushfires of three days ago. Specks of ash and fragments of burnt eucalyptus leaves stung his eyes. Blinking, he rubbed his eyelids, tired and heavy after another sleepless night.

Over the last two years, early morning walks had cleared his head of cobwebs and prepared him for the day. It had worked until today. Roy shivered and rubbed his palms together. He hadn’t bothered with a coat and he welcomed the biting cold of the early morning breeze whipping through his light cotton shirt. It gave his body something to feel and his mind something to think about other than the memories that clutched at his heart, like the memory of her sweet face, with eyes full of pain and fatigue.

There would be another unseasonable snowfall on the high peaks today. The thought brought back the vision of Sheva’s joy on Mount Kosciuszko, of her snuggled in his arms, happy, trusting, and carefree.

He had destroyed it all by his inability to trust her. He had shattered the beautiful fragile intimacy they had shared by his tainted and twisted view of women. Roy took a deep quivering breath. His mother and Charlene. He had allowed his dreadful hurt and warped experiences to cloud his judgement.

Turning off the main path, he trudged through the bush up the hill, his boots slipping on the rough soil and gravel. The dogs whined and scrambled after him.

Rubbing his chin, he remembered Dan’s response when he had accused him of sleeping with Sheva. Dan had called him an arrogant fool who could not see beyond his own selfish needs, though his actual words had been less polite.

‘She trusted you,’ Dan had bellowed at him. ‘She shared with you as much as she was able, as much as we gave her permission to tell you. We thought—no, we believed—that you would support her and be there for her if things went pear-shaped, as they did today.’ Dan’s blue eyes glared into Roy with a deep, fiery anger. ‘I should have known you were there only for what you could get out of her. You don’t care for her or what she is facing.’

The finger pointing away from Sheva’s cottage and towards Roy’s car had trembled. Dan’s voice was ragged, audibly exhausted for the first time since the fire. ‘Get out of her life Roy. Let her heal. Let those of us who care for her help her.’

He had complied by bundling his father into the car and driving away. He saw no choice.

He had listened to the tortured and broken words his father vocalised as he drove back to the farm, not needing to listen to understand what his father wanted to communicate. He knew he had disappointed his father with his actions.

Even Samson was hardly speaking to him. ‘You’re an idiot Roy,’ had been his response when he heard what had happened.

He looked down at Ares and Tyche. ‘You two must be the only ones in Jindabyne who still believe in me.’ The dogs wagged their tails in response. ‘And that—’ he smiled at the memory of Sheva’s first encounter with the hounds— ‘is only because you haven’t gotten to know her yet.’ He looked away and across he paddocks. ‘After what I did, I don’t think you ever will.’

The wind died down. The sun sent its rays over the charred remains of what had been a thriving eucalyptus forest. A smoky haze hung over the bare blackened branches that reached up to the sky in silent supplication.

Black and scorched on one side and green shrubs and grass on the other, the line at which the fire had been stopped was clear from where he stood on the mountain. It was just a paddock away from the Alpaca enclosure.

Samson had rubbed salt into the open wound by telling Roy, ‘We only managed to save the animals because Rodrigo and I were working side by side with the rural Firemen. And, we couldn’t have done it if the good doctor hadn’t come and taken your father to Jindabyne.’

Roy sat on the ground and put his head in his hands. He needed her forgiveness.

He heard Sheva’s words in his head from when he said he didn’t want to be genetically tested, didn’t want to know if he had Huntington’s disease. She had said, ‘I’ll help you deal with it, whatever happens.’ She had promised. She was a woman of absolute integrity.

He had to try. What did he have to lose? He had to give their relationship—their love—a chance.

He glanced at the time on his mobile phone. Six forty-five. She would be awake, dressing for the morning. He should wait till evening to call her—no—he needed to know if she ever wanted to see or speak to him again.

She picked up the phone on the second ring. ‘Dan, sorry. I overslept.’ The weariness in her voice shot a sharp arrow through his heart. ‘I called Sunil’s parents after you left last night. They want me to come with the body to Sri Lanka. They—oh, I don’t know what they think.’ Her voice caught.

Sunil was dead, he realised. ‘Sheva, it’s Roy,’ he cut in, knowing how much she would hate knowing she had laid bare her emotions to him.

He felt her apprehension building in the pause before she replied, ‘I didn’t look at the screen. Given the time, I assumed it was Dan.’ She took a deep breath; let it out in a shudder. ‘What do you want, Roy? I believe you said all you needed to tell me when we last met. When was it? Oh, yes, just three days ago!’

‘Sheva, please, we need to talk.’

‘There is nothing more to say, Roy. You made it crystal clear how you feel about me.’

He hadn’t cried when his father told him the diagnosis, or when his mother left. He hadn’t shed a tear over Charlene. Today, the realisation that he had lost Sheva made his eyes well up with tears that he tried to blink away.

‘Sheva, I am sorry. I have no excuse for what I said. Please, we need to meet, even just once, Sheva.’ She had to know how desperate he was. ‘We can’t just end it like this, Sheva. Please, you can’t want us to end like this.’

Her sharp intake of breath rustled through the phone. ‘I guess we both need some closure. I am in the clinic from nine to eleven, but I am free after that shift.’

‘I’ll get Samson to fix us some lunch.’

‘No, Roy. I’m having lunch with Dan and Rosie. Come by at eleven and we can talk before I meet with them.’

Dan, Peter, Rosie—people who cared about her and protected her. He needed to make her understand that he loved her more than all they could offer her. He needed to convince her to give their love a chance. He would even get himself tested. He would do it for her. Maybe – just maybe they had a future?

‘I’ll be there.’

Chapter 40

Sheva was seated at her computer, entering patient notes at the clinic when Dan walked in. ‘Are you sure you want to speak to Roy alone?’ he asked. ‘I can stay with you.’

Sheva smiled. ‘Dan, you have been an amazing support to me from the moment I came back to Australia and I am truly grateful. Nevertheless, I have to move ahead with my life. To begin that journey, I have to meet Roy and get some closure with him.’ She stood up and looked up at him. ‘And, I have to do it alone. You can’t protect me forever, Dan.’

‘You’ve been through hell and back. He’s just an opinionated, irrational bas—’

She shook her head. ‘Dan, I know what you think of him.’

Later, she watched outside as Dan walked to the car, raising his hand to her as he drove away. She walked across the road to her house.

Shutting the front door, she dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, went through to the kitchen, and switched the coffee percolator on.

There was a muted tapping on the front door. ‘Just a minute,’ she responded and padded barefoot to the sitting room.

She opened the door and stifled a gasp.

Red shadows rimmed Roy’s eyes and a purpling bruise rippled from his chin to his left cheekbone and lower eyelid. Although clean-shaven and well-groomed as always, Roy looked like a man who was barely holding himself together.

‘Roy, you look terrible. Are you unwell?’

The lips turned up in the slightest of smiles and he stretched out his right hand.

‘Red roses.’ She glanced at the glass jar and the flowers. ‘Snowy mountains cookies, double chocolate and walnut, my favourite.’

‘I am sorry about Sunil.’ The hand holding the flowers trembled slightly.

Sheva accepted the gifts. ‘Come in and sit down, Roy. I’ve got the coffee brewing. God knows we both need it.’

After setting the flowers up in a vase, she came back with two mugs of coffee and Roy’s cookie offering on a tray. Roy sat on the corner of the couch. She handed him his coffee and held out the open cookie jar. When he refused with a shake of his head, she selected one and, picking up her own mug, sat down opposite him.

Their eyes met and held. Words weren’t necessary.

Moments passed. They sipped on their coffee. Sheva licked the cookie crumbs off her fingers.

Anger at what he had said in the clinic warred with sympathy for the weariness and despair in Roy’s eyes. ‘Roy,’ she prompted, ‘why are you here?’

Placing his coffee mug on the centre table, Roy crossed the room to drop on his haunches by her chair. ‘Sheva,’ his voice was low and hesitant. ‘Can you forgive me for what I said? What I did?’

She took a deep breath, and shut her eyes to pull her thoughts together. ‘You were willing to believe I lied about being a virgin and that I’d had sex with Sunil. You even accused Dan of sleeping with me. Did you really think I was that deceitful?’

‘Sheva,’ his fingers tightened over hers. He dropped his lips to touch her knuckles. ‘I have been so hurt by the women in my life. I lost the ability to trust. I built a wall around my emotions. I was determined to not let anyone into my heart. You found your way in, Sheva. I resisted it. I didn’t want to love, to be vulnerable — and be hurt.’ He stopped and took a deep quivering breath. ‘When Sunil called you his wife, I felt — I don’t even know what I felt. I know that it is no excuse for how I reacted.’ He paused and raised her fingers to his lips. ‘When I pulled Sunil from the car, and he showed me the picture, I was furious, Sheva. I wanted to throw him back. Watch him suffer and die, but I saved him, — and — and —’ his voice dropped to a whisper and he dropped his cheek on her clasped hands. ‘— and I took it out on you.’

She looked at his bowed head. Putting her coffee down next to his, she ran her fingers down his cheek, to his chin. She felt him flinch in pain as she tilted his face up to her.

The doctor side of her took over. ‘Roy, did you get injured in the fire?’ She moved her fingers across his cheekbone, gently probing. ‘Did something fall on you? A branch? You could have fractured your maxilla.’

He stilled her fingers on his cheek with his own. A wry smile twisted his lips. ‘No, Sheva, I wasn’t hurt in the fire. It was Dan’s way of communicating to me that he and you had a purely platonic friendship.’

‘Dan hit you?’ She pulled her hand away and drew back.

‘I don’t blame him. I would have done the same if the circumstances were reversed.’

‘But Dan only said he explained—’

‘He did explain. Once he knocked me down, he helped me up and told me about your engagement cum quasi-legal recognition of marriage, and your part in the international sting.’ He took her hands in his. ‘Can you see it in your heart to forgive me, Sheva?’

There had been so much misunderstanding and suffering. She needed to move beyond it if she was to heal. He needed it too. She leant forward to rest her cheek on his hair, breathing in the sharp lemon-scented aftershave she would always associate with Roy.

She raised her head. Their eyes met and held.

‘I love you, Sheva. And I’m so sorry for the pain I have caused you.’ His voice was rough with emotion. ‘You must know it. You haven’t answered me. Can you forgive me?’

‘Love is about forgiveness, Roy. Yes, I forgive you.’ She watched as his face relaxed and transformed in happiness, a smile beaming across his cheeks as he stood up.

‘Will you come sit here, on the couch?’ he asked, gesturing towards the wider seat, ‘I have something I need to tell you.’

She nodded and moved until they sat facing each other on the couch.

‘You said you forgive me, Sheva.’

She nodded assent.

‘You also said love is about forgiveness. Do you love me?’

‘Love? Roy, I wonder if I even know what that is. I loved Sunil, but it was friendship, maybe even sibling love. I agreed to marry Sunil because it was my father’s final wish and my grandmother’s dream. They wanted me secure and loved and my father believed Sunil would provide that for me.’ She shivered. ‘I’m glad he didn’t live to see what Sunil did and how he died.’

She placed her fingers on the back of his hand. He turned his hand over and curled his own around hers. ‘Those weeks in Sri Lanka, meeting Sunil after six years, I believed I could grow to love him. He wined and dined me. We went driving to the beach in his Chrysler convertible. I was having a good time with a friend and assumed love would follow marriage.’

‘Dan told me what he did, Sheva. He was willing to give his life to protect you.’

Her voice caught on a sob. ‘He did.’

‘Sunil loved you.’

Sheva nodded. ‘I wish I could have saved him, but life would have been horrible for him even if he survived.’ She took a deep breath and let out a sigh. ‘I need to thank you for saving Sunil’s life in the fire, Roy. It gave Sunil and me the opportunity to clear things between us, to say goodbye.’

‘You didn’t really love him, did you?’

She laughed to cover the sadness. ‘As a brother, as a friend, yes, I loved him. I thought it was enough. No, I had no idea what true love was, Roy. Until—’ she stopped and tried to pull her hand away. Roy tightened his clasp on her fingers.

‘Until when, Sheva? Until we met? Or kissed?’

Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I felt that I could love you when I found out that you were caring for your father. You sacrificed your lifestyle and stayed when even your mother had left. That is something to love.’

He dropped her hand and held his arms open. After a moment’s hesitation she went to him. He held her against his chest and she rested against his heart.

‘I’ve made a decision, Sheva.’

She felt the rumble of his words in his chest. ‘What is it?’

‘The pre-symptomatic diagnostic genetic test for Huntington’s disease. I’ve decided to get it done.’

Sheva pulled away from his arms. ‘I’m glad, Roy, but why now? You were so determined not to do it just a few days ago. What made you change your mind?’

He ran a finger down her cheek. ‘It’s for us, Sheva.’

‘For us?’ Sheva frowned.

‘Sheva, I want to ask you to marry me, but I can’t. Not as I am now, knowing that I may, in all probability, be a disabled, gibbering vegetable in fifteen or, at best, twenty-five years. So, I’ll get the test done. If I am completely clear, I will be free to ask you to be my wife. The report takes a month or so after the testing. Sheva, will you wait for me—with me?’

Sheva sat frozen, her emotions swinging between delight and anger. She collected her thoughts. What she said now would affect her future and his.

‘Sheva, what’s the matter?’

‘Roy—’ she slid back from him and clasped her hands together; she couldn’t say this if she was touching him— ‘let me get this straight. What you are offering me is a fifty percent chance of a marriage proposal. If I say yes, and you test positive for HD, what would happen to us?’

‘I—I would never expect you to marry me, knowing that I would develop the disease.’

‘What would it mean for us as a couple?’ she pushed on.

He looked down. ‘I hope we could stay friends.’

‘Or maybe lovers?’

He looked back at her and she could see the look of hope flit through his eyes. She pushed on. ‘Is that what you would like, Roy?’

‘Sheva,’ he stammered, ‘I—I couldn’t ask it of you. Not permanently. You are young. You should have a good marriage, a healthy husband and children. If I am positive for HD, I can’t give you any of this.’

She clenched her hands. Her nails cut into her palm. She had to do it, to stop her urge to slap him.

‘So, if you’re negative for the HD gene, you propose and we get married. If you are positive, you would like me to be your lover, but only for a while. Until the symptoms show.’

Roy rested his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘That is so clinical.’

‘I’m a clinician.’

He didn’t raise his head. ‘Sheva, I love you. You are in my heart. No, you are my heart. I want you in my life. But, I can’t take the chance—’

‘You can’t take the chance? You think that if we marry and you get sick, I’d leave you, like your mother did to your father, or like your first fiancée. It’s about you, Roy, not me.’

He nodded without raising his head. ‘Yes, I can’t take the chance. It terrifies me to think about it.’

Sheva reached over and took his hands. Drawing them towards her she forced him to meet her eyes.

‘Roy, you were there for me at my lowest moment on the summit. You helped me without asking questions. I know you lost it when you pulled Sunil from the car, you were angry at him and later, at me. I am willing to forgive. I have already forgiven you for it.’ She paused. ‘Roy, I want you in my life. I want you. Passion, desire, I feel these. But love? I am not sure – not yet. But, marriage is different, Roy. It’s a demonstration of love at both glorious highs and at sacrificial depths. It is total and unquestioning faith. Roy, you can’t offer me the commitment that marriage requires, because, after everything we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me completely.’

She held his eyes. Roy sat immobile, his fingers still and cold in hers.

‘Even if you are negative for HD,’ she continued, ‘we know nothing of the future. What if after we marry, I have an accident and am disabled? Or get a stroke? Would you leave me?’

‘You know I would never do that.’

‘Well, if you had come in today and asked me to marry you with no conditions, knowing there is a chance of your developing Huntington’s, I may have said yes.’ The tears she had held back slid down her cheek. ‘But, you want to wait, and it tells me that you don’t think I will be there for you if you do get sick. I cannot accept that. So, under the conditions you have stated, I cannot accept your marriage proposal, Roy. Not now, and not if you are diagnosed negative for HD.’

Roy’s voice was a rumble deep in his chest. ‘How can you say that you would accept a man knowing he may have such a horrible disease? You’re young. What about children?’

‘If we married and you were positive to HD, we could have gone to Sri Lanka and adopted one or two, whatever.’

‘Sheva, please.’

She let go of his hands and stood up. Weariness seeped through to her marrow. ‘Go, Roy, and get tested. Whatever the result is, I will be there for you. I promised you and I will do it. If you test positive, I will be your friend, counsellor, and doctor. If you are negative for Huntington’s, I will continue to be a friend, but I will never be your lover or wife. I will hope and pray you will one day meet a woman whom you can love and marry.’

‘Please, Sheva, don’t do this to me—to us.’ He reached for her.

Sheva stepped back. ‘There is no us without absolute trust, Roy. Please go now. Let me know what the result is when you get it. In fact, I will be back in Queen Elizabeth in a couple of weeks and can arrange for you to take it there.’

She walked to the door and held it open for Roy as he lingered. ‘Sheva,’ he said, ‘this is not the end for us.’

‘No, Roy, I accept that. There will be no end for us.’ She smiled. ‘Goodbye, Roy.’

Shutting the door, she collapsed on the couch. There were tears for Roy, for Sunil, and for herself. For her dreams and Roy’s, and a future that might have been.

Chapter 41

‘You—you asked—asked—her—marry. The words were wrenched from the tortured larynx.

Roy sat across from his father. Samson stood, silent, behind the wheelchair.

‘Yes, I told her I would have the pre-symptomatic genetic testing done. I asked her to marry me if I was negative.’

‘Sh—sh—sh—no.’

‘Yes, Father. Sheva said no. She said if I had asked her to marry me last night she may have accepted. She would have been willing to take the chance. Marriage, she said, is love at its glorious highs and sacrificial depths.’

Edward let out a moan. His words were broken and tormented. ‘You—y—you—never—saw—saw tha—tha ki—of love.’

Their eyes locked. Roy’s were a cavern of grey pain; his father’s were tired and misted with memories. ‘No, Mother couldn’t deal with the diagnosis, could she? She didn’t love you enough.’

‘No—no—bef—ore. No love—differ—rent—roo—ms—and sep—separa lives. Lo—long—time.’ He paused and dragged in a breath. He stared at Roy. ‘You—you—’

Roy nodded. ‘Father, I knew exactly what was happening.’ He shrugged, ‘I chose to ignore it, probably because I was living my own self-centred life.’

His father’s face was twisted in a grimace. The sounds were wrung from him, the words hardly comprehensible, but the meaning clear. ‘Roy—Royston—you—you—never saw—faith—no tru—trust’ He stopped and drew a shuddering breath. ‘Only—only bet—betrayal—sad—sadness.’

‘That is not true, Father. I do have memories from when I was young. But later, when you made money, it was all about being the perfect socialites wasn’t it? You were the leaders of Sydney society. Admired, photographed—the perfect couple to the world.’ He studied his father: the sad shadow of the strong dynamic businessman. ‘I’m sorry, Father, I wish I didn’t have to say this, but I don’t want any secrets, not anymore.’

His father’s body twisted and arms thrashed. Samson’s hands held down Edward’s shoulders. ‘Roy, don’t do it mate. He’s really distressed.’

‘No.’ Roy looked into his father’s eyes. ‘You see father, I knew about it all along. When I was a teenager, I learned about your affairs. You tried to keep it from me, but I heard you argue. You kept it out of the media. I presume you paid someone.’

A guttural moan ripped from his father. Tears creased his cheeks. ‘I—I—al—always—lo —lov—loved—your mo—mother.’

‘The trip you did to Europe when I was sixteen,’ Roy continued, ‘I knew you were trying to patch up your marriage. You may have kept it out of the media, but the boys at Newington knew all about the scandal. I was teased, even bullied about it. When you came back, I was old enough to know the meaning of separate bedrooms.’

Roy sat on the stool in front of his father and clasped his father’s hands in his. ‘And Charlene. For me, trusting her meant a heart torn up and trampled in the dust.’

‘The—doc—doctor—diff—different.’

Roy leant forward and dropped his head on their clasped hands. ‘I know father. I know.’

They sat in silence.

‘What an idiot I’ve been. I have been so deluded. I told myself I wanted to protect her. Save her the agony of watching me die—’

Edward’s flaying hand crashed on the armrest of the wheelchair. ‘Bull—. Prot—protecting—your—self.’ He let out a mix of a wail and a scream. ‘Id—Idiot.’

Roy raised his head and laughed, a dry humourless sound. ‘Sheva said that too.’

A wry smile contorted Edward’s features. ‘Nev—never—thought—you—you—a co—coward.’ He smashed his hand down again. ‘Wuss.’

‘What should I do?’

Edward raised a quivering finger towards the door. ‘Go—o—now—as—k her—marry—now—ag—again.’

Yes, he would do it. He had nothing more to lose. He had lost it all anyway with his stupid conditional marriage proposal.

***

‘It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. Who’s running the clinic?’

Rosie pointed to a sign hanging on the front door. ‘We’re closed this afternoon. Sheva’s taken a couple of days leave.’

Roy glanced across the road at Sheva’s cottage. ‘She’s not at home, and not answering her phone, where is she?’

Peter and Rosie exchanged glances before Rosie sighed and replied, ‘She’s gone with Dan to his parents’ place in the Barossa.’

A chill band of dread encircled his heart. Dan had taken her to his parents’ vineyards. It could mean only one thing. He looked from one to the other. Rosie and Peter returned his gaze. They were unsmiling, aloof, and indifferent to his distress.

‘Dan has taken her to meet his parents, hasn’t he?’

Rosie took a step closer to him. Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve hurt her enough, Mr Broughton-Knight. Let her find happiness where she wants.’

Roy met her eyes. No, he would not be intimidated. He would find Sheva. ‘You think she will be happy with Dan?’

‘Sheva will do what is right for her. And since you ask, I think Dan will make her happy.’

‘No.’ He stared at Rosie and then Peter. ‘I must find her. What is the name of the winery?’

‘Leave her alone.’ Stepping back, Rosie swung the medical centre door shut in his face.

***

He sat in his office, computer screen open.

“Serendipity is the art of finding amazing treasures where least expected, and that is exactly what you will discover in this delightful winery, at the gateway to the Barossa Valley.”

Roy scrolled down the page.

“The vigneron, Anthony Ashley Cooper grew up in the Peak District of England and worked in the tea plantations of Sri Lanka. His wife and partner Shiromi, now a consultant physician, grew up in the tea plantations. Together, they have brought their considerable experience in manufacture of outstanding silver tip tea, to equally delightful Shiraz, Riesling and recently, an award-winning new Chardonnay, with subtle flavours of cinnamon, traces of Camellia sinensis and an intriguing label: ‘Watakälé’.”

And further down:

“Anthony and Shiromi have been viticulturists and vignerons in the vineyards of Serendipity since 1970.”

He picked up the phone. Mike was a late night owl, so he let it ring. ‘Evening, Boss. Got a problem? Not like you to call at—’ Mike paused— ‘three minutes past midnight.’

‘Mike, sorry to wake you—’

Mike guffawed. ‘No, no, whoever sleeps before dawn in Jindabyne? I was having a beer and a game of darts with the boys. What’s up, Boss?’

‘Sorry for the short notice, Mike. I need to visit the Barossa Valley tomorrow. How early can we leave?’

‘We can leave at four a.m. if it’s a rush job, Boss. I’ll grab a little shut-eye and be ready. There’s a little strip at Gawler, but I’d rather go into Parafield Airport. On a full tank and a blue day, it’s about three and half hours flying time from Jindabyne.’

‘Thank you, Mike. I’ll message you details of the place I need to visit in the Barossa.’

‘Sweet, I’ve a mate who works at Parafield. I’ll give him a buzz, and ask him to get the necessary permits. We’ll be able to borrow his wheels once we get there. Meet you at the aerodrome at four a.m. You get some shut eye too.’

‘Yes, thanks, Mike.’ Roy switched off the phone.

The website drew him back. Photographs of the Vigneron Anthony Ashley-Cooper and his wife Shiro at the Cellar door chatting with patrons, his arm around her. A picture of the couple with their two younger children. He continued reading. The son James, following his father into the wine business and the daughter, a doctor like her mother.

He scrolled down. No pictures, and no mention of Dan. It was more evidence that he was more than a parks ranger.

The Barossa would be beautiful at this time of the year. Roy shut his eyes, torturing himself with thoughts of Sheva with Dan: them walking through the vineyards together, watching the sunset over the rolling hills, sitting with his parents and siblings at dinner. She would be accepted into his family. They would surround her with love, and keep her happy and safe.

He could offer her nothing but the possibility of a demented and disabled husband and an absence of children. There would be no family, just years of sorrow and pain.

He should cancel his trip and let her turn to Dan. Dan was in love with her and it was obvious she cared for him. Love would follow, wouldn’t it? She had expected to find it with Sunil.

He strode out of the house. It was bone-chillingly cold. He ignored the dew and damp and ran up the hill. His legs were pumping and he was panting, pushing himself, feeling the sting in his lungs and the aching pain in his calves. Ares and Tyche yelped and dashed behind him. He stopped only when he crested the hill. He stood bent over, gasping, grasping his knees. The dogs flopped beside him, panting, pink tongues lolling.

He should not go to her, but he would.

He slumped down on the damp grass. Drawing his legs up, he rested his arms on his knees. Spidery moon shadows of the fire-scorched gum trees lengthened over the paddocks. A blanket of darkness shrouded him and the dogs.

Roy sat with his memories.

A warm, wet tongue on his wrist brought him back.

Chapter 42

‘Mum, I was so afraid for you.’ Sheva and her mother sat together on the back veranda of the homestead of the winery. Their hands were clasped.

‘There was no need, darling. Uncle HJ called me the morning you left Colombo. He instructed me to come to their house immediately, and to bring my largest handbag with my passport and any valuables. He wouldn’t say anything else. I only grabbed our photo album and jewellery.’

‘How much did he and Aunty Malini tell you about Sunil?’

Her mother put her arm around Sheva. She drew Sheva’s head down on her shoulder as she had done when Sheva was young. ‘There was not much time, darling. You had already left. They took me to the airport and I took the next flight to Singapore and on to Adelaide.’ She stroked Sheva’s hair. ‘Daniel’s parents met me at the airport. They are amazing. Daniel called and explained everything to me.’

‘I didn’t know until a couple of days ago that you were in Australia.’

‘I know, darling. Daniel kept in touch. I knew everything that was happening to you, until the awful last day, of course.’

‘Dan called you regularly?’

Her mother chuckled. ‘Yes, every night, after what he called the “under duress check-in” you did with him at six pm.’

‘Mum, what exactly did Dan tell you about me?’

‘Oh, he updated me on your daily activities. How all your patients love you, and how much of a hit you were with the teens!’

‘Mum! It was just a talk on healthy sexuality.’

‘He said you were making friends and were accepted into the community. He said you enjoyed walks around the lake and in the mountains.’

Her mind swirled back to that day on Kosciuszko when she had felt safe and comforted, when she had dared to dream. What an idiotic fantasy that turned out to be. Her mother, ever alert to Sheva’s moods, raised Sheva’s head from her shoulder and looked deep into her eyes.

‘Darling, I am so sorry. I should have not allowed you to follow up on your promise to your dad and your grandmother. I feel so horrible for having encouraged you to spend time with Sunil. Did you fall in love with him? Did you have sex?’

‘Mum—’

‘I was so blind, darling. In my anxiety to see you happily married, I didn’t take the time to check Sunil. Dad would have seen what was happening.’

‘Mum—’

‘Sunil’s parents were worried,’ her mother continued. ‘They didn’t like his friends. They believed that once you two were married and here in Australia, he would settle down. I believed it too. You used to have such a calming influence on him as a child.’

‘Mum, stop! I was not in love with Sunil. It was good to be with Sunil again and, I, like you, believed he would settle down. I did love him, but not in a romantic sense, and I definitely didn’t have sex with him.’

‘You are crying, Sheva.’ She ran her fingers over Sheva’s tear-streaked cheeks. ‘If you are not mourning for Sunil, why are you so sad?’

‘It has been a difficult time, mum.’

Her mother shook her head, ‘Something else is upsetting you, darling.’ Sheva turned her head to look at the sun’s last golden rays glint on the grapevines as her mother continued to search her face for answers. ‘Kunju, you know you can tell me anything.’

The childhood endearment broke through the barriers she had built over the last few weeks. She burrowed into the comfort of her mother’s arms. The words tumbled out of her and the tears she had held back were let go.

She spoke of how she had met Roy. About his father, and his mother. Even Charlene’s betrayal. She described the day in the mountains, the bushfire, and Roy’s part in saving Sunil. She sobbed of her horror at Roy’s reaction to Sunil’s words. Finally, spent and wrung out she whispered to her mother how she had refused his conditional marriage proposal. ‘Mummy,’ she sobbed, going back to her childhood way of addressing her mother, ‘he doesn’t trust me. He thinks I will leave him like his mother and his ex-fiancée. And yet—yet—’

‘You love him.’

Sheva nodded, her face hidden in her mother’s neck.

‘I want to hate him, mummy. If I can get angry and hate him—even a little—I can stop loving him. Now all I have is this hollow place in my heart. And a sadness for him and me and for what we could have had together.’

Her mother rocked her like she was a child again. ‘Kunju, when you love, you open yourself to pain. To sacrifice. It was like that with your dad and me. Tamil and Sinhalese. In those days, interracial marriage was forbidden. Even your dad had to work through his personal animosity towards Tamils to allow himself to love me. His parents didn’t come to our wedding. They didn’t even acknowledge our marriage. Of course,’ she added with a laugh, ‘once you were born, they couldn’t stay away.’

‘Mum, as a child, all I wanted was to find a man who would love and trust me like Dad loved you. I watched you and longed to have a relationship—a love—like you two had. And, silly me, I thought I would find it with Sunil, and then with Roy. I’m such a bad judge of character. It’s a good thing I’m a surgeon, not a psychologist.’

‘You will find love, Kunju, you will. I promise you. If not with Roy, then with another man worthy of your trust.’ Her mother continued to stroke her hair and they sat, arms around each other, lost in memories.

‘As much as I don’t want to interrupt the mother and daughter reunion, you’ll be eaten alive by mozzies if you sit out here much longer.’

Her mother’s eyes moved from Dan to her. ‘Now, there,’ she whispered in Sheva’s ear, ‘is a worthy man.’

Sheva gave her mother a small headshake and turned to smile at Dan. She loved him, but they both knew that a relationship between them would be second best.

‘Sheva, we can go for a drive after dinner if you’d like to watch the sunset.’

Sheva stood up after kissing her mother on the top of her head.

Chapter 43

The Cessna glided down from a cloudless sky for a perfect landing at the Parafield airport. Mike taxied to the hanger. ‘Boss,’ he called over his shoulder. He glanced down at Roy’s briefcase. ‘Do you wanna take your swag with you?

‘No, I’m okay.’ He glanced at his wrist. ‘We’ll probably be only a couple of hours in the Barossa. Should be done by lunchtime. We can grab a bite to eat at one of the wineries when we’re finished. Do you mind flying back in the afternoon?’

‘No worries.’ Mike waved out of the window to a man loping across the landing strip towards them. ‘There’s my mate, Johnno.’ He leapt out and walked over. Roy slipped out of his seat in the plane and watched as the men clapped each other on the back. After, Johnno walked over and shook hands with Roy. He gestured towards a mud-streaked jeep parked on the grass. ‘Hope you don’t mind the dirt. I just got back from a camping trip to Wilpena Pound and Flinders Rangers.’

He waved away Roy’s thanks and attempts to pay a fee for the use of the vehicle. He shared a conspiratorial wink with Mike. ‘No worries, Mike here has done some favours for me in the past.’

***

They drove away from the airport along Dakota Drive. Following the GPS, they sped down the A20, through green pastoral land and orchards with fruit ripening under sun-kissed leaves. The temperature outside was a balmy twenty-nine degrees.

Within the hour they were at a road sign for “Barossa Valley Wineries”. This area presented them with a complete change in scenery. The undulating hills were covered in neat rows of emerald green vines, the hardy branches thick with a dense canopy of darker foliage that protected drooping bunches of ripening grapes.

Roy unfolded the map that Johnno had handed them. He ran his finger down the list of wineries, ‘Saltram Wine Estate, Schild Estate, Seppeltsfield Wines, yes, there—number fifty-eight—“Serendipity”. Map reference E8. Let’s see, keep going on Seppeltsfield Road and take a sharp left at Samuels Avenue. The brochure says the cellar door is open from 10:30 in the morning to five in the evening. We should have access to the winery.’

‘Boss—’ Mike slowed as the road narrowed to a single lane— ‘why’re you concerned about access. Aren’t they expecting you?’ He snuck a sideways glance at Roy. ‘Hey, this ain’t business, is it?’

‘No, Mike, it’s personal.’

Mike nodded and grinned. ‘Wouldn’t have anything to do with the new doctor would it? The one who flew out of Jindabyne yesterday on a charter flight to Adelaide with ranger Dan?’

‘I—why do you ask?’

‘Sorry, Boss, tell me to shut up and butt out if you want. There’s some gossip going round to say you’ve got a shine on the lady.’

‘No secrets, eh?’ Roy griped.

‘Small town living, Boss. And the doctor is mighty popular.’ Mike’s face split in a sly smile. ‘Want to know a secret? There’s a couple of bets on at the Wild Brumby on which of you will get the girl.’

‘What the—’ Roy turned to face Mike. ‘Bets on whether Dan or I will get Sheva? That’s insulting; Sheva’s a person, not a horse.’

Mike chortled in response. ‘Just a bit of amusement, Boss. Relax, okay? People in Jindabyne bet on anything. And you’ve gotta accept it makes good odds. On one side, there’s the elusive alpaca farmer, and on the other, the equally mysterious, part-time ranger. They’re both vying for the love of the beautiful lady doctor, loved by all her patients.’

‘Well, I hope you’ve got your money on Dan Cooper.’

‘No, mate.’ Mike’s belly laugh reverberated around the car. ‘My cash is on you.’

‘You’re going to be disappointed.’

‘I don’t think so.’

They drove in silence for ten minutes.

Mike slowed. ‘I think this is it.’ He braked, and the car came to a stop. ‘Crikey. What the heck is happening here?’

Red and white roses peeked between the ornate gothic carved tops of the white picket fence. The sign above the metal gate read, “Welcome to Serendipity Winery”, and below in smaller writing, “cellar door open 10.30 am to 5.00 pm daily”. The sign bore the crest of the winery, a picture of a stream and a sentinel-like rock on a green background.

There was no welcome today. Instead, the gate was closed and padlocked.

Further, a police car was parked across the drive. Two officers stepped out of the car and walked towards the jeep.

Roy stepped out of the car and went forward to meet them.

The older officer didn’t crack a smile. ‘The winery is closed to visitors today, sir. It’ll probably stay closed for a couple of days.’

‘We are not tourists.’ Roy took a step closer to the officer. ‘I am Royston Broughton-Knight.’ He pulled out his driving licence as identity. ‘This—’ he gestured to Mike— ‘is Michael Salt. We would like to speak with Daniel Cooper. I believe he is here, visiting with his family. Also, Doctor Sheva Singh, who is here with him. I’d like to speak to her.’

The older officer’s eyes narrowed. The younger one climbed back into the car and switched on his telephone.

‘What is your business with Daniel Cooper?’

‘I flew down from Jindabyne this morning.’ Roy took a deep breath. ‘I am a friend.’

‘So, you have friend business so urgent, you needed to fly down on a private charter to see Daniel, as well as Doctor Singh.’

Roy wondered what their response would be if he told them the truth. He decided to take a risk. ‘I am aware of Operation Flycatcher, and the role Doctor Singh played in it.’

The officer glowered at Roy and Mike. ‘I don’t think Dan would want to be disturbed—’

The younger officer seated in the car laughed. He jumped out of the car and approached them. ‘I talked on the phone to Daniel,’ he nodded at his older partner. ‘He says they’re okay.’ He looked at Roy with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Daniel said he was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out and get here.’

The older officer turned to the car. ‘Did he want us to accompany them?’

‘No. Daniel says he can handle it. We’re to stay here.’

The younger officer unlocked the gate.

***

The gravel lane wound between ancient gum trees, offering tantalising glimpses of emerald green rows of trellised vines, pregnant with the promise of a rich grape harvest.

‘Roy, you know I have absolute trust in your father and you.’ Mike’s voice was laced with compassion and a hint of anxiety, and he slowed and turned to Roy. ‘What the heck have you gotten yourself involved in, mate? What’s Operation Flycatcher?’

‘Sorry, Mike. I should have said something, but I didn’t expect to see the police here. I thought it was all over.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything, mate.’

‘Yeah, I know. It’s some international sting the doctor has been helping the police with.’

‘And ranger Dan.’

‘He’s involved in the operation. That’s what made the two of them so chummy.’

‘The investigation’s not what has brought you dashing here from Jindy, is it? You think he and the doctor are hooking up?’

Roy looked out at the rolling, lush hilltops. ‘Yes.’

Mike braked at the crest of the hill. Uninterrupted vistas of grape-laden vineyards stretched to the horizon. ‘Man, what a place to live.’

The sun glinted silver off the tin roof of the brownstone building on their right. Red gum chairs stood slanted against tables on the slate-floored veranda. The door to the building was shut.

‘My mate, Johnno, said their wines are to die for.’ Mike pointed a finger at the sign “Serendipity Wines cellar door” with a “closed today” hanging from it on a metal link chain. ‘Apparently, they’re the best in the district for wines to match spicy food. They’ve won a heap of awards. Pity we won’t get to sample their wines today.’

The lane continued down to the homestead. Mike gestured towards the house. ‘You’ve got your reception committee waiting for you, Boss.’

The warm bricks and grey slate floor of the wide veranda showed off the single story federation-style building. Timber posts reached up to ornamental brackets. Three figures stood on the veranda.

Dan leant against one of the timber posts, dressed in casual jeans and a pale green shirt, his hands crossed in front of him. An older man with golden, sun-streaked hair threaded with grey and weathered fair skin stood a little distance from Dan, his fingers entwined with those of a dark-skinned woman dressed in a deep green sari, whose black hair was drawn back from a clear, unlined face. The older man wore a shirt similar to Dan’s. Squinting, Roy could just make out the insignia of the winery on the pocket of the shirts.

Sheva was not with them.

‘Into the lions’ den.’ Mike coasted down the lane to the house and stopped the car at the foot of the sandstone steps, leading up to the veranda. The three figures remained where they were.

‘Phew,’ Mike breathed out. ‘Not exactly rolling out the red carpet, are they?’

‘Nope, not even a welcome mat.’

Roy stepped out and looked at Dan’s unsmiling face. The sentiment was clear in the depth of the icy cold blue eyes. It was definitely not welcoming. Roy swung his glance to the face of the older man and caught a flicker of amused irony.

Letting go of the older man’s hand, the woman stepped down from the veranda. She extended her hand to Roy. ‘The men at the gate called through. You must be Royston Broughton-Knight?’ She glanced at Mike. ‘And, Michael Salt. Welcome to Serendipity, Royston. I am Shiro Ashley Cooper, Dan’s mum. This—’ she gestured to the older man— ‘is my husband and Dan’s dad, Anthony.’ She leant a fraction closer. The smile widened. ‘Don’t mind them. They get protective of their territory—’ her voice dropped— ‘and their women.’

Dan didn’t move from his position by the post on the veranda. ‘What do you want, Knight?’

‘I want Sheva. I mean—I want to see Sheva. I need to speak to her. She is here.’ He made it a statement.

‘And why would we allow you to see her? Given the way you treated her? How you upset her?’ Dan growled.

Shiro swatted her fingers at Dan. ‘Daniel, don’t be so rude. Royston has travelled here from Jindabyne. Let’s at least hear him out.’ She turned to Roy and Mike. ‘You don’t mind us calling you Royston, do you? Come in and have a cup of tea with us, and explain why you want to see Annie, or Sheva as you call her, so urgently.’

Accepting their hospitality would make it harder to say what he needed to. Better get it over with right here. ‘Thank you, Mrs Ashley Cooper. I’d rather say what I came for right now.’

Anthony stepped off the veranda to stand by his wife. ‘You are obviously distressed, Royston. Come into the house, out of the sun.’

Dan didn’t move from his position on the veranda.

Roy took a deep breath. ‘Sir, Mr Ashley Cooper,’ he looked into the sparkling ebony eyes of Dan’s mother. ‘Mrs Ashley Cooper, I am sorry if this sounds rude, but I cannot stand by and allow Sheva to marry your son. I know he brought her here to meet you both. Having seen you, and a little of your lovely home and vineyard, I can understand why. Dan, and you, his family, can offer Sheva all the things she deserves. I cannot do that. I should bow out and let her marry him. But, God knows, I can’t stand by and let it happen. I love her too much.’

Dan’s parents looked at each other. Roy expected anger, annoyance at the intrusion, but he read bemused puzzlement in their eyes. They both turned to Dan, still lounging against the veranda post. He rolled his shoulders, like a boxer preparing for a fight.

‘Daniel.’ Eyes fixed on Dan, his mother climbed the steps onto the veranda.

Roy faced Anthony. ‘I need to speak with her.’ He looked over to where Shiro stood by Dan, murmuring and gesturing. ‘Once I have, I will leave, if Sheva sends me away.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I will do nothing further to stand in the way of Dan and Sheva. I give you my word, Sir.’

Anthony’s eyes softened. A smile creased the tanned face.

‘Please, Mr Ashley Cooper, I would do anything to speak with her just once, to make her understand how I feel.’

Anthony glanced at the veranda, where his wife Shiro was still talking to Dan. ‘Royston, believe me, I understand exactly how you feel.’

Dan peeled himself away from the post. He waved a hand to a gravel path leading away from the house towards an octagonal red cedar roofed structure. ‘She’s in the Gazebo.’

Roy turned to the path.

‘Come in and have a cup of tea. Or a glass of Serendipity wine,’ Anthony addressed Mike behind him. ‘Your friend may be a while.’

Chapter 44

‘Mum, Roy thinks all women get married for selfish reasons. He can’t trust me enough to expect me to stay with him if he gets sick with HD.’

‘Or, maybe, Kunju—’ her mother reached over to stroke her cheek— ‘he loves you too much to want to put you through the suffering of taking care of him. Maybe he wanted you to be free for something bigger and better. To be with someone who can care for you, rather than you having to take care of him.’

Sheva was quiet for a few seconds. Maybe, mum was right and he was thinking of her, just as she was of him. She blinked the tears away and fixed her eyes on a distant hill where the first grape pickers of the season were working their way between the trellised vines.

Her mother shaded her eyes. ‘Sheva, there’s someone coming down the path. He’s running. It’s not Dan. I hope nothing has happened in the house. Or maybe—’

Sheva turned around just as Roy, ignoring the three wooden steps leading up to the platform, leapt up into the gazebo. ‘Roy,’ she cried, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘Roy?’ her mother stepped towards them.

Roy grasped Sheva’s arms. He looked over her shoulder at her mother. ‘Madam, I don’t know who you are. Could you please give me a few minutes with Sheva?’ Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to her. ‘Sheva, you can’t marry him. I know you deserve a man like Dan. He can give you family: in-laws who are healthy and happy, and the children you deserve. I know he brought you here to show you all of this, and meet his family.’ The words tumbled out of him. ‘He loves you, and I know you care deeply for him.’ his voice broke on a sob. ‘You don’t love him, Sheva. You love me. You may not know it. But, I know in my heart you do. And, Sheva, no-one in the world will love you like I do. Surely, you know that. Please. Will you hear me out?’

‘Kunju, what is he—’ her mother stepped towards them.

Roy held out his hand in an authoritative gesture that made Sheva want to laugh. She bit her lip to keep from breaking out in giggles.

‘No Madam, please don’t interrupt.’

He kept his eyes locked on Sheva’s. The slate grey eyes clouded with anxiety and exhaustion. Knowing him the way she did, she read fear—even terror—in their depths.

‘Roy,’ she breathed, ‘why are you here?’

‘Sheva, I have never felt such fear as when you sent me away, when I realised I will never—never have you as my wife. I could survive with the hope there was a fifty percent chance of a future for us.’ His voice dropped. ‘But I cannot live with the knowledge that I will never hold you—kiss you—love you.’

He pulled her close, dropped his forehead to her hair. ‘Sheva, I am here to beg you to take a chance on me and marry me, as I am. You know I may end up like my father.’ His voice broke on a soft sob. ‘Please—please, my darling, marry this broken man, lost in his insecurities and fears. I can find peace only with you.’

She stood in the circle of his arms. His hands trembled. His tears wet her forehead.

‘If you send me away, I will never trouble you again. I will leave you knowing you will find happiness with Dan.’ His clasp around her tightened. ‘Dear God, I pray you don’t ask me to go.’

Sheva moved back. She raised her hands to cradle his face. ‘Roy, are you asking me to marry you? Before you get the pre-diagnostic genetic test?’

He caught her hands and bowed his head to place his lips on her knuckles. ‘Yes.’

‘And you came here today to stop me from accepting Dan’s marriage proposal?’

‘Yes.’

Sheva chuckled.

Roy raised his head and stared at her. The total confusion and incomprehension on his face made her want to laugh.

‘Roy, I want you to meet someone.’ She turned and took her mother’s hand. ‘This is my mother. She has been with Dan’s parents since the day after I left Sri Lanka. I didn’t know until after the bushfire debacle. She is the reason I am here.’

‘You mean Dan didn’t—hasn’t—’

‘No, Roy, Dan has not asked me to marry him. Oh, I know he cares for me.’ She placed her hand over Roy’s heart. ‘He also knows where my heart is.’ She feathered her fingers over his chest. ‘Although, if I had any idea how you would react, I would have passed the word around Jindabyne that I was planning to marry Dan a lot earlier.’

Roy turned to her mother. ‘Mrs Singh, Madam, I am—am—very sorry.’

Sheva’s mother laughed and batted away his apology. ‘Call me Aunty. Or, if my daughter gets around to accepting your proposal, Mum.’ She reached out and took Sheva’s hand and Roy’s, and led them to a red gum bench. ‘Come, sit down and talk about this properly. I will go back to the house. And by the way—’ she smiled at Roy— ‘my name is Priyanthi Samarasinghe.’ She stopped and smiled, her eyes misty with memories. ‘I think Sheva’s father would have approved of you.’

‘Mum, stay—’

‘No, Kunju, come to the house when you—’ she glanced at Roy— ‘when you are both ready.’

They sat side by side on the bench, watching her mother walk down the path to the house.

Sheva turned to Roy. ‘So, tell me again, you flew down this morning to stop me from throwing away my life by marrying a man who loves me and can give me a good life?’

‘Sheva,’ Roy cupped her face in his hands. ‘Please, give our love a chance. No one. No one can, or will ever love you like me.’

‘You came here to stop me marrying a man who loves me and can give me a good life but can’t love me like you do.’

‘Sheva, I have done so much to hurt you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hate me. And yet, I am asking you, begging you to give our love a chance.’

‘You have suffered too.’ Sheva ran a finger over the bruise on his cheek. ‘Roy, what made you change your mind?

‘I talked to my father. He made me understand that I was protecting myself and not you when I asked you to wait till after I was tested for HD. He wants to go back to Sydney and allow people to see the truth. He no longer wants to hide away. Whatever you said to him that day in your house made him change his mind.’

Sheva nodded. ‘I am glad. It is a brave move. But, it will be good for him.’ She paused as the meaning of what he had said sank in. ‘It means you can return to your life in Sydney.’

Roy shook his head. ‘No. The life I led in Sydney before is a closed book. I have no life, no future if you aren’t by my side, Sheva.’ He took her hands and kissed her fingertips. ‘Come with me to Sydney. Be my wife.’

‘And, you are willing to make this commitment before being testing for HD?’

Roy nodded. ‘With you by my side, I will have the courage to face whatever the result of the test.’

‘I’ll be returning to work in a week. You can be tested at Queens.’ Sheva wound her arms around his neck. She smiled up at him. ‘Yes, Roy. We can face it together.’

She watched as his grey eyes lit up with a soul flame of joy. ‘You will marry me?’

Chapter 45

December 2010, Watakälé, Sri Lanka

The tea bushes were an undulating carpet of brilliant green over the mountains. The tea pluckers, multicoloured chains moving through the bushes. Wisps of late morning mist clung to the mountains.

It was the tea plantation as Annie loved it.

‘That place,’ she pointed to where water tumbled over rocks into a stream. ‘Sunil and I used to love coming here. And there,’ the pink Sapphire on her engagement ring blinked in the morning sun as she waved her fingers at the four story warehouse-like building, ‘is the tea factory.’

Annie and Roy sat in the back of the hire car. Her mother had insisted on sitting in the front seat with the driver on their way up the mountains from Colombo, so that the newly engaged couple could sit in the back.

The car turned into the drive leading up to the plantation bungalow where Sunil’s parents lived. She could see them standing side by side on the front verandah.

‘Aunty,’ Roy addressed her mother, ‘Do you know why Sunil’s parents were so keen we drive up for the weekend?’

‘I don’t know, Roy,’ she responded. ‘But I guess we will find out soon.’

Sunil’s parents came down the steps to the car.

Aunty Sirima went straight up to Roy. ‘Thank you for saving my son from the fire,’ she grasped Roy’s right hand in both of hers. ‘I know he passed away,’ her voice caught on a sob. ‘But – but at least he got to speak with Annie before he died. For that we will always be grateful to you.’ She dropped his hand to wipe her eyes with the corner of her white sari.

‘Mrs Dantanarayane,’ Roy spoke slowly, taking care with the complex syllables of the surname, ‘My very deepest sympathies on the loss of your son, Sunil. He was a brave man.’ He turned to Sunil’s father and held out his hand. ‘And to you too, sir. You should be proud of his actions.’

‘Thank you. Thank you. Yes, Sunil was a good son. He looked after us very well.’ Raja stepped forward to take Roy’s hand. ‘You must call me Uncle Raja, just like Annie does. There is no need for this “sir” and “Mrs” with us.’ He gestured to his wife, now sobbing quietly in Annie’s mother Priyanthi’s arms. ‘Call my wife Aunty Sirima.’

Aunty Sirima peeled herself away from Annie's mother's arms. She sniffed and wiped her face again. ‘Come, come, you must all be tired after that long drive. Why are we keeping you standing on the front verandah? Our cook-appu has made lunch ready for you.’ She ushered Annie, Roy and Priyanthi into the house.

She held Annie’s mother’s hand and drew her away, ‘Come and wash in our room, Priyanthi. You can tell me about your holiday in Australia.’ She shooed Annie and Roy towards the corridor leading to the bedrooms. ‘Annie, your room is ready for you as usual. Take the young man and wash your hands there.’

‘Thank you, Aunty Sirima.’ Annie kissed her cheek and turned to smile at Roy. ‘Come on. I’ll show you my childhood bedroom.’

Once in the bedroom, Roy shut the door and took Annie in his arms. ‘Sunil’s parents are such genuine people.’ He smiled and kissed her forehead. ‘How are you holding up, Shev - Annie?’

‘It breaks my heart’ she sighed. ‘They believe that Sunil and I fought over his friendship with Palitha and his goons and that I went to Australia to get away.’ The faces of the young girls in the pictures swam across Annie’s mind. ‘I don’t know how much they know of his so called educational tourism.’

‘True,’ Roy turned her face up to him with a finger under her chin. ‘But, you haven’t answered my question, Annie. Coming back here? How are you coping?’

Annie took his hand and drew him to the window. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘breathe and smell the beauty. Can you smell the fresh picked tea leaves and the fragrance of fermenting tea from the factory? Can you feel the crispness of the air? Hear the birds? See the green tea fields and blue sky? Being back here is the catharsis I need.’

She leant over the window and pointed to a bed of luscious purple orchids flowering under it. ‘I stepped on these plants and totally crushed them when I jumped out of the window to escape. See how beautiful they are today? Like the flowers, I’ve recovered too.’

Roy pointed to a black jeep coming up the drive to the bungalow. ‘Looks like we aren’t the only guests today.’

Annie gasped. ‘That’s uncle HJ’s car.’ She leant further out of the widow and waved. ‘Aunty Malini is with him.’

‘HJ. That’s the police officer who headed the Sri Lankan operations isn’t it? The one you went to with the pictures?’

Annie nodded. ‘Uncle HJ, my dad and Uncle Raja were in school together. They stayed friends. I wonder how much Uncle Raja knows of HJ’s involvement in the case.’

They heard the sound of car doors shut and greetings.

‘Annie, Duwe, Putha, lunch is ready. Come and eat while it is still hot,’ Uncle Raja called.

‘What did he call us?’ Roy questioned.

‘It’s Sinhalese. He called us daughter and son. Do you mind?’

Roy shook his head. ‘No,’ he responded. ‘I am honoured he would think of me as a son.’ He picked up her hand and kissed the ring on her finger. ‘You love them. I can learn to love them too.’

***

‘Aunty Sirima,’ Roy sat back and looked at the remains of the Stringhopper, chicken curry and assorted vegetables, ‘thank you. That was delicious.’

Aunty Sirima stood up. ‘Appu,’ she called out, ‘come and take the plates.’ She looked at Roy, ‘I have made biscuit pudding for dessert. You will like that. It is Annie’s grandmother’s recipe.’

Roy’s eyes met Annie’s, both remembering the last time they had shared biscuit pudding. Jindabyne seemed a lifetime away.

The Appu bustled in and carried away the used plates and dishes. Uncle Raja signalled his wife to sit down. ‘The dessert can wait, Sirima. We need to tell these children why we have asked them to Watakälé this weekend.’ Aunty Sirima nodded and sat down.

Uncle Raja sat back and rested his arms on his ample stomach. He looked like a politician about to make a speech. His eyes roved over HJ, Malini and Priyanthi and came to rest on Annie and Roy.

‘Annie, Roy, there is something I want to tell you. Please listen.’ He waited till they both nodded assent.

‘Annie, Duwe, you are a kind and loving girl. You have always been like a daughter to us. We watched you and Sunil grow up together and we hoped – no prayed that you two would be married and he would settle down. But,’ he stopped, swallowing as tears threatened. ‘It was not to be.’

‘Uncle,’ Annie reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. ‘You don’t have to say anything.’

‘No. No. I have to tell you this, Annie. I knew of the plans you and Sunil had for the Rehabilitation Centre. He shared it with us. We were so proud that he was finally doing something important. And, that it was with you. But, it was not to be. Not to be.’ He stopped and wiped his eyes.

Roy’s fingers closed over Annie’s. She bit her lip to hold the tears back.

‘This is what I brought you here for, children.’ He looked across the table at HJ. ‘I have spoken to HJ and Malini. And this morning, we have talked to Priyanthi also.’ Tears banished, he smiled across the table at Roy and Annie. ‘Annie, Duwe, we want to donate this bungalow and the land and gardens around it to you for the Rehabilitation Centre.’

‘Uncle,’ Annie gasped.

‘No, Duwe. Don’t say anything. HJ told us everything.’

‘Everything?’ Annie whispered, her fingers trembling in Roy’s grasp. Roy leant toward Annie, encouraging her with a look to hear Uncle Raja out.

‘Yes, Annie, Roy. We know everything. How he treated you, Annie, the last time you were here. The truth of the education tourism racket. Everything.’

‘Uncle,’ Annie whispered. ‘I am so sorry you had to find out. I tried to stop him. To help him.’

‘I know, Duwe. That is why we made this decision. We want something good to come out of it all. HJ is retiring and he and Malini have agreed to oversee the development. And, if you agree, Sirima and I will stay on to help when it is built.’

Annie looked around the table, too stunned by their generosity to speak.

‘Annie,’ Aunty Sirima spoke with a sob in her voice. ‘It will give us a reason to go on.’

Her mother got up and came to stand behind Annie. ‘We have decided the new centre should be named in memory of your father and grandfather: “The Samarasinghe Rehabilitation Centre.”’