By the time she turned thirty, Scarlet had been so desperate to find someone to love-and who would love her in return-that she’d made the mammoth decision to change careers. She went to college at night, gained her real- estate licence then applied for a job at one of the Central Coast’s largest and most successful agencies.
It had seemed a good move at the time. Suddenly, she was surrounded by lots of eligible young men who thought she was the best thing since they had built the freeway connecting the central coast to Sydney. She had admirers galore, one of whom stood out from all the rest. Jason was an estate agent at a rival agency and a coastie-like herself. A charming, extremely handsome guy who came from a local family and didn’t try to get her into bed on their first date. Hallelujah! When they did finally go to bed, the sex, whilst not quite of the earth-moving variety, had been pleasurable enough for Scarlet to conclude she’d finally fallen in love, feelings which she assumed were mutual when Jason proposed to her on her thirty-second birthday.
Plans for their wedding were well underway when disaster struck.
It had been eighteen months ago, at their street Christmas party. Jason was unable to go with her, saying he had a work-related dinner at the Terrigal hotel which he was obliged to attend. She was showing everyone her engagement ring and having a wonderful time when John Mitchell-the party was at the Mitchells’ house that year- took her aside and very quietly told her the most devastating piece of information.
Her first instinct was disbelief and denial. It couldn’t possibly be true: her fiance was not gay. He couldn’t be!
It was the gentleness in John’s voice-and the compassion in his eyes-which finally convinced her he was speaking the truth. For it wasn’t like John Mitchell to be that nice to her. Deeply distressed, she left the party straight away, sending Jason a text that she had to see him. She arranged to meet him at the park opposite the Terrigal hotel where she confronted him with John’s allegation. He initially denied being gay, but she wouldn’t let him lie to her any more, and he finally admitted the truth. He begged her not to tell anyone else, as he hadn’t fully accepted it himself, and she hadn’t, but she broke her engagement.
Christmas that year, therefore, was not very happy. Neither was the New Year. Totally shattered, Scarlet resigned her real-estate job-she couldn’t bear to run into Jason all the time-and went back to hairdressing where she hid herself away for the whole year, her spirits very low. She never told anyone the truth about Jason-not even her mother-saying instead that she’d found out he was cheating on her. Her girlfriends were very sympathetic whilst encouraging her to keep on dating. But she simply hadn’t had the courage to put herself out there again. She’d felt like a fool, and a failure.
Scarlet had been quite relieved when John Mitchell hadn’t come home last Christmas. She hated the thought of his looking at her with pity again, or saying something crass like ‘I told you so’. Apparently, he’d broken a leg climbing up some stupid mountain in South America and was unable to travel. She was relieved, too, that he wouldn’t be at the party today. He’d planned to come, but his flight from Rio had been indefinitely delayed because of volcanic ash in the air. Fate was being kind to her for once.
Scarlet knew it was silly of her to feel awkward about seeing John Mitchell again. But she did.
To be fair, he was not an easy guy to be around at the best of times. Despite being a very good-looking man, John’s social graces left a lot to be desired. Had a brilliant brain, though; this Scarlet knew first-hand, since they’d always been in the same classes at school, right from kindergarten through to their final exams. But being classmates and neighbours had not made them friends. John had never played with the other kids in the street, despite Scarlet asking him more than once. All he’d cared about was studying and surfing-the beach was a relatively short walk away.
Scarlet recalled how John had bitterly resented being asked by her mother to mind her on the school bus when bullying had become rife. Admittedly, he’d done it, even to the extent of fighting with another boy who had called her a foul name. He’d got suspended for a day over that, and a bloody nose as well, which hadn’t exactly endeared her to him. Not that he had said anything directly to her. But when she’d thanked him, he’d scowled. Scowling at her was something he’d done quite often back then. She remembered once going to him for help with a maths problem in high school-he really had been terrific at maths-only to be told bluntly to stop being so bloody lazy and work it out for herself. Naturally, she hit back-Scarlet was not a girl to accept such rudeness meekly-screaming at him that she thought he was the meanest, most horrible boy she’d ever met and she would never ever ask him for help again, even if she were dying. A rather over-dramatic declaration, but she’d meant it at the time.
After graduating, John had gone on to Sydney university to become a geologist. She’d hardly ever seen him after that. He’d gone overseas to work once he had his degree, and only darkened his family’s doorstep around Christmas, when he would stay for a week or two at most. Even then, he spent most of his time surfing by himself.
He did deign to attend the Christmas street-party which they held every year, and where their paths inevitably crossed. And, whilst John wasn’t openly rude to her any more, their conversations were hardly warm or communicative. What she knew about his life was gleaned via his mother who belonged to the same quilting group as Scarlet’s mother. According to Carolyn Mitchell, her son had become extremely wealthy in recent years after finding oil in Argentina and natural gas in some other South American country. He’d also bought a house in Rio, so it seemed likely that he wasn’t coming home to Australia to live any time soon.
And wasn’t getting married any time soon, either, Scarlet warranted. Loners like John didn’t get married.
However, Scarlet had no doubt there was a woman-or women-in his life. Good-looking guys with money to burn didn’t do without sex, even if they were antisocial bastards with about as much personal charm as a rattlesnake!
The bitchiness of this last thought startled Scarlet. It wasn’t like her to be bitchy.
John Mitchell brought out the worst in her. But she really hated the way he didn’t need anybody; hated his self-containment. She couldn’t imagine John Mitchell ever having his heart broken. His heart was as hard as one of his precious rocks.
‘Better get a move on, Scarlet,’ her mother called through the bathroom door. ‘It’s twelve-twenty-five.’
After giving herself a vigorous mental shake, Scarlet hurried back to her bedroom, where she quickly hooked a pair of silver and crystal drops through her earlobes, then bolted back to the living room where her mother was waiting for her, dressed in a tailored cream trouser suit with a caramel-coloured blouse underneath.
‘You know, Mum,’ she said, looking her mother up and down. ‘You don’t look a day over fifty.’ Yet she’d turned sixty-two last birthday.
‘Thank you, darling. And you don’t look a day over twenty.’
‘That’s because I have great genes,’ Scarlet replied.
‘True,’ Janet agreed, though the thought did occur to her that maybe her daughter had inherited one particular gene which wasn’t as desirable as a youthful face, good skin and a slender figure-she herself had found it very difficult to get pregnant, which was why she’d only had the one child. It surprised her that a girl as intelligent as Scarlet hadn’t asked her about that. But she hadn’t, and Janet wasn’t about to mention it. Not today.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ Janet said instead, and picked up the present from the kitchen counter. Inside the rather exquisite red box was a ruby-coloured water jug and matching glasses which she’d found in a local antique shop and which she knew Carolyn would love. Martin probably wouldn’t, but then Martin was one of those men who didn’t enthuse over anything much. Except his grandson. There was no doubting that Melissa’s little boy, Oliver, was the apple of his grandfather’s eye. ‘I won’t need a jacket, will I?’ Scarlet asked her.
‘I shouldn’t think so. Besides, it’s not as though you have far to walk if you do get cold.’
‘You’re right. In that case, I won’t take a handbag, either. Here, let me hold the present whilst you lock up.’
They went out the front way, Scarlet glad to see that the early cloud had lifted, letting the June sun do a decent job of warming up the air. Winter had not long arrived down under, but it had already been one of the coldest in a decade. And the wettest. Fortunately, the rain had stayed away today, which meant they wouldn’t be confined indoors at the party. By the look of the number of cars already parked up and down the street, this was going to be a well-attended affair. There was nothing worse, in Scarlet’s opinion, than having lots of people jammed into a couple of rooms. Admittedly, the Mitchells’ two-storeyed home was very spacious, with large open-planned living areas. But even so…
‘They’ve been lucky with the weather,’ she remarked to her mother as they walked together across the road.
‘Indeed. I…’
Whatever her mother was going to say was cut off by the Mitchells’ house. The front door was reefed open and
