Hamish cursed with every step as he walked back to his office in the dark. Scowled at the way his stupid, inept, bungled answer had tumbled out. After their hour together, he’d begun to respect Erin Spenser, care about the impression he made on her. Then, when the conversation suddenly switched to partners, he’d fallen in an ugly heap. The way she’d bitten back her smile while he choked said it all. She knew he was holding back on something painful, private, embarrassing.
Why had he fallen apart? It was truth time for Hamish Bourke. The second Erin Spenser had stepped through his office door that afternoon, had he, well — fallen in love? Stupid word that — love. What did it mean? Years before, he’d felt he was in love with Honey Biggs, and what a disaster that overnight infatuation had turned out to be.
Of course he hadn’t fallen in love with Erin Spenser. No way. You couldn’t fall in love in five seconds flat. He’d felt attracted to her. An instinctive reaction. The human race had survived, like every other surviving animal species on the planet, because of that instinct. Creatures of opposite sexes felt attracted to one another. Then in the next breath, they got on with mating. So he’d felt attracted to his new client. Well he’d just better get over it. As he had with Honey.
Hamish stepped into his office, switched on his computer, and made a coffee. The horror movie of that awful Saturday evening at Highlands Hall began to play in his head for the hundredth time. He’d delivered an afternoon session to the management team of an international accounting firm, spruiking the financial pluses of planting forests to fight global warming. The audience had actually cheered when he stepped down from the lectern.
But then Honey arrived for the conference dinner. She walked in dressed like a tart, and was rowdy and drunk by the end of the first hour. Between courses, she disappeared into the shrubbery with the client’s finance manager. Then she reappeared, dress smeared with mud, and threw up on the ballroom balcony. Cringing with shame, Hamish exited the gathering, cleaned Honey up, and took her home. Ever since, he’d backed away from any formal invitations that included the words ‘and partner.’ A year later, the memory of that night still hurt like a branding iron sizzling on bare flesh.
Next morning Erin rose earlier than she’d have liked, dutifully spooned down a serve of healthy cereal, then waited for Hamish. His strange departure from the Golden Dragon only hours before still puzzled her. What was he trying to hide? What might happen when the two of them stood in this so-called secret cave?
At first blush, she’d sized him up as pleasant, competent, but driven by a passion for the environment. She’d liked him. Then the replay of the surf rescue had complicated things. As they talked over dinner her female chemistry had responded to his lean, broad-shouldered body — the same body that had woken her adolescent hormones all those years before. Later, in the small hours, she’d played with the idea of revisiting that body — purely as a fantasy to while away her sleeplessness. Since her breakup with Todd Archer, Erin had enjoyed her singledom.
Now, in the cold light of day, she recalled her glimpse of Hamish’s dark side — the way he’d fallen apart when the talk turned to partners. So he had a partner. She’d keep her distance, especially during their time in the cave.
She looked towards the horizon from the cottage veranda. The morning sun hung over the blue ocean. A big rolling swell pounded breakers onto the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. It would be a good day to take in the view from the mysterious Sea Eagle’s Nest, perched on the very edge of that cliff. She dressed in a well-loved if rather faded top, beachy shorts, and trainers. Hamish arrived a few minutes early, wearing T-shirt, shorts and boots. She took in his muscular legs as his eyes scanned her body — slowly, methodically, missing nothing. He blinked away from his appraisal, finally noticed her smile, then smiled back.
‘Hi Erin. Ready for the big adventure?’
‘Well, I feel better now my trusty mountain guide’s shown up.’
‘Trusty mountain guide?’ he laughed. ‘Hey, that’s a big promotion from boring country lawyer. Let’s go. First, your shed. The ladder.’ He led the way into the dark unpainted building, its inside walls lined with garden tools, hoses, old pots of paint, and rows of dusty jars filled with jams and preserves.
‘Here it is.’ He pulled out a sack from under a bench, dragged a bundle of rope from it, and headed for the cliff-top. Erin followed, surprised she’d never noticed the narrow overgrown track before. He pushed through the tangle of scrub that hid the pathway and she followed, fighting nerves as the track seemed to fall away down the cliff. He stopped at an old acacia tree and tied the ladder to it.
‘Absolutely safe, this tree,’ he said. ‘It could hold a hundred tonnes. Wait here till I call, then come on down. Pretend it’s kindergarten play equipment. I bet with those legs of yours, you were good on that.’ He cast a sideways look at the legs which had earned her envious sighs from girlfriends all through high school.
Hamish disappeared down the ladder, and called just seconds later. ‘Come on down, Ma’am. It’s only a few metres. I’m here to catch you.’ She grabbed the rope, wishing she’d worn long pants, then shinnied down. He’d be standing at the bottom, taking in every centimetre of her legs — legs that Todd had often said were worth a million dollars. The ladder ended a metre from the ground. She stopped, uncertain. Where to from here?
‘Stuck, are we?’ he asked kindly.
‘I’m not sure about —’
‘Let go. I’ll lift you down.’ He flashed a reassuring smile. His arms locked round her waist. Suddenly they were hugging, touching from shoulders to hips. She gasped. He held her close and easy, wrapping her in his warmth. Those smiling lips were close enough to kiss. But they were off limits — she recalled her self-lecture from that morning. Instead, she let herself melt into his arms. That would be…respectable. He carried her to a patch of flat, grassy ground and set her down. She fought a sudden weakness in her knees. Was it from the scary climb, or the pressure of his body on hers? She caught her breath, put on a face that sent a message of relaxed cool.
‘Congratulations. You made it.’ He stepped aside as she turned to look at the cave’s entrance. The opening was no more than a couple of metres wide, coming to a point at the top. ‘Welcome to Sea Eagle’s Nest.’
As she followed him inside, a mystical feeling flowed over her. Peering into the gloom, she saw a folding camp bed, a basic table with one chair, a tiny cupboard, a kerosene cooker. At the apex of the A-shaped space, in a dark corner away from the entrance, hung a framed photo of the grandfather she’d never known. He looked down on her, face stern in his naval uniform.
For the first time, Erin saw behind her grandmother’s name for her property — Lovers’ Lookout. Widowed after an explosion on her husband’s ship during a naval exercise, Grandma Spenser had bought the land out of love for him. On many an evening the young Erin had watched her looking out to sea, moist-eyed.
Erin’s heart still pounded unevenly. She felt sure if she spoke, her voice would waver. Better to zip her mouth. She wished Hamish would say something.
‘She even organised a shower.’ He pointed outside to a shower rose at the end of a pipe, together with a tap. ‘There’s a tank up there. Filled with rainwater. She said there was always enough water, even if she stayed for a week.’ He stepped to the edge of the tiny grass pad at the cave’s door. ‘Come and take a look.’
Back in control of her misbehaving body, Erin stepped to the edge and looked down. Far below, waves surged against huge rocks and fired spray high into the air. A sea bird cried. The waves retreated into a curve of foam. A ship slid slowly along the horizon, black against the powder blue of the sky.
‘It’s…magic,’ she whispered.
‘It is. I told you I’d spent the odd night here. All you need’s some food, a sleeping bag, something to drink. And a few good books.’ He stepped back from the edge. ‘It’s the kind of space I need right now, come to think of it.’ He paused. ‘But no time these days. Commitments.’
She stood silent. Yes, she could cope with the cave’s primitive furnishings. As Hamish had said, if you brought the essentials with you, it would be enough. You didn’t need television, computer, cell phone, a fancy bathroom. The cave would be dry and snug in the worst weather. And it would deliver a priceless gift. Pure peace.
‘I’d better be heading back,’ Hamish said suddenly. Perhaps, like her, he felt uneasy in the overpowering silence. Being alone with him in this utterly private place had her nerves on edge. She didn’t answer. Like a spell slowly taking effect, the still, quiet dark breathed sexy private thoughts into her head. Again she lectured herself. The guy had a partner. She mustn’t look at his muscled body, mustn’t fantasise about what might happen if the two of them, heaven knows, should ever spend time together in this magical cave.
‘It’s Saturday after all,’ he said, his voice loud, cheerful. ‘Shopping, mowing the lawn. Cleaning up the kitchen.’
‘We’d better go, then.’ Her words broke the invisible web that seemed to be bonding her to the place.
‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll pull you up.’
‘Thanks for the offer. But I’ll be fine.’ She followed him up the ladder and jumped off at the top — into those waiting arms. As he drove away, she remembered the warmth of their closeness. Yes, he was off limits, and yes, the moments she’d spent in his arms had been delicious.
Overnight, Erin had confirmed her decision. She’d put aside any fancy ideas of living in the cottage. Her mother’s health — maybe even her life — depended on Erin selling her inheritance fast. She’d better get organised. She made a list, spelling out which rooms, which door frames and other trimmings should be painted, what bits and pieces should be replaced by a carpenter, what jobs would need a plumber, an electrician, a concreter. The garden would have to wait for another day.
After a quick visit to the general store, she made a casserole to the recipe in her grandmother’s handwritten cookbook. All afternoon, she inhaled the rich brown beef smell she’d drooled over as a child. At dusk she took her dinner onto the veranda. As the stars came out, she knew she was back — back in the magic space of her childhood.
Erin woke as the morning sun rose out of the sea, bathing the bedroom in coppery gold. She pulled on shorts and top. Sunday morning! Outside on the lawn, she drew breath. The air tasted as fresh as a mountain stream, flooding joy into every living thing. You simply didn’t get a morning like this in the city, ever. She’d enjoy it while she could. Slipping on her trainers, she headed for the cliff-top path again. As she looked down on the breaking waves, a gull swept overhead, carried up from the sea in an updraft. It soared over her head, looked down at her, then swooped back towards the water in a voluptuous arc. As it neared the waves, it flattened out its dive and peeled off to the north.
Next lifetime, she’d ask to come back as a bird — have a life that was utterly free. Without the baggage of a job, deadlines, buying things you didn’t need. Without unfinished business, broken-off relationships. As she walked, Hamish Bourke popped into the space she’d reserved for enjoying the morning. She pictured his smile, wondered again what hid behind it. Had he known pain? Risen above it? How was life with his partner? Did he have real friends — close and sharing friends — as opposed to the plastic variety? At first glance, she’d sensed that he liked her and could possibly be her friend in this little town where she hardly knew a soul. Then that chance meeting at the Golden Dragon, and…wipeout. His silly fumbling about his partner, his instant exit. Why? Groping among those tired thoughts was ruining her morning. She’d set out on the walk to enjoy the view, the tang of the sea, to forget about other people’s problems.
‘Look, Daddy. A bird!’ The excited child’s voice came from the track ahead. Another seagull skimmed overhead, looking down on the humans below. A man walked into view — a tall, rangy man carrying a little boy on his wide shoulders — a man whose thatch of light brown hair flicked back in the wind. Hamish Bourke. Just when she wanted to break away from the endless mental pop-ups of that face, that body, he’d surfaced again. He flashed a wide smile as they met on the track.
‘Erin Spenser! Of all people! Isn’t it a great morning.’ He stopped as she walked towards him, lowered the child onto the track. ‘Meet Dwayne. My son. Nearly four.’ The little boy looked up with a perfect copy of his father’s smile, dimples and all.
‘Hullo, Dwayne,’ she replied slowly, wondering how to greet the little boy. Hamish chuckled. ‘A lot of people hesitate over his name. His mother’s idea. I’d have called him Jack or Bill or Bob.’
‘What’s your name?’ The little boy looked up at Erin, deep blue eyes wide.
‘Erin.’
‘Mine’s Dwayne. I’m three. I can be on a swing by myself.’
‘Wow! You are a clever boy. What else can you do?’
‘I can do puzzles. I can do a Mickey Mouse puzzle.’
‘Next week it’ll be putting on his sandals by himself.’ Hamish grinned and looked out over the sea. ‘Where will it all end?’ Erin sensed that one of his silences was about due.
‘Glad to see you’re taking my advice,’ he said, after a minute spent staring down at the breaking waves. ‘Taking a walk on a morning like this might persuade you to keep the place. This talk of selling —’
‘I did explain,’ Erin sighed. ‘I have to sell. It just doesn’t fit with my other life. Or my mother’s health.’
‘A pity,’ he said. Remembering the tale of his Green passion, she braced herself. His eyes, widening, smiling straight into hers, told her he was about to rev it up again. ‘You’re family. Edna’s family. Her property is a key piece in the jigsaw puzzle that makes up the cliff-top walk. She bought it all those years ago, a part of her dream.’ Erin knew he was right. Too many times she’d watched her grandmother stare out to sea. Too often, she’d seen a tear roll down those wrinkled cheeks. Then the old woman would wipe her eyes and turn away, forcing a watery smile for her granddaughter.
‘A new owner mightn’t go along with Edna’s dream,’ Hamish continued. ‘She always wanted the track to run all the way from Prospect Head,’ he waved an arm, ‘down to the beach.’ He pivoted, pointing in the other direction. ‘The bit we’re standing on — it’s pretty much Edna’s boundary. She never fenced it, wanted everyone to have free access. But a new owner — who knows? Her land — sorry, your land — is worth a fortune now. Something a sharp speculator would understand very well. Especially with everyone wanting ocean views these days.’
‘Mmm,’ Erin murmured, wishing some way would open for her to escape the growing awkwardness.
‘Fireweed.’ Hamish stooped to pull out a leafy stalk topped with a yellow flower. ‘Another one.’ He pushed aside a shrub and plucked another weed from beside the path. ‘Give that weed an inch and it takes a mile. We’ll have to get the Landcare team back one of these Saturdays soon, or the place will be a mess. Oh, do we have your permission, Ms Landowner?’
‘Of course. Could I help? I don’t know much about weeds, but —’
‘Wonderful. We’ll teach you all you need to know. Hey! Dwayne. Come back to Daddy.’ The toddler had wandered away. He turned and hurried back to his father, clutching a handful of nuts he’d collected. ‘Look, Daddy. Nuts. I wanna eat them.’
‘No, mate. Make you sick.’ Hamish held out his hand for the nuts, threw them into the scrub, then hoisted his son onto his shoulders. The little boy beamed down at her, then wrapped his arms round his father’s neck. In that moment, Erin sensed the simple, elemental love between father and son.
‘You’ll be wanting to get Dwayne home to his Mummy,’ Erin said, giving them an excuse to leave.
‘Er…no. But we’ll head on anyway. We want you to enjoy your walk.’ He stepped past, brushing her hand with his fingers. ‘Bye.’
Her skin tingled with the touch. He’d meant nothing — it was just a country way of saying have a nice day. But his eyes, all through their brief exchange, had burned. Every time the two of them met, those eyes behaved with a will of their own. They were sending a message. But what? The man had a partner and a child. He was off limits, she told herself yet again.
‘Bye bye, Erin.’ She looked up to see the little boy waving from his father’s shoulders.
‘Bye, Dwayne,’ she said, surprised the child had remembered her name. And for no reason, she felt happy.
Erin walked on alone. Over the last twenty-four hours, every time she needed space to think, Hamish Bourke kept invading it. He was the opposite of Todd — tall and rangy compared to Todd’s watermelon shape. He was folksy where Todd was urbane, relaxed where Todd was driven. Once more, she knew she’d done the right thing to break with Todd. Why did she need to keep — Thud-thud! Thud-thud! The sound was loud, close. A kangaroo burst onto the track, looked full into her face as it stood stock-still, quizzical. A movement flicked Erin’s eyes to the kangaroo’s pouch. A joey peeped out. She could have sworn they smiled at her — both mother and baby. Then, with a healthy bound, the mother kangaroo hopped away into the scrub.
But the friendly animals had opened a mind picture. Good. Anything to shove Hamish Bourke aside. For the past week, Erin had felt edgy — needy for a new book idea. For days, she’d asked herself what kids really wanted in their stories. What made a classic? She thought of Pinocchio, Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland. Maybe kids wanted magic — the possibility that things could happen that were not part of the world they knew, their parents wrapping new rules around them each day. New versions of don’t-go-there, that’s-not-nice, don’t-touch-that. Growing up was about learning the rules. Kids liked to play at breaking those rules — dressing up, playing house, believing in fairies and monsters.
Well then, a book that broke rules, perhaps with an Australian flavour. Maybe with a kangaroo, like the one that had just hopped into her mind. So, a kangaroo called Katy that could hop somewhere magical - into the past? With, of course, a little girl in her pouch, called Katytoo. The pair could hop into Cinderella Land, or meet up with Little Red Riding Hood. They’d get along fine with the Three Bears, of course. The Three Little Pigs, even. As soon as she returned to the cottage, she’d draw a smiley kangaroo and a little girl with pigtails, peeping out from its pouch.
The world of the kangaroo and the little girl hijacked Erin’s entire afternoon. Deciding against another Golden Dragon night, she sprinted to the local general store before it closed and bought some survival basics: fruit, vegetables, cereal, milk, coffee, eggs, bread, a few cans of this and that. She threw together a quick salmon salad for dinner, then hopped back into Katyland until she fell into bed around midnight.
Her game plan had worked. She’d forgotten about Hamish Bourke for nearly a whole day and, as a bonus, created the beginnings of a bundle of new stories. Then, in the small hours, like an uninvited guest turning up as a person was heading out the door, Hamish Bourke slipped back into her dreams.
All through the night, Erin struggled through nightmarish dramas. Hamish and her on a yacht that was taking in water — he laughing it off, she bailing in panic with an old bucket full of holes. Hamish climbing a high cliff of crumbling rock while she stood on a beach below dodging falling stones. She begging him to come down, he smiling as he headed on up, higher and higher…
After the long night, Erin woke to a quiet, cloudy morning, relieved to escape her nightmares. She’d hop right back into Katyland. It had worked the day before. Maybe it would work again.
It was dark before she stopped to think about dinner. Her chocolate-fuelled afternoon had delivered the two Katies to their first happy ending, but her body, from stiff neck to groaning back, begged for exercise. She flopped into the faded blue-and-white-striped canvas of the ancient veranda deckchair. The sound of the waves against the cliffs tinkled like whispering music in the night air. The salty smell of the spray was downright seductive. Okay, a swim. In her real life back in Sydney, she swam at the local council pool at least once a week.
Luna Bay offered a much better opportunity. She loved the beach, knew it well. The soft sigh of the breakers told her that tonight’s surf would be gentle, safe. Not that she wouldn’t feel a frisson or two as she swam in the dark. But that was a plus. She’d drive there now, before common sense took over. There’d be towels in the bottom of the bathroom cabinet. She searched for a costume, regretting she hadn’t had the foresight to throw one into her overnight bag. Nothing. Well then, it would have to be undies. It was after nine on Monday night. Luna Bay would be dead to the world, or glued to the late night TV movie. No problem.
She parked in the lot near the surf club. There were no other cars there, proof that no addicted boardrider would be out in the surf. She walked in the dark to the sand. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she stripped to her undies, dropped her clothes in a pile high up on the beach, and draped her towel over them. The sounds and smells of the surf enveloped her. The night air wrapped her in its shawl of warm darkness, coaxing her down towards the water.
What the hell? She knew from the skinny dipping days of her childhood that swimming in the altogether gave you a special feeling — a sort of ecstasy. The beach was deserted. She could be on a desert island in the middle of the Pacific. She stepped out of her undies and tossed them onto the pile. She was a water sprite, stranded on land, desperate to return to her element. Maybe there was a children’s story tucked away in there.
Loving the top-to-toe caress of the breeze on her skin, she sprinted to the water and dived in. The sea was warm, welcoming. The surf was the gentlest she remembered — half-metre waves at most. She lay on her back, letting the wavelets break over her, enjoying her sensuality. The waning moon peeped above the horizon. By midnight it would be overhead. For maybe half an hour, she spoiled herself in the warm surf, a love-hungry woman back in the arms of a long-absent lover.
As she rolled over and swam a few lazy strokes towards the shore, a movement caught her eye. Fifty metres to the north, a man stepped out of the water carrying a surfboard. Halfway up the beach, he dropped his board and sat. Curses! She floated, motionless, sculling gently with her hands, treading water. Any movement would catch his attention. Minutes passed. The man sat as still as a statue. He must be in deep meditation. Maybe he was a surf junkie, meditating, drinking in the same magical chemistry she’d tasted. She thought of swimming up the beach to get away from him. Not much point. He’d parked himself pretty close to her clothes. She needed those clothes. Her car keys were in her shorts pocket. The man sat, motionless. What on earth could she do?
‘Excuse me.’ She waved, then sank back in the water up to her chin. The man looked up, scanned the beach, and lapsed back into his space. ‘Excuse me,’ she called again, louder. This time the man spotted her in the pale light of the half-moon. He waved, then stood and walked towards her as she backstroked away from the beach.
‘Need help?’ he called. There was a tinge of urgency in his voice — Hamish Bourke’s voice.
‘No. I just need…my clothes.’ She pointed, glad the moon was hidden behind a cloud for the moment.
‘Hey. Isn’t that Erin Spenser?’
‘Um — yes. Sorry.’
She waited while he took in the situation. He laughed quietly. ‘I’ll take a little walk,’ he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Give you time to get decent.’
‘Thanks.’ She watched him retreat down the beach. When he was a hundred metres away, she dashed through waist-deep water towards the pile of clothes. Ouch! Her shin hacked against a submerged log. She picked herself up and limped on. Her leg was cut and bleeding, stinging as the salt water washed over it. She made it up the beach and slipped into her clothes. In seconds she was what Hamish would call decent. She towelled her hair, her legs, then wrapped the towel round her waist. A couple of minutes later, Hamish returned to the spot where his surfboard lay in the sand.
‘Well we met by moonlight, Erin,’ he said. ‘We seem to be seeing a bit of each other lately. No pun intended.’
‘Yes. Sorry I disturbed your — meditation,’ she said. ‘I’ll be on my — ouch!’ As she stepped towards her car, the pain had bitten hard.
‘What on earth —’
‘My shin.’ She pointed. ‘There was a log in the water. I —’
‘Yeah. That’s been there a while. You can see it at low tide. We should move it. I’ll get the surf club guys to see to it.’
She took another step, squealed with pain.
‘Here. Wrap an arm round my shoulder.’ He moved close, slid a wet arm round her waist. She did as she was told. They took a tentative step. She gasped with pain again. ‘Better carry you,’ he said. ‘Excuse me while I…’ He slid a hand round her bottom and heaved. She wrapped both arms round his neck. As he walked, she felt steel-hard shoulder muscles flexing under her hands. Boardriding must do that to a guy.
Hazily, she sensed her pain melting under a tidal wave of hormones. She was hugging a hunky half-naked man, skin to skin — a man she had to admit she’d liked from first glance. With every step, the raft of muscles across his chest rippled against her shoulders, her breast. She heard his breathing deepen as he walked, felt the sweat wet his warm skin. It was a long way to the car park. As they reached it, he eased her carefully to the ground, leaned her against her car.
‘Thank you sooo much,’ she breathed. ‘I’d have…’ The moon brightened as it cleared a cloud. She looked up into his face as his eyes locked onto hers. His lips were…too close. Neither of them moved. His warmth, his closeness melted her, melted her willpower. She stood on tiptoe and kissed those hovering lips. The kiss exploded into a shower of fireworks for both of them. She tightened her arms round his neck, gave her lips again. Never, in all the times she’d kissed a man, had she ever felt swept to such sublime heights. She felt his lips answer back, giving as good as they got — and more. His arms locked her tight. Then he broke the kiss, staying close as they leaned against the car, arms and legs still tangled.
‘That was…’ his voice died to a croaking whisper as he eased away, still enfolding her in his arms. ‘Aaah — good. Too good.’ He pulled his arms away. ‘You know I have a partner. This can’t go anywhere.’ His whisper faded to nothing.
‘No, it can’t,’ she heard herself say. ‘I — I’m…sorry.’
‘And you’d have a steady man in your life too?’ Just as she struggled to come up with a truthful answer, he continued. ‘A very lucky man, I’d say.’
‘I — we just broke up. After six years. Way too-long years.’
She heard him sigh, draw breath. He took a step back.
‘Better get my board,’ he said.
She watched, paralysed, as he headed down to the beach, disappearing into the dark. Her moist skin shivered where his warmth had crushed against her. Groping in her shorts pocket, she found her key and climbed into her car. For a second she sat, key in ignition, imagining his return. Her lips still tingled, firing rogue electric currents through her body. For that moment, only one thing on this earth mattered — to have him back in her arms, his lips on hers, his arms tight round her, his body hot, close — and that couldn’t, mustn’t happen. She must get away before he climbed back up to the car park, surfboard under arm. She turned the key before the wakening genie inside her could pop out and take over, and drove home in the moonlight, shivery with unsatisfied yearning. What might, could, lie ahead for her and Hamish Bourke?