‘Fine.’
What was it between them? What was this…thing? It felt like some sort of magnetic charge, with both of them hauling away from it.
‘Fine,’ he repeated, and he left-but some important part of him stayed behind. And he couldn’t for the life of him think what it was.
CHAPTER FIVE
THEY worked brilliantly as a team-apart.
For the next few days plans for the two weddings proceeded as swiftly as for any function Guy had organised in Manhattan. Most of it was down to Jenny. Guy just had to hint at a suggestion and she had it organised. She seemed to know every last person in a twenty-mile radius of Sandpiper Bay. He needed oysters? She knew the couple who leased the best oyster beds. He wanted lobsters? She knew the fisherman. Fantastic greens? Her husband’s best friend had a hydroponic set-up where they could get wonderful produce straight from the grower.
Jenny wrote out a menu for Anna’s wedding, and when Guy read it he grinned. It was inspired. Yabbies, prawns, oysters, lobsters, scallops-seafood to die for, and all in enough quantities to make their overseas guests drool. After the main courses the menu became even more Australian-pavlovas with strawberries and cream, lamingtons, ginger fluff sponges, chocolate eclairs, vanilla slices, lashings of home-made berry ice-cream, bowls and bowls of fresh berries…
Guy thought of how much this would cost in New York, and then he looked at the figures Jenny had prepared and blinked-and then he thought he’d charge New York prices anyway. It would mean he could put more into Kylie’s wedding. He could employ a really excellent band…
But this was all discussed by phone. Guy had left Sandpiper Bay to make a sweep of Sydney suppliers. The time away let him clear his head. In truth, the day he’d tried to find Anna’s property he’d become thoroughly lost. He’d got back to the salon flustered and late, and Jenny had merely raised her brows in gentle mockery and not said a word. She’d known very well what had happened, he thought, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it that she could read him.
So he’d gone to Sydney. He wasn’t escaping, he thought. It was merely that things needed to be organised in Sydney.
On Monday, three days before Kylie’s wedding, five days before Christmas, he returned.
The beach was crowded-summer was at its peak and there were surfing-types everywhere.
Bridal Fluff was closed.
What had he expected? he asked himself. Jenny had told him things were going well. And besides, he didn’t want to see her.
Did he?
He let himself into Bridal Fluff. There was a typed list on the desk, of everything that had to be done for the two weddings, with a neat tick beside everything that had been done.
She was good.
He didn’t want to think about how good she was.
He drove back to his guesthouse, dumped his gear and made his way disconsolately down to the lobby. He needed something to do. Anything. Even if it was just to stop him thinking about Jenny.
Especially if it was to make him stop thinking about Jenny.
‘You should go to the beach,’ the guesthouse proprietor told him. ‘It’s a wonderful day for a swim.’
‘I need to-’ he started, and then thought, No, he didn’t need to do anything. ‘The beach looks crowded.’
‘That’s just the front beach,’ his host told him. ‘There’s no need to be crowded at Sandpiper Bay. All the kids go to the front beach. They say the surfing’s better there, but in truth it’s just become the place to be seen. And being so near Christmas there’ll be lots of out-of-towners coming for picnics. Family parties and such. If you want a quiet beach, I can draw you a map showing you Nautilus Cove, which has to be one of the most perfect swimming places in Australia.’
So ten minutes later he was in the car, heading south for a swim.
There were two cars at the side of the road when he pulled up-expensive off-roaders-and he was paranoid enough to be thankful they weren’t Jenny’s. ‘There might be a couple of locals there,’ he’d been told. ‘But they won’t mind sharing.’
Actually, he did mind sharing, but it was a bit much to expect to have the beach to himself. And two cars hardly made a crowd.
There were a few empty beer cans by the side of the road. That gave him pause for a moment. In this environmentally friendly shire, roadside litter was cleared almost as soon as it happened. Were the owners of the off-roaders drinking?
No matter. He could handle himself. He just wanted a quick swim. He tossed his towel over his shoulders and strode beachwards. As he topped the sand hill, the cove stretched out before him, breathtakingly beautiful. Golden sand, gentle surf, sapphire sea. There was a group of youths at the far end of the beach-the off-roaders’ occupants? Surely not, he thought, frowning. They looked too young to be driving such expensive cars. Someone was yelling. It looked a small but intimidating group of youths. Drunken teenagers showing off to each other?
He didn’t want trouble, and they looked like trouble. He’d find another beach.
But then he hesitated. A figure broke from the group. Someone shoved and the figure stumbled. There was raucous laughter, cruel and jeering.
Someone was in trouble. They were a few hundred yards from him, and it was hard to see. But then…He focussed. It was a woman, he thought, and the woman seemed to be carrying a child. She took a few more steps towards him.
Jenny.
She was trudging through the soft sand, carrying Henry. Henry was clinging to her, his face buried in her shoulder, as the taunts followed them.
‘Get the hell off our beach!’ they yelled. ‘Take your deformed kid with you.’ A beer can hurtled through the air. It didn’t hit Jenny, but it hadn’t landed before Guy was hurtling down the slope as if the hounds of hell were after him.
Jenny.
She was carrying a bag which looked a load in itself. She was concentrating on putting one foot in front of another, making sure she kept her balance in the soft sand. She didn’t see him approach, every fibre of her being concentrating on getting off the beach-fast.
He reached her and put out his hands and stopped her. She flinched backwards.
‘Jenny.’
She looked up at him, her face pale and gaunt, but as she saw who it was relief washed over her. She almost sagged. ‘G…Guy. Get us out of here,’ she stammered.
Another beer can headed in their direction. ‘You’re not moving fast enough,’ someone yelled from the group. ‘Hey, mister, keep away from them. The kid’s a mutant.’
‘Go,’ Guy said urgently, and put his body between her and the barrage of cans and foul language. If he could have picked her up and carried her he would have, but picking up Jenny and Henry and their gear was a bit much even for someone with superhero aspirations. ‘Go on up to the road,’ he told her. ‘Get to my car and wait for me.’ ‘But-’
‘Go.’ He tugged his cellphone from his belt. ‘It’s 000 for emergency here, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but-’
‘Go.’
She went. She didn’t have a choice.
He stood his ground and dialled, and two seconds later he had a response. He stood facing the teenagers and spoke into the phone, loudly and firmly. Loud enough for them to hear.
‘There’s a group of what looks like under-aged drinkers on Nautilus Cove,’ he told the officer who’d answered
