Sarah waltzed a frowning Mrs Murphy once around the kitchen, then ran to her room and threw open the suitcase on the bed. It was hard to know what was more exciting – the thylacine news or the upcoming night with Matt. She’d wanted them both, so very much, for so very long, and at times it had seemed that she might have neither. She shouldn’t have doubted him.
Sarah showered, then laid out clothes on the bed. She tried on the new lingerie and inspected herself in the mirror. It was hard to buy decent labels in Hobart. The purple set was pretty, but Matt was a no-fuss kind of man. Better stick with basic black. The frantic pace she’d set at the lab had left her little time for anything else, not even for eating. It showed in her skinny ribs and jutting collarbone, and she looked tired. She was tired. A spa would be good when she got there, to unwind a bit before Matt arrived. She checked her watch. Better hurry. She packed an overnight bag and headed to the car.
‘Don’t worry about breakfast for me, Mrs Murphy,’ she called on her way out. ‘I won’t be back tonight.’
‘Suit yourself, dear. Where are you off to?’
But Sarah was already gone.
An elegant elm-lined driveway led to a collection of sandstone buildings, all set in a formal English garden. What was it with Tasmania’s obsession with Britain?
‘Welcome to Ashwood Inn.’ The woman at reception spoke with a plum in her mouth. ‘Would you prefer the library suite or the loft?’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘The library is French provincial and includes a shared-table evening dining experience.’
‘We’re looking for privacy,’ said Sarah.
‘The loft then.’ She reached for a set of keys on the board behind her. ‘The original stable has been converted into a couple’s suite. The bathroom is on the ground floor next to the water garden. The bedroom is upstairs, beneath the overhanging willow tree. All the privacy in the world. What time is your young man arriving?’
Sarah felt her face redden, as though she was sixteen again. ‘Around five.’
‘I’ll send over a bottle of bubbly when he gets here.’
Sarah explored the loft, set the air-conditioning a little colder, then turned on the taps in the spa. What music? She knew nothing of Matt’s taste. A quick flip through the offerings. She’d try Sade again and hope for better luck than last time. The pretty casement window looked out onto a private courtyard with a little creek splashing through. The suite was quite charming. She slipped from her clothes and climbed into the half-full tub. Maybe a drink to relax.
She dripped water all the way to the minibar, chose a bottle of sparkling wine and a cute little box of chocolates. She popped a sticky caramel into her mouth and a sachet of lavender bath salts into the water. It was almost too hot to bear. She fired up the spa. The jets unravelled each tense muscle. The wine was delicious. It slipped down so easily. A wave of weariness hit her. Sarah closed her eyes. Very calm. Very drowsy. Dreaming of Matt …
Penny stood in her bedroom at Ray’s, dressed only in a bra and briefs, studying her baby bump in the mirror. She’d always had a plump belly, and in her park uniform the bulge showed as little more than a thicker middle, barely noticeable. But tonight she wanted to show it off. Penny pulled on a green cotton shift, cut straight enough to skim her waist, but with enough room to be comfortable. She slipped on her best sandals and turned to the mirror. Hmm, the bump wasn’t very obvious, but it would have to do.
Uncle Ray’s house was a furnace in the afternoon. She fetched a glass of water from the jug in the fridge. The kitchen looked so much brighter now, with the corner cobwebs gone, and fresh curtains and flowers. Every inch of chrome and linoleum was polished to within an inch of its life. If only she could perform the same sort of makeover on her uncle.
Ray was sitting on the back porch with his battered Akubra and his best friend Charlie. They were chain-smoking and drinking whisky and coke, more whisky than coke. They’d been laid off for weeks now. Ray waited every day until noon, seven days a week, for a phone call that never came. At lunchtime he sought Penny out, or phoned her at work, sounding just as surprised each time.
‘We’re not getting back on the job today, love. Not me or Charlie.’
From what Penny knew, it was unlikely that they ever would. So each time, she made comforting noises that she didn’t believe. It wasn’t all bad news. If the mills stayed closed, she’d find him work with Ken Murphy, transporting dressed timber, on a proper wage, with proper hours.
Penny tried to put Ray out of her mind. There were other things to think of, like telling Matt about the baby. She grabbed two packets of potato crisps from the cupboard, put one in her bag and delivered the other to the men on the verandah.
‘Thanks, love. You on your way out?’
Ray was a shamble of unwashed clothes, stubble and tangled grey hair. A box of medication lay beside his drink. She picked it up: RestRite. ‘What’s this?’
‘Something from the doc to help me sleep.’
Penny frowned. ‘Don’t you go mixing that stuff with alcohol.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Ray burped. ‘Charlie’s whisky works better than any sleeping pills.’
Penny put the box down. ‘I’m going round to see Matt, and I may not be home tonight.’ She could hear the excitement in her voice.
Ray stood up, flush-faced and a little wobbly on his feet. He kissed her cheek. ‘Hope it works out for you, love. I really do. Tell that bastard that if he does the wrong thing by my girl, he’ll answer to me.’
Even at six o’clock, with the sun low in the western sky, the car’s steering wheel was too hot to handle. Penny wrapped a cloth around it and started the engine. First stop, damage control at Canterbury Downs before going to see Matt.
The dogs met her in the driveway, waving their great plumed tails in welcome. Penny hugged Bruno’s huge head. ‘Where’s Fraser?’ They set off around the back and headed straight for the studio. Fraser was bent over a polyurethane form with a measuring tape. He jumped when he heard her come in. When she got a good look at the form, she understood why.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ asked Penny. Fraser said nothing. She ran her hand down the neck of the model. ‘No wonder you look guilty.’
‘Custom-made when I ordered your devils. It’s extraordinarily difficult, you know, to produce the form of an animal that nobody has seen alive.’
‘You want to stuff Theo?’ Penny was stunned at the audacity of the idea.
Fraser opened his spindly arms in supplication. ‘He’d be the first in almost a century. Maybe the last.’
‘It’s not me you’ll have to convince.’
Fraser smiled. ‘My stubborn son will be the sticking point, eh? An old man’s dying wish?’
‘Matt will never go for it.’
Fraser chuckled. ‘Perhaps not. Now, to what do I owe this pleasure? The party won’t begin for another hour.’
Penny hesitated, a little ashamed to tell Fraser her news, half-pretending to herself that she didn’t know what it would mean. ‘Um … Sarah has finished her genotyping project.’
‘Yes, my dear,’ said Fraser, brightly. ‘Plans are already afoot to send the good doctor packing.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’ He scrubbed his hands together. ‘Now is there something else? McGregor wants me in the cellar to choose the wines.’
‘I’m taking your advice,’ she said. ‘About the baby. I’m going home to tell Matt now.’
‘And I must appear to be ignorant until the formal announcement.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course.’ Fraser beamed. ‘Nothing shall spoil tonight.’
Penny gave him a wry smile. ‘You do know the Government won’t win. All the polls say so. How many of your mates will lose their jobs?’
‘Que sera sera. They’ve made their beds. If the result pleases Matthew, it will please me.’ There was an unusual quality to Fraser’s voice, an authentic resonance. For a moment the mask of illness dropped away, transforming his features, turning the pallid grey into a guileless warmth. Love for his son was stamped all over his face.
‘Wish me luck,’ she said, picking up her bag.
Fraser kissed her cheek. ‘That baby you’re carrying is all the luck you need – all the luck any of us need.’
They were interrupted by the barking dogs. Penny hurried from the studio in time to see Matt’s jeep pull into the circular driveway at the front of the house. No, she’d wanted to tell him about the baby in their own cosy kitchen, not here at Canterbury Downs – a place where Matt had known a great deal of pain. A place from which he’d been estranged for years. Well, it couldn’t be helped and she’d waited long enough. But still, the change in plans felt like a bad sign.
Sarah Deville woke, bleary-eyed, to a knocking at the door. The spa had turned itself off and the tub water was cold. A hair floated on its surface. Her fingers were wrinkled and grey. She stepped out and almost slipped. Ow, her toe. The champagne flute lay smashed on the floor beneath her foot. Blood trickled across the tiles.
‘Just a minute, Matt.’ Sarah staggered to the closet and put on a bathrobe. A quick glance in the mirror. Hair hanging in rat-tails. Scrubbed face revealing each dark circle and line. The knock came again. She rushed to the bathroom, applied a little powder, then dragged a comb through her lank, wet hair. That would have to do. Wait. The sexy underwear. A third knock. No, naked under the robe would be sexy enough. Sarah opened the door.
The woman from reception stood holding a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. She peered past Sarah into the room. ‘I didn’t notice your friend arrive, but I’ve brought the wine anyway. Did I miss him?’
Sarah snatched the bucket and slammed the door. She checked the time. Past six-thirty. A text message from Matt. Sorry Sarah. I can’t make it. We’ll talk tomorrow. Short and sour, speaking volumes. Sarah hurled her clothes on and headed for the car. He wasn’t getting away with this.