She hesitated. ‘It’s about broken families, Nick. Adoption. The search for birth families. Reunion.’
‘Stories which don’t always have a happy-ever-after ending?’ he suggested. ‘Is that why you won’t follow up the little girl in your last documentary? In case her story doesn’t have a happy ending.’
‘I…’ She swallowed. ‘Yes.’ Then, meeting grey eyes that refused to accept anything less than total honesty, ‘I’ve let her down, haven’t I?’
‘You wanted to believe she was happy. When you’re afraid that reality might not live up to your dream, it’s tempting to stay where it’s safe.’
‘With the dream.’ She looked around at the perfect vision of paradise that surrounded them. It was lovely for a few hours stolen from life, but the scent that had at first seemed so sweet was now making her drowsy. Was that what the scent of the lilies did? Drug the senses…‘Maybe I’ve always been hung up on the dream, instead of accepting reality. Yearning for the fairy tale and missing what was in front of me.’
She turned to confront this man who’d given her back her life, both literally and emotionally.
‘Isn’t that what you’ve been doing too, Nick? Sticking with the dream of your perfect family, perfect parents. Unable to see your mother and father as just two ordinary people with ordinary frailties. Just like everyone else.’
She didn’t wait for him to answer. The question was rhetorical, something for him to think about. Instead, she removed her hand from his and, making a move for her shirt buttons, said, ‘It’s time to leave, Nick.’
As she fumbled awkwardly, he reached out and stopped her. ‘I said I’d do that.’
For a moment Jago thought Miranda was going to resist this final intimacy.
But then she smiled and let her hands drop to her lap. It was a simple gesture of trust and he fastened them carefully, without touching her, knowing that this simple act represented closure. An end to what had happened between them. On an impulse he said, ‘I’ve got an idea.’
She glanced up as a shadow passed over them, a blast of noise, a shower of leaves. The helicopter, directly overhead now. Beneath the canopy they were invisible from the air, but even so it would not be long before the world crashed in on them and, as soon as the beating of the rotor faded, he said, ‘Let’s come back here. A year from today. No matter what. You bring a packet of mints. I’ll bring a bottle of local brandy and we can pick berries. Have a feast. Maybe stay all night, gather lilies to put on a bonfire, give thanks for our deliverance.’
She smiled and for a moment he thought she was going to say that they should stay here now, for ever. But then she seemed to gather herself and, staggering to her feet, shook her head and said, ‘The lilies…Did you ever consider they might have some kind of narcotic effect?’
In other words, no.
‘Look, can we get out of here?’
She didn’t wait, but bundled her underwear, the bottle and sweet wrappers into her ruined bag and slung it over her shoulder and walked quickly up the slope to where, even now, he could hear people shouting her name. His name. Maybe he’d been a little hard on Felipe Dominez.
Leaving him and the glade as apparently untouched as before she’d burst into his life.
He dressed and followed her, reassured the searchers that there was no one left in the shattered building in which they’d spent the night. By the time he reached the clearing where he’d left his Land Rover-now lying on its side at the bottom of a gully, along with the remains of the tour bus-she had been swallowed up by her fellow tourists.
They surrounded her, exclaiming over her, hugging her, treasuring her as someone who’d returned from the dead. Then, before he could join her, he heard his own name ring out.
‘Jago!’
And then he had his arms full of woman as Fliss flung herself at him.
‘You’re alive!’
‘Apparently,’ he said, putting her down, holding her off. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here again.’
She had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Felipe wanted photographs of me at the temple. And I wanted to explain about the book. You have heard about the book?’
‘Yes, I heard. I hope it’s listed under fiction.’
‘Jago…’ She looked at him, all big eyes and hot lips. There was no doubt about it, she was one hell of a female and despite what she’d done, he grinned.
‘What are you doing here, Fliss? Really?’
‘When the earthquake hit, everyone was running around like headless chickens. If you were outside the capital…’ She shrugged. ‘I told Felipe that if he didn’t do something I’d tell everyone the truth. That the book was cooked up by some ghost-writer-’
‘And then he realised that this place was full of tourists who had families and he actually gave a damn.’
‘Well, maybe. I’m sorry, Jago. About the book. Truly.’
‘Truly, Fliss, you’re not cut out to be an archaeologist and you saw an easy way to make some money. Get the celebrity lifestyle. It’s okay. I don’t care about the book.’
All he cared about was Miranda, already being ushered towards the waiting helicopter with the other women, some of the older men. He needed to get to her, to say something, tell her…
‘You forgive me?’ Fliss persisted.
‘Yes, yes…’ he said impatiently as, over her head, he saw Miranda look back and for a moment hold his gaze.
Manda had practically fled from the glade, afraid of what she might say. Knowing that a year from now they would be different people. That to try and recapture this precious, almost perfect moment would be a mistake.
She wasn’t running away from her feelings or protecting herself-she would never do that again. Just running towards real life. Hoping, maybe, that in his own good time he’d follow her. Might remember his promise to invite her to his first book signing.
But then, as she’d stumbled into the clearing, she’d been surrounded by the rest of the tour group, who’d apparently been sheltering in one of the buildings, waiting for rescue. Believing that she was dead.
Being bustled towards the waiting helicopter along with her fellow tourists. Knowing that to delay would be to hold them up when they were desperate for food, hot water and sleep.
Except she could step back, let one of the men take her place and, as the rest of the party pushed by her, eager to get aboard, she glanced back, seeking him out.
For a moment she couldn’t see Jago and took a step back. But then she caught a glimpse of his tousled black mop of hair as he lifted his head so that he was standing a little taller than everyone else, right on the edge of the group, and she realised that he’d been talking to someone.
The bus driver, perhaps. He probably knew everyone…
‘Miss, can you get in, please…’
On the point of surrendering her seat to someone else-there was a general movement as those remaining were ushered clear of the rotor blades-she saw the someone Nick was talking to. Not the driver, not a man, but the curvy blonde who she’d last seen poured into a clinging gown and flirting with a chat show host on the television. As she stood there Nick said something and then, as if feeling her eyes on him, he glanced up and for a moment held her gaze. Still held it as the woman-Fliss, she had a name-flung herself into his arms.
And, for one last time, she dug deep for the smile that had hidden her feelings for so long. Smiled, mouthed, ‘thank you’ before turning quickly and climbing aboard the helicopter. She was the last one to board and the door was immediately slammed behind her. It took off almost immediately.
Manda kept her eyes closed as it hovered above the clearing, resisting the temptation to look down, look back. Then, as it cleared the trees, banked and headed into the sun, she opened them and made a promise to herself.
This was a new beginning and from now on it was only forwards, only positive. There would still be dark moments, but she would never again wrap them around her like a cape, but work through them to the light, knowing it would, like the dawn, like spring, always return.
Then they neared the coast and her phone beeped to let her know that she had incoming messages. She flipped it open and read the urgent, desperate messages from Ivo, Belle, Daisy who had, no doubt, been contacted by the consul when the hotel had posted her amongst the missing.
And she hit send on the stored messages that she’d written in the dark, when survival had not been certain. Simple messages that told them how much she loved them.
