Not to leave.’ Louise was practically beside herself. ‘What happened? We were all so sure. A honeymoon with Nick… Oh, Misty, why not?’
‘Because our honeymoon would be at Madge Pilkington’s Bed and Breakfast out on Banksia Ridge, with tea and scones, a nice dip in the pool every day and bed at nine. We might watch a bit of telly. Wildlife documentaries, maybe, but no lions hunting zebras for us. Nothing to put our blood pressure up.’
‘You’re nuts,’ her friend said frankly. ‘Nicholas Holt would put my blood pressure up all on his own.’
‘Not if he can help it,’ she said. ‘Safe and sedate R Us, our Nick.’
‘So you’re definitely leaving?’
‘I’m leaving.’
‘Natalie’s mother says he wants to marry you.’
‘How would Natalie’s mother know?’
‘Does he?’
‘He doesn’t want to marry me,’ she said. ‘He wants to marry who he thinks I am. But, if I’m not careful, that’s who I’ll be and I suspect I’d hate her.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You know something?’ Misty muttered. ‘Neither do I. But all I know is that I’ve fallen in love with him. He deserves everything I’m capable of giving and I don’t know what that capability is. I have to leave to find out.’
‘For ever?’
‘For a year,’ she said. ‘I’ve taken a year’s leave of absence. I’m not rich enough to walk away for ever. Nor do I want to.’
‘He won’t wait. You can’t expect him to.’
‘No,’ she said bleakly. ‘I can’t expect him to.’
‘Why is she going away?’
It was about the twentieth time Bailey had asked the question and it never got easier.
‘Because her gran’s died and she needs a holiday. Because we’re here to look after the dogs.’
‘We could all go on a holiday.’
‘Misty wants to be by herself.’
But did she? He didn’t know. He hadn’t asked.
He wasn’t going to ask. There was no way he was taking Bailey white-water rafting in the Rockies.
‘We could go sailing,’ Bailey said, verging on tears. ‘All of us together.’
‘You and I will go sailing. Next Saturday.’
‘Misty’s leaving on Friday.’
‘Then we’ll miss her very much,’ Nick said as firmly as he could. ‘But it’s what she wants to do and we can’t stop her.’
Friday. At eight Louise was collecting her to drive her to the airport. At dawn Nick went outside and found her crouched on the veranda, hugging two dogs.
‘Hi,’ he said and she turned to face him and he saw she’d been crying. ‘Misty…’
‘Hay fever,’ she muttered, burying her face in Ketchup’s coat. ‘I’m allergic to dogs. How lucky I’m leaving.’
‘Stay.’
‘No.’
‘Misty, we love you,’ he said, feeling helpless. ‘Both of us do. No, all of us,’ he added, seeing the two dogs wuffle against her. ‘This is craziness.’
‘It’s not craziness,’ she said and swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘It’s what I need to do. I’m not Isabelle, Nick, no matter what you think, but I have my reasons. Instead of hating me for what I’m doing…I wish, oh, I wish you’d try to see who I really am.’
‘I know who you are.’
‘No, you don’t,’ she said and rose and brushed past him, heading for the door. ‘You see what you want to see, and that’s not me.’
‘So who are you?’
‘Heaven knows,’ she said bluntly. ‘I’m heading off into the unknown to find out.’
Nick watched her go.
He watched until Louise’s car was out of sight.
Then he walked inside and slammed the door so hard it fell off its hinges.
Great. Something to do.
Something to do to stop him following her and dragging her back any way he knew how.
Misty was staring down at the receding vision of Sydney and all she could think of was what she’d left behind. What she’d given up.
‘But I’m not giving it up,’ she muttered. ‘I’m leaving for a year. It’ll be there waiting for me when I get back.’
‘Nick won’t be there,’ she reminded herself. ‘That’s up to Nick.’
Oh, but what a risk. She sniffed before she could help herself and the man in the next seat handed over a wad of tissues.
‘My wife does this every time we fly,’ he said. ‘So I come prepared. She’s not with me this time but she sobbed at the airport. Leaving family then, are you, love?’
‘Sort of.’ It was all she could manage.
‘He’ll be there when you get back,’ the man said comfortably. ‘If he has any sense.’
‘That’s just the problem,’ she told him. ‘He has too much sense.’
‘So what will we do without her?’
What, indeed? Move? The idea had appeal-to shift out of this house where he’d thought he had his life sorted. Only he had two dogs, and Bailey loved his new school, and to move out now…
They’d move before she came home, he decided. If she came home. She’d probably meet someone white-water rafting. Or kill herself in the process.
‘Why do you keep looking angry?’
‘I’m not angry.’
‘So what will we do?’
It was Sunday afternoon. They’d had a whole forty-eight hours without her. It was raining.
Even the dogs were miserable.
Nick stared round the kitchen, looking for inspiration. ‘Maybe we can cook,’ he said. ‘I’ve never tried a chocolate cake. You want to try?’
‘It’d be better if Misty was here,’ Bailey said, stubborn.
‘Yes, but Misty’s not here.’ He headed for the recipe shelf and tugged out a few likely books. ‘One of these…’
But then he was caught. There was a pile of scrapbooks wedged behind the recipes. One came out along with Mrs Beeton’s
It was a scrapbook, pasted with pictures. All sorts of pictures.
On the front in childish writing…
‘Misty Lawrence. My Dreams, Book One.’
It didn’t quite come up to expectations. Flying over Paris at dawn…
For a start, it was loud. It hadn’t looked loud in the pictures. The brochures had made it look still and dreamlike, floating weightlessly above the Seine, maybe sipping a glass of champagne, eating the odd luscious strawberry.
She was cold. Champagne didn’t cut it. If she wanted anything it was hot cocoa-where was Nick and his rocker now?-but she was too busy gripping the sides of the basket to even think about drinking or eating. The roar of the
