The Cottage at Rosella Cove Read online

  Of course Joan has weighed in on the matter. It is not proper for a woman to be without a husband, she insists. What will people say? What kind of example am I setting for the young ladies of the town? Though I am sure in her mind they were rhetorical questions, I did however answer.

  ‘I suspect the young girls of town could not care less whether I am single or married, and if they did then I am glad I am showing them it is perfectly fine to be independent of a man. Far better to be without a man than with the wrong one.’

  I know, my love, it was wicked of me to say such a thing to her. Anyone with half a brain can see her marriage was never one of sunshine and rainbows. Not that any of us would dare say such a thing directly.

  Father came to visit last weekend. On his own. Imagine my joy. Mother had some crucial engagement she simply could not get out of. He has never come to see me alone before. Never been allowed to. I wonder why he was not pressed to attend whatever social event she found so important. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the university and therefore his tweed learnedness was of no use to her.

  Whatever the reason, I am glad for it. I cannot remember the last time Father and I had such a chance to talk.

  He looks ten years younger when he speaks of his studies but appears very weary when Mother comes up in conversation. I stopped bringing her up within the first half-hour of his visit.

  We spoke of a great many things, but what surprised me were his questions of you. What you were like as a man, as a husband; what your interests were. Everything there was to know about you. I showed him the pictures taken that summer before you left. He commented on how strong and handsome you looked. I was inclined to agree. You would have got on exceptionally well, had you been allowed to meet. I shall never forgive Mother for keeping the people I love apart.

  I sought Father’s counsel on the Angus Lewis issue. ‘Your mother would have a fit if she knew you were turning down a perfectly acceptable suitor,’ he said. ‘Should we tell her?’ He had to hold back a laugh. He told me he could tell that I would not be happy with Angus and that I am not to underestimate the need for happiness in a relationship. He held my hand as we sat on the verandah.

  With Father’s words to strengthen my resolve, I shall find a way to let Angus down gently. You have ruined me, Thomas Wilson, for all other men. There will only ever be you.

  Until next time.

  Forever yours,

  Ivy

  PS I must tell you that they have begun expanding the schoolhouse this week. There seems to be an explosion of new families coming to the cove and children are springing forth everywhere. Our quiet little corner of the world will never be the same again, I fear.

  Nicole felt a little sad for Ivy. She’d been quietly hoping Angus would win her over in the end. It somehow didn’t seem right for Ivy to end up all alone. She would check more records tomorrow. She would keep reading the letters. Something – intuition, understanding narrative arcs, blind hope, perhaps – told her that Ivy’s story was far from over.

  Nicole left the library and enjoyed the warm afternoon sun on her back as she walked up Wilson’s Road, and a gentle breeze kissed her face. As the cottage came into view a shadow moved across the verandah and Nicole stopped.

  Charlie spun round when he heard the noise behind him.

  ‘Oh,’ Nicole breathed out. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack. What brings you by?’

  He didn’t mean to snoop. But when she wasn’t here, he thought he’d take the opportunity to see how the work was coming along. The garden was acceptable. What he could see of the interior through the windows was satisfactory too. He didn’t know much about design, but what he saw was neat and clean and the broken fragments of Ivy’s house were being repaired. Lovingly so, it seemed. Ivy would be happy to see the fireplace restored so beautifully. He was anxious to see the cottage finished, to gaze once again at the welcoming blue and white jewel set on its green and floral carpet.

  There was no way Nicole could know of his vested interest in her work and there was no need to tell her yet. Besides, there was other, more pressing business he needed help with.

  ‘I was just looking for you. I have a favour to ask.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘If I give you some mail, will you post it for me? Next week maybe?’

  She nodded, a frown across her face.

  Nicole didn’t know it yet, but she was pivotal to his plan working out. He had a debt to pay, a memory to uphold, and he needed her help to do it.

  Nineteen

  The parcel Nicole had been waiting for arrived the next morning. She put her tools down and opened it. Perfect. She hoped he’d like it.

  Outside Danny’s door she raised her hand to knock.

  Was that music coming from inside? She leaned closer to the door.

  Through the thick wooden door she could make out someone singing out of tune to ‘Flame Trees’.

  Before she had a chance to knock, the door swung open and Danny stepped out, stopping mid-lyric when he saw who was on his doorstep. He smiled sheepishly.

  ‘Hey, Nicole. I was just heading out. To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  Nicole swallowed her laugh. ‘Oh, I was just passing by and thought I heard Barnsey singing, so …’

  ‘You criticise Chisel, and I’ll have to run you out of town.’ He smiled.

  ‘I love Cold Chisel. No, I actually came by …’

  ‘Come in,’ he interrupted her. ‘Where are my manners?’

  ‘I thought you were leaving?’

  ‘I wasn’t going anywhere special. Come in.’

  ‘I wanted to give you this, to say thank y—’

  All coherent thought abandoned Nicole as she entered Danny’s home and saw the bookshelf in front of her. No. Bookshelf wasn’t an adequate description. It didn’t even come close.

  ‘Oh … my,’ she whispered.

  A great curved wall of books swept across the open entrance. The entire wall was shelved, and each shelf was filled with history texts and coffee table books of the world’s beautiful architecture.

  She stepped forward.

  Intermittently, the rows of books were interrupted by a statue or carving or a knick-knack. In the middle of the bookcase was a picture of Danny, aged perhaps ten, sitting in the lap of a beautiful woman.

  Danny stood behind Nicole as she reverently inched towards his collection. Behind the wall was a staircase that led to the second floor of the house and the shelf upon shelf of books rose with the sweeping curve. In her wildest dreams Nicole couldn’t have imagined a more glorious bookcase, only hers would be filled with novels.

  ‘So, history and architecture aren’t just a hobby of yours?’ She turned to Danny.

  ‘No. I have a degree. In both.’ He smiled.

  ‘In both?’

  ‘It was my grandfather’s influence. He used to take me all round Europe and expound on all the great cathedrals and castles and palaces.’

  ‘I can’t believe this collection,’ she said, looking up along the shelves.

  Between The History of Prussia and Gaudí: The Construction of Dreams sat a book that didn’t fit in with the rest. She looked more closely. It was a copy of Tide.

  Her cheeks flushed and, she moved her eyes further along so he couldn’t follow where she’d been looking.

  ‘This is truly impressive. No wonder you get all the history questions at Trivia Night right.’

  Danny invited her to sit on the sofa. Around the room Nicole saw intricately woven wall-hangings and photos of fishing villages and ornate temples, and pictures of what she assumed was a school, with children playing soccer in the dirt. If Danny took the photos himself, he was a very good photographer.

  Her gaze stopped on a photo of Danny outside the school surrounded by a bunch of barefoot children, their grins beaming. The name of the school was written in two languages, though the English was mostly obscured by Danny’s head. There were dozens of photos of the same school on every wall.

&nb
sp; ‘I’m in awe,’ she said. ‘I might have to rent this space from you as my own personal library if I ever need to do any research.’

  ‘You’re always welcome,’ he said. ‘Free of charge, even. But, that’s not what you came over for, is it? Books?’

  ‘Actually, yes,’ Nicole said. ‘I came to give you this. A thank you.’ She held out the gift she’d brought, but suddenly felt foolish. Pillars of the Earth would pale in comparison to the texts they were surrounded by.

  ‘There’s no need to thank me.’ Danny put the gift down and looked deeply into Nicole’s eyes. ‘Is everything all right?’

  Danny’s steady gaze unsettled her more than she was prepared for. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ He leaned closer to her, the distance between them suddenly very small.

  He reached his hand up and touched her cheek.

  Nicole’s breathing quickened. The force of the pull towards him was nothing she’d ever experienced before. Such physical desire – thrilling, frightening. He moved his hand behind her head. She couldn’t move. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. Gently he pulled her towards him, his soft lips tasting hers.

  A strange sensation, a wonderful sensation, shuddered up between her hips as Danny drew her closer.

  She raised her hands to his chest and felt his heart pounding. Just like hers. She gasped.

  He slowed his kisses, ever so slightly, and she pulled back, breathing heavily.

  Danny leaned forward and gently she pressed her fingers into his lips, stopping his advance.

  ‘I didn’t mean to …’ He had trouble catching his breath.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Nicole smiled. ‘I just think maybe we need to take this slowly.’ She reached out and squeezed his hand.

  ‘I can do slow.’ He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. ‘Pancakes?’

  Nicole frowned.

  Danny hauled himself off the sofa. ‘Pancakes are slow. Ish. And I haven’t had breakfast yet. Will you join me?’

  They moved around his kitchen, cracking eggs, pouring milk, whisking batter. Each time their hands touched, Nicole felt the heat tingle over her skin.

  ‘Here,’ Danny said. ‘Add this.’ He handed her some cinnamon.

  She took the spice jar from him and he held her hand in his for just a moment.

  ‘It just adds a little something.’

  The first pancake came out of the pan looking a bit sad and Nicole frowned. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

  Danny laughed. ‘Nah. The first one is always a dud. Dud-looking, anyway. But here, taste it.’ He scooped a forkful of the pancake up and held it to Nicole’s lips.

  ‘Oh wow. That is good.’

  After pancakes Nicole perused Danny’s collection once more.

  ‘These pictures are amazing.’ Nicole picked up the photo of Danny with the grinning kids. ‘Where is this?’

  ‘Bangladesh. Those kids are amazing.’ His eyes lit up. ‘They’re why I keep going back.’

  ‘Keep going back?’

  ‘I go every year.’

  ‘In your work holidays? Actually you haven’t told me yet what your job-job is.’

  ‘Ahh,’ he said. ‘The grapevine still broken, I see.’

  ‘I guess.’ Nicole looked at him.

  ‘When Grandpa died he left me a bit of money in a trust. When I came of age, it became mine. I invested wisely.’ He shrugged.

  ‘So there is no job-job?’ Nicole raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Not in the traditional sense.’

  ‘So, in a drug-lord-mafia-hired-killer sense?’ Nicole asked.

  Danny laughed. ‘I’m sure that would be a lot more interesting, but no. It was a fair bit of money and I trade on the stock market for my real job.’

  ‘Uh huh. And what about your two degrees? Don’t you get bored filling your days with other people’s odd jobs?’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’ He shrugged. ‘But I only do that part of the year.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘When I go to Bangladesh every year, it’s for a few months at a time. I help out a school over there.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Keeps me out of trouble.’ He winked.

  ‘And I reckon that takes some doing,’ Nicole said with a grin.

  He stroked her hair.

  ‘Those kids deserve a break. And if I’m in a position to give it to them …’ As his voice trailed off, a fleeting moment of sadness flickered in his eyes. He bent his head ever so slightly.

  Nicole’s cheeks warmed as he kissed her softly. She lingered there in his embrace a moment and then pulled back. ‘I think I’ve taken up enough of your day. Weren’t you on your way out when I intruded?’

  ‘Damn. Yes.’ He furrowed his brow. ‘I really should go. But what about your present? I haven’t opened it.’

  ‘Oh, no. Don’t open it while I’m here. I’d be too embarrassed.’

  ‘Okay.’ He kissed her again, briefly, and led her out the door.

  As she walked home, the sense of bliss that had settled over Nicole slowly dissolved into fear. It wasn’t long now till her lease would be up, but she wasn’t worried that she would have to leave. She was worried that she might just want to stay.

  December, Last Year

  Over the past month Mark continued on as if nothing had happened. Nicky stopped her therapy sessions. There was no point.

  It was time to go.

  She made an appointment for the morning with Mark’s financial adviser so she could get her book money back. She’d leave Mark whatever interest they’d earned.

  That evening Nicky sat on the sofa and waited for Mark to come home.

  As he let himself in the door, she pulled herself upright and took a deep breath.

  ‘Hey, gorgeous.’ Mark greeted her and she didn’t answer. ‘Oh no. What’s wrong now?’ He rolled his eyes.

  ‘Is there something you need to tell me?’

  ‘No.’ He frowned.

  ‘I went to see the financial adviser today.’ She kept her voice even.

  ‘Oh.’ Mark moved to the kitchen and poured himself a whisky. ‘You have to understand, princess, that sometimes investing is a risky business.’

  ‘It’s all gone. All of it.’

  He drank his glass in one sip. ‘Well, yes. But we can save up again.’

  Nicky counted to five, focusing on her breathing. ‘You weren’t even going to tell me?’

  ‘There was no need.’ He shrugged.

  Nicole stood.

  ‘Hey, why were you trying to access the money anyway? Is there something you need to tell me?’

  Oh, no, no. She wasn’t going to let him turn this around. ‘Don’t. Don’t you even! How could you do this to me? To us?’

  Mark tried to talk his way out it – the investment had been risky but if it had paid off, wow-wee; he’d lost a lot of his own money in the deal too; didn’t she realise he was only doing it for her.

  Was this her fault? Wait. No. Realisation slowly seeped into Nicky’s soul, their whole relationship coming into focus – the blaming, the second guessing, the oh-so-subtle manipulation that led to constant self-doubt. She fought the urge to scream.

  ‘Oh, Nicky.’ He wrapped his arms around her shaking body. ‘We’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.’

  Mark released his embrace and made a quick dinner, which they ate in silence. He slunk off to bed shortly after and Nicky started making a plan.

  She wouldn’t just leave. She’d disappear. Somewhere he couldn’t find her.

  She pulled out one of her notebooks and started making a list.

  New phone – prepaid.

  Accommodation – rental? House-sit?

  Food. Petrol. Money.

  Money? Editing?

  Money? Bank account.

  New email address.

  Change passwords.

  Each task she would need in order to get out of there.

  Money was obviously the biggest problem. It was going to take some time to get together enoug
h so she could leave. First order of business – set herself up as a freelance editor.

  Twenty

  Nicole tried to stop thoughts of Danny, memories of Mark flooding her mind, by drowning in Ivy’s words.

  5th April, 1957

  My Dearest Tom,

  I have taken a job.

  I am working for Father Anthony, doing his accounts, basic clerical work. Joan has made her feelings on the matter quite clear. Is that not a surprise? I ran into her at the shops the other day and, according to her royal righteousness, it is beneath a woman of my breeding to even consider a job and the whole fabric of society is at risk of unravelling if women get it into their heads they are better off working rather than staying at home raising families. Apparently once men returned from the war, women had no right to stay in the workforce.

  You will be very proud to know I walked away without responding. Mostly because I was afraid I would reveal my own truth. That I needed something to drag me out of the melancholy that has plagued me recently.

  Lucy has recognised my shift in mood and is perhaps thinking of all the little things that remind her of Henry. She has had a most extraordinary idea. A ridiculous idea. She is determined we take a holiday to Italy. I always assumed our mutual loneliness would claim my mind first, but it would appear I was wrong. She is talking nonsense, of course, but she seems quite determined to drag me to Italy. What on earth would I do in Italy?

  Neither of us speaks Italian. I have never left Australia. Even when Mother and Father went back to England briefly when I was just a girl, they left me at home with Nanny Celia.

  As it happens, Lucy’s family are even wealthier than Mother’s. Mother will not be pleased to hear this. And Lucy has money put away for emergencies.