A huge banner bearing ‘Our Liz’ in bright red letters hung along the street-side wall of the CWA hall, and much to Liz’s amazement, the place was packed for her concert. The little hall was bulging at the seams.
She’d thought that twenty or thirty might be a good crowd, but the organisers had needed to cram so many extra chairs in, they’d been forced to move their beautiful flower arrangements back into the kitchen to make room for the expanded audience.
Liz had told her family not to bother coming. It was only a little thing after all and they could hear her play at home any time. Besides, another trip so soon would be too tiring for Peter.
But the concert was to raise money for the Flying Doctors, such a vital lifeline for people in the bush. And many of the people who’d come were longstanding friends of Peter’s. There were many more men than Liz had expected.
As Nancy Hedges, the CWA’s president, mentioned in her touching introductory speech, they all knew about Peter’s two mercy dashes to hospital via the Flying Docs. So the vibes in this tiny country hall were incredibly positive and Liz felt overwhelmed, in a good way.
She’d chosen short, well-known pieces – beginning with Debussy’s Clair de Lune, followed by the beautiful Brahms Intermezzo, and then for a complete change of pace, the Morton Gould Boogie Woogie Étude that Peter was so fond of, before moving on to her beloved Chopin.
The audience appeared to be spellbound and Liz knew she was playing at her best. Yes, the piano was dodgy, but it had been tuned and she managed to make it work. To her delight, the applause grew more and more enthusiastic with each piece. It was so unexpected, almost as if this small rural community was giving her an enormous bear hug. Liz had, quite possibly, never felt more warmly embraced.
The organising committee had decided not to have an interval – the women serving the tea and scones didn’t want to miss any more of the concert than they absolutely must – and Liz finished her recital with Fantasy Impromptu. It was always such a showy, crowd-pleasing piece, starting with a bang, moving into the quieter ‘chasing rainbows’ section and then racing off again on a rousing, rolling wave towards the finish.
The reception from the audience, as Nancy presented Liz with a massive bouquet, was thunderous. A cheering, standing ovation.
Afterwards Liz was mobbed.
‘Liz, we’re so proud of you.’
‘I’ve been following your career for years and years, listening to your concerts on the radio.’
‘It’s such a thrill to hear you play live.’
‘We can’t believe you grew up way out here. It’s amazing.’
‘Such a pity Peter couldn’t be here too.’
Liz was used to the refined appreciation of music buffs but these simple, heartfelt messages really touched and warmed her. It was unexpectedly gratifying.
She was chatting with a group of women, while carefully balancing a teacup on the edge of a plate piled with scones and slices, when she saw a familiar tall figure in the corner.
Her heart took a sudden, sideways slide.
Jack.
She’d had no idea he was here, but now their eyes met across the crowded room – such an overused cliché – yet for Liz it was an electrifying experience nonetheless. She was suddenly shaking and in danger of dropping her teacup and plate.
Still trembling, she set them down on the nearest available surface, which proved to be the top of the piano.
A reaction like this had never happened to her before. She’d never locked gazes with a handsome man and felt as if the blood in her veins had burst into song. Surely it wasn’t supposed to happen at her age?
‘I hope you’ll excuse me,’ she said to the posse of women gathered around her. ‘I – I need to speak to someone and he has to leave at any moment.’
She felt ridiculously nervous as she made her way through the crowd, smiling, nodding, acknowledging greetings, while steadily weaving a determined route to the back of the room.
It was only when she reached Jack that she noticed how worried he looked.
Her smile faltered. ‘Hello, Jack.’
‘Liz.’ His answering smile was tilted at half-mast as he held out his hand to shake hers. ‘You were amazing.’
‘Thank you. I had no idea you were coming.’
‘Last-minute decision. I was a bit late and I had to squeeze into a back corner.’ He swallowed and a suspicious sheen glinted in his blue eyes. ‘Liz, I should have known . . . ’
His voice was so quiet, she barely heard him over the buzz of the crowd.
‘I had no idea,’ he said. ‘You’re so . . . so . . . ’
Heavens, the poor man looked shocked and upset.
‘Have I frightened you, Jack?’
He smiled crookedly. ‘I think you have.’
His gaze travelled over her, taking in the pearls at her throat and her sleeveless black linen dress from Raphael’s in Milan.
‘It sounds crazy now,’ he said. ‘But I had been starting to think . . . almost hoping . . . and I realise now how foolish that . . . ’
With a shake of his head, he went silent as if he couldn’t bring himself to finish whatever he’d been trying to say. He looked so upset that Liz was overwhelmed by a need to comfort him, to take him in her arms.
Surely I can’t be in love with Jack Roper?
It made no sense for her to fall in love with an Australian cattleman, no sense at all. She’d left this life thirty years ago and she had no intention of returning. Any day now she would be giving in to her agent’s entreaties and whizzing back to Europe. But right at this moment these rational arguments held next to no power. Liz was in the grip of an irrational, inescapable emotion.
She couldn’t help herself.
‘Come outside,’ she said, linking her fingers through Jack’s and tugging at his hand.
He frowned at her, but she was already heading for the door, dragging him with her.
‘Where are you going?’
She ignored his question. ‘We’ll be very quick,’ she told the women gathered near the door. ‘I just have to show Mr Roper something.’
‘Liz.’
‘Shhh, it’s okay.’ She flashed Jack a quick, reassuring smile as she led him away from the car park to the far side of the hall, screened by a hedge of tall casuarinas.
‘Liz, you can’t––’
Liz could. And she did.
Drawing him into the screen of shrubbery, she wound her arms around his neck and she kissed him. And after a mere heartbeat’s hesitation, Jack returned her kiss. Open-mouthed. Uncompromising. Hungry and fierce.
A revelation.
And a confirmation.
Liz smiled at him a little breathlessly. ‘See? I’m just a woman, Jack, not a Venetian vase.’
The skin around his eyes crinkled. ‘Are you always this proactive?’
‘Never. This is a one-off. I promise.’
‘So what does it mean?’ He traced the side of her cheek with a lean brown hand.
It was the worst moment for commonsense to return. Carefully Liz said, ‘I have to go back to London, Jack, but perhaps we don’t have to close the door right now. We can consider our options.’
He kissed her brow. ‘When it comes to options I’m surprisingly flexible.’
‘Good. I’m glad we’ve had this little talk. But we’d better get back.’ Giddily happy, Liz grinned at him. ‘Do I have leaves in my hair?’