‘Only five? Let me think.’ She paused, put her hand under her chin in exaggerated thinking mode. ‘Do you really want to hear this?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘I guess the general buzz of the city, people everywhere, life, action, the river, there’s always something to do. Melbourne is cultural, hip. I love the laneway cafés, the bars, the restaurants, the markets, the buskers. Last week there was a girl sitting on a milk crate on the footpath with an old-fashioned typewriter and she wrote me a poem; in return I took an arty photo of her in black and white and emailed it to her. It’s fun to take high tea in one of the posh hotels. The shops, of course, the fabulous shops.’ She smiled. ‘I should stop now, but there’s more.’

  ‘Keep going,’ he said.

  ‘Okay. Then there are the museums, the art galleries, the concerts, the art-house movies, even the graffiti. Oh, and the exhibitions. The world comes to Melbourne with exhibitions from archaeological to pop culture to the costumes worn in the greatest movies.’ Her face was animated, her cheeks flushed, eyes shining. ‘I go to see them all.’

  ‘I used to like the music, pub bands, concerts, jazz clubs, the buskers and sidewalk theatre,’ he said.

  ‘Those too,’ she said.

  ‘I busked myself once, down by Flinders Street Railway Station, when I was a uni student. I was embarrassed when people actually threw money in my violin case.’ He’d tipped his earnings into the hat of a fellow busker who’d looked as if he needed the money.

  ‘Seriously? You must be very good.’

  ‘Out of practice now,’ he said dismissively. He’d blocked from his mind how much, at one time, he’d enjoyed life in Melbourne. But he’d been needed at home.

  She laughed. ‘I’ve gone way over the five-reason limit on why I love city life, haven’t I?’

  ‘I’m sure there are more,’ he said.

  ‘Actually...’ She drew the word out and laughed. ‘I’ll spare you my further reasons. But, seriously, you have a place in Melbourne and never use it?’

  ‘I do if I need to visit the city. Otherwise my brother Wil stays there when he’s in Melbourne on business so it’s not totally neglected.’

  ‘Th-that’s good,’ she said.

  Freya suddenly quietened. All that animation and vivacity switched off. Ned racked his brains to think if he had said anything untoward but he didn’t get a chance to follow it up as their first course arrived—a salad of figs and pecans, both grown in their orchard, with leaves from the kitchen garden.

  He wondered why Freya suddenly seemed to find it so difficult to relax. Was the setting for dinner too formal for her? By the time the Italian-style chicken dish was served, conversation between them had dwindled.

  The only time Freya seemed really engaged was when they discussed the garden shoot for the following day. She wasn’t eating much, pushing her food around her plate with her fork. The white wine in her glass remained untouched.

  Ned found the stilted conversation increasingly uncomfortable. ‘Are you okay?’ he said finally. ‘Are you concerned about the shoot?’

  Freya put her fork down and looked him straight in the eye. She took a deep breath, which caused a delightful swelling of her breasts above her neckline, then took another as if she was girding herself.

  ‘Ned,’ she said. ‘I can’t put it off any longer. I... I have to tell you something. Something about myself.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said slowly, taken aback.

  ‘I... I haven’t been completely honest with you...’

  There was something about her expression that made him believe he wasn’t going to like what she said. She was married. She was engaged. She wasn’t interested in men. Those were his main concerns. Oddly, if she confessed to having a criminal record he mightn’t care so much. Her single status was more important. Which was insane, when she didn’t check one box on his wife wish-list.

  ‘Really?’ he said, his voice thick with dread of what he might hear.

  ‘I... I...’ She groaned. ‘I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Is it that complex?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Her face contorted with anxiety and what might be poorly masked fear.

  Fear of him?

  Perhaps it was his ‘resting stern face’. Ned forced himself to look calm, receptive, even though his thoughts were churning. ‘Why don’t you start with the most important thing you think I need to know?’

  She chewed at her bottom lip, pulled at her lock of purple hair without, he thought, seeming to realise it. Then took another deep breath, exhaled it on a sigh. ‘Ned... I... I’m not who I say I am. At least I wasn’t when—’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Her mouth turned down. ‘My name is Freya, but I... I went by another name when I knew your brother Wil.’

  ‘You know Wil?’ The words exploded from him.

  ‘Yes.’

  A sickening disappointment churned through him. Wil was a very handsome guy who effortlessly attracted women. Ned loved him, was incredibly grateful he had him as a brother, but it wouldn’t be the first time some girl had wheedled her way into friendship with him in an effort to get to his charismatic younger brother.

  ‘You’re one of his ex-girlfriends? He’s married now. You need to leave him alone.’

  His words were purposefully harsh. Wil was happy with Georgia; he deserved that happiness. Ned couldn’t condone an obsessed former girlfriend showing up here at Five and a Half Mile Creek misrepresenting herself and trying to cause trouble. To think he’d found himself fantasising about Freya. One of his brother’s cast-offs. The thought brought a nasty taste to his mouth.

  He’d got her so wrong.

  Freya shook her head. ‘No! Ned. It’s not like that at all. I’m not an ex-girlfriend. I’m so glad Wil has found a wonderful wife. You can’t imagine how happy that makes me feel. I—’

  He was not inclined to believe her. ‘Then who are you?’

  She sighed a sigh of profound sadness. ‘It’s a long story...’

  ‘Better start at the beginning,’ he said wearily. ‘That is, if I really need to know the details of your past with my brother.’

  ‘It really isn’t what you think,’ she said, her voice not quite steady.

  She pushed herself up from the table, paced the distance between the sideboard and the windows, put her hand on her forehead in a gesture that should have seemed overly dramatic but somehow made him sympathise with her.

  He didn’t get up. ‘The beginning,’ he prompted, leaning back in his chair. Resting stern face felt entirely appropriate.

  ‘I met Wil when I was thirteen. He was my friend.’

  Ned sat forward again. He frowned. ‘But Wil was in foster care then.’

  Freya didn’t meet his gaze, rather looked down somewhere towards her sexy purple suede shoes that tied around her ankles. ‘So was I,’ she said.

  ‘You were in foster care?’ He couldn’t keep the shock from his voice. ‘Not that there is anything to be...er...ashamed of.’

  He knew from Wil, when his brother had finally opened up to him, that there were both good and bad foster homes. Wil’s experiences, after being orphaned at five years old, had not been good. His tales from the dark side of state care had only made Ned care all the more for his adopted brother, to feel fiercely protective towards him.

  Finally Freya looked towards him. ‘I was the girl he defended against our predatory foster father. Wil warned me against him. Protected me. When the horrible guy tried to...to...attack me, Wil pulled him away from me, fought him and broke his nose. Wil got in terrible trouble for doing that—he got sent away. Thankfully for me, a case worker believed Wil when he said I was in danger, and I was taken away from that house. The next foster family was still horrible but I was safer. I... I never saw Wil again after that. But I’ve always been so grateful to him.’

  Ned pushed back his chair, stood up, kept his distance from her, not sure if he could believe her. ‘But that girl’s name wasn’t Freya, it was Tegan.’

  Freya looked at him incredulously. ‘You know of her? I mean me?’

  ‘You’re Tegan?’ Ned’s head was reeling.

  ‘My real name is Freya. That foster mother didn’t like it. She insisted on calling me Tegan. Punished me if I didn’t answer to it.’

  Slowly, Ned shook his head. ‘Wil told us about Tegan.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’

  Ned nodded. ‘He tells it just like you do. By protecting Tegan, he got himself into big trouble. The man didn’t press charges for assault. But Wil says it was an unforgivable crime for a child to attack a foster parent. He was never placed in foster care again. Instead he was sent to an institution, which he hated. By his account, he was angry and bitter at the way he’d been treated when all he’d done was protect a vulnerable young girl from abuse.’

  ‘That girl is still so grateful to him. Always will be. So...so how did Wil end up in your family? I’ve often wondered what happened to him.’

  ‘No one told you?’

  ‘Not a word.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘They told me it was my fault a decent man had his reputation smeared.’ She looked up at Ned. ‘He was not a decent man.’

  ‘So Wil told me.’

  Freya looked slight and vulnerable now. He could only imagine how she had been as a terrified thirteen-year-old. Anger flooded through him. He would have broken the man’s nose too.

  ‘I can’t believe Wil told you about me, that he remembered.’

  ‘Over the years he tried to find you, to see if you were okay. I guess if he was searching for Tegan, that might have been why he had no luck.’

  ‘If only I’d known.’ She paused. ‘There was nothing between us, you know. Nothing...romantic. We were friends. Both trying to survive in a horrid situation.’

  ‘I believe Wil thought of Tegan as a sister. It would have meant something for him to know you were okay. And there you were, right under our noses, working for my mother’s friend.’

  ‘I was helping Hugh to edit Wil’s wedding photos when I recognised him. A different surname from when I’d known him, but it was definitely Wil. I didn’t tell Hugh. But when he asked me to come out here and do the house shoot, curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to see where Wil had landed so safely.’

  ‘But you must have known he wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Of course, I knew he’d be on his honeymoon. I didn’t—don’t—want to see him. I can’t imagine his wife would welcome someone like me showing up, claiming a shared past. I’m just happy to know everything turned out so well with him. Is Georgia as nice as she seems in her photos?’

  ‘Even nicer. She’s a wonderful woman. The best possible wife for him. They’re very happy.’

  ‘I’m so glad. My life might have been very different if it wasn’t for Wil. It wasn’t just that he saved me from that predator, he taught me to be on full alert for any that followed. I was sad to lose him as a friend.’

  Ned paused. ‘He got sent to an awful residential group home, which is where my parents found him.’

  ‘How did that come about?’

  ‘My parents wanted a big family. But they only had me. They had a lot of love to give. One year they decided to take part in a programme that took needy kids out of residential care and took them home for Christmas. Something about Wil caught their eye. The manager tried to dissuade them, said Wil was a troublemaker. My parents insisted if they couldn’t take him, they wouldn’t take anyone.’

  ‘How did you feel about that? A strange kid in your home?’

  ‘I’d always wanted a brother. He was hostile at first. But I liked him straight away. I was patient and by the end of those holidays we were firm friends. I was over the moon when we adopted him.’

  ‘He was the troublemaker. You were the peacemaker.’

  ‘If you put it like that, yes.’

  ‘His good deed helping me was rewarded.’

  ‘As a family, we thought it was us who were rewarded.’ Life after Wil had been different. Better. He had a brother; his mother became more content with country life once she had another child to lavish love and care on. ‘Wil is an extraordinary man.’

  ‘So is his brother,’ Freya said, nodding thoughtfully.

  Her words unexpectedly warmed him. ‘What makes you say that?’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Your love for your brother shines through. You never refer to him as your adopted brother.’ Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘You stepped up when your mother got ill when I suspect you might not have felt ready. You’ve been very kind to me tonight.’

  ‘But that’s just the way I operate.’

  ‘Exactly. Perhaps you don’t realise how extraordinary that is. Thank you for believing me.’

  He frowned. ‘Why would I disbelieve you? Your recollections and Wil’s tally perfectly.’

  ‘Not everyone would believe I had no agenda. Your family is very wealthy, for one thing. You might have thought I was after something. I wasn’t going to tell you about my connection to Wil. It’s not something I’ve shared with anyone. Even Hugh. But when you asked me to come back and photograph the garden, I knew I had to be honest with you.’

  ‘I appreciate that you did.’ He paused. ‘But, Freya, there’s so much more you’re not telling me. About you. Your story. Why you were in state care.’

  Freya tugged on that piece of hair again. Gently he reached out and disengaged her fingers. He held onto her hand, small and cool in his much larger hand. Felt an overwhelming urge to protect her. She seemed so strong, but he sensed a deep vulnerability under that smart front.

  ‘It...it’s not a particularly pretty story. I’m not sure you want to hear it.’

  ‘I’m very sure that I do,’ he said.

  Freya had fascinated him from the get-go. He had taken it at face value she had a successful career in a highly competitive business. Hugh and his partner were sophisticated guys and she was close to them. Somehow, he had assumed she’d had a conventional upbringing. He led her by the hand. ‘Come on back to the table. Try to eat something. Then share your story with me. Please.’

  She shook her head. ‘I really would rather not,’ she said as she released her hand from his.

  * * *

  Freya had quickly realised that Ned was a kind man. Nurturing too, she suspected. And so good-looking—tonight he was looking especially handsome in a turtleneck cashmere sweater in midnight blue that brought out the blue of his eyes. No wonder she’d had that moment of erotic fantasy over him back in the bedroom of the cottage. Again she wondered why such a man was still single. She could envision him with a bunch of kids. But he was also a son of the squattocracy.

  After her first visit she had searched online and discovered there were politicians and entrepreneurs and high-ranking civil servants in his family tree. And wealth, lots of wealth. No wonder prime ministers came to visit.

  Her history was so very different she wondered if they could ever connect, even as friends. Henry and his family had certainly thought she was not worthy of being his girlfriend. Not because of her talent or her brains or her personality, but because of her birth and the way she’d been raised. His rejection of her had left a scar, a scar slashed upon the scars of other, older hurts.

  She’d met Ned on equal terms. He was the boss of Five and a Half Mile Creek, wealthy beyond her wildest aspirations, and she was in his employ, if only temporarily. But she was highly skilled and provided a creative service he valued—hence her second visit. That put them on an equal footing. Her nanna had cleaned houses for people like his family—how differently might he treat her if he knew that?

  She managed to finish half her main course before she pushed her plate away, indicating with a shake of her head that she’d had enough. ‘Don’t you feel better now for having had something to eat?’ he said in a jocular tone that made her smile, in spite of her nervousness.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. And she did. She was an erratic eater at the best of times. Hunger made her edgy. She had stopped at a roadhouse for a snack on the way but the offerings had been less than appealing and she’d only managed half of an indifferent burger.

  Now with a proper meal inside her she felt stronger. Strong enough to resist the temptation to spill her story to Ned. She did not want his pity. Any semblance of equality between them would be shot if he learned where she came from. She would like to be friends with him. Especially now the truth about her and Wil was out. But friends needed to meet each other at least halfway on a platform of equality. That platform would be totally shot if he found out where she came from. She couldn’t bear to see him turn away from her the way Henry had.

  ‘Can we talk about something else, please?’ she said. ‘Perhaps tomorrow’s garden shoot? The past is not a place I want to step back into too often. I prefer to keep it buried.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ he said. But his perceptive blue eyes narrowed. She had a feeling he had further questions to ask. She had no intention of answering them. She pushed back into her chair in an attempt to put more distance between her and Ned.

  When the maid brought in the dessert of chocolate-and-raspberry brownies with a bowl of fresh raspberries and cream, and cheese on a marble platter, she welcomed the diversion. And kept the conversation purely on an impersonal level.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  VERY EARLY THE next morning, Ned stood at a distance, unobserved, watching Freya in his mother’s prized rose garden. It was one of the different garden ‘rooms’—differentiated, hedged spaces—that led into each other, ending at the boundaries of the orchards that adjoined the entire garden.

  The morning was very still and new, the scent from the roses sweet and heady, sharpened by that of the lavender from the borders. Magpies carolled somewhere nearby and a flock of tiny finches were fluttering through one of the larger rose bushes. Freya’s presence made the perfect scene appear even more perfect.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17