AN HOUR later, fortified with a supper of huge ham sandwiches and a mango trifle which seemed to have stunned William, they were in the car again, heading for Mickey’s. It was almost eleven but Meg knew enough of Mickey to believe he’d still be awake, Net surfing.
This was the only option for her boss to contact home. It had to work.
Who did he have waiting for him in New York? He wasn’t saying, and she wasn’t asking. They drove in silence.
She pulled up outside a farmhouse a lot less startling than Letty’s. Instead of knocking, though, while William watched from the car, she tossed gravel at the lit end window.
Mickey hauled up the window. ‘Bruce?’
That one word deflected her thoughts from her own problems. Once upon a time, Mickey would have expected Scott, Meg thought bleakly. The kids were the same age and they lived barely two miles apart. Four years ago, their bikes had practically created a rut in the road between.
But the rut had long been repaired. Tonight Scott had been too tired to come with them. He was always tired. He’d hardly touched his supper. His school work was slipping; he was simply uninterested. There were problems apart from his physical ones, she thought. In the New Year she’d have to talk to his doctors again about depression.
But how could she sort depression for a kid facing what Scott was facing? How long before he could ride a bike again? He believed he never could.
She hadn’t accepted it, though. She’d fight it every inch of the way. But that meant staying employed so she could pay the bills. It also meant being nice to her boss over Christmas, or as nice as she could. Which meant throwing stones at a neighbour’s window three days before Christmas.
‘Bruce?’ Mickey called again and she hauled her attention back to here and now. ‘It’s Meg,’ she called to the kid at the window.
‘Meg?’ Mickey sounded pleased, and she liked that. She liked coming home. She liked it that every person in the tiny shopping town of Tandaroit East knew her, and she could go into every house in the district and find people she knew.
‘The phones are out and I have a guest here who needs to contact New York,’ she said. ‘Scotty…Scott said you have Skype.’
‘Hey, I do,’ Mickey said, sounding inordinately pleased. ‘I’ve never used it for New York, though. I don’t know anyone there.’
‘Would it be all right if Mr McMaster used it?’
‘William,’ said William.
‘Hi, Will.’ Mickey was clearly delighted to have company.
‘Are your parents asleep?’ Meg asked.
‘Dad is. He’s gotta milk at five. But Mum’s making mince pies. You want me to tell her you’re here?’
‘Yes, please,’ Meg said thankfully. ‘I don’t want to be caught creeping round the place at night without your parents knowing.’
‘Yeah,’ Mickey said in a laughing voice that said such an action had indeed been indulged in on more than one occasion before now.
And Meg thought sadly of how much of a normal kid’s life Scotty was missing.
So her boss used Skype while Meg helped Mickey’s mum scoop mincemeat into pastry shells. Jenny wasn’t much older than Meg, but while Meg had gone to university and then to a career, Jenny had married her childhood sweetheart at seventeen and had Mickey nine months later.
She could have done the same, Meg thought, feeling nostalgic and a bit jealous as she took in the cosy farm kitchen, the muddle of Christmas baking, the detritus of a farming family, with twin girls of nine as well as Mickey.
‘This place looks gorgeous,’ Meg said, sitting on an ancient kitchen chair and scooping mincemeat.
‘Nope,’ Jenny said and grinned. ‘Gorgeous is what’s up in Mickey’s room right now.’ Jenny had been introduced before Mickey had taken William off to link him with the other side of the world, and Meg could see her friend adding two and two and making seventeen.
‘You mean my boss.’
‘I mean the man you’ve brought home for Christmas. Yum. I’ve seen him in the gossip rags and he’s even more gorgeous in the flesh. He’s a squillionaire. He’s your boss. And you’ve got him for Christmas.’
‘You can have him if you want him,’ Meg said morosely. ‘He might be happier here. You have a computer.’
‘Yeah, and I have twins and Ian’s extended family arriving tomorrow to stay for a week. There’ll be eight kids in the house. Heaven help us.’ But she was smiling as she said it and Meg thought, even though she had never understood Jenny’s decision to marry and make a home so early, maybe… just maybe it made sense.
‘You’re not getting clucky,’ Jenny demanded, following her gaze, and Meg realised she was staring at a pile of paper chains at the far end of the table. She remembered making them as a kid.
‘I have spare paper,’ Jenny said happily. ‘You can help your boss make paper chains. Very bonding.’
‘Very funny.’
‘No, I think it’s lovely,’ Jenny said, getting serious. ‘To have him here for Christmas… Oooh, Meg. But does he have a girlfriend?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘No idea?’
‘Well, I’m his PA and I haven’t been told to send flowers to anyone lately. But he was desperate to use the phone.’
‘So who’s he ringing?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘I’ll ask Mickey.’
But Mickey, who wandered into the kitchen two minutes later, was no help at all.
‘Yeah, he’s talking but I put my headset on and left him to it. Nah, I didn’t hear who to. Mum, you reckon it’s too late to put another CD on my Christmas list? I’ve just found this sick new band…’
‘Forget it,’ his mother said. ‘Santa asked for a list a month ago and you couldn’t think of anything except a farm bike, which you know we can’t afford. So what are you giving William for Christmas, Meg, love?’
Uh-oh. Here was yet another problem she hadn’t thought through.
On Christmas morning she sat under the Christmas tree and opened presents. Lots of presents.
Meg’s mother had always believed in…excess. She’d loved Christmas with a passion and Meg had still been getting a Santa stocking at twenty-five.
The next year, with her parents dead, Meg had over-compensated, and so had Letty and, to their delight, so did Scott. He’d plundered his piggy bank and asked the nurses to help him.
They’d had a silly, over-the-top Christmas in Scotty’s hospital ward, and the tradition had thus continued.
So Meg’s last minute Christmas spree had filled her baggage with gifts but there wasn’t a lot she could recycle for William.
‘He has everything,’ she said, feeling hopeless.
‘He hasn’t got Skype,’ Mickey said.
‘He will next week when he goes back to New York.’
‘So buy him a satellite dish for the weekend,’ Mickey said cheerfully. ‘Then Scotty can use it after he leaves.’
Right. With what?
‘That’s just a bit more money than I had in mind to spend,’ she retorted and Mickey screwed up his nose and sloped off to watch television in the other room. Grown-up problems. Not his.
‘So how’s the debt reduction going?’ Jenny asked. Jenny had been one of the many who’d come to Meg’s aid after the crash. She knew of Meg’s debt. Scott’s medical expenses were colossal, and on top of that they’d had to keep the farm going when there was no one to run it.
‘It’s okay,’ she told her friend. As long as I’m not sacked, she added under her breath. But I’m probably sacked, so let’s not go there.
‘So it’s just a present for Mr Sexy-Eyes. Can you knit?’
‘No!’
‘So that’s home-made socks out of the question. Leaves only aftershave,’ Jenny said. ‘Ian gets some every year from his Aunty Merle, only Merle hasn’t noticed that Ian’s had a full beard for twenty years now. I’m happy to donate a gallon or six.’
‘I suspect he uses his own.’
‘I guess he would,’ Jenny said, sliding one batch of mince pies out of the oven and another in. ‘So there’s nothing in the world he needs.’
‘Except a plane out of here.’
‘Out of your control, love,’ Jenny said. ‘It’ll have to be aftershave.’ She glanced up at the ceiling. ‘I’d so love to be a fly on the wall, wouldn’t you? I wonder who he’s talking to?’
‘It’s not my business,’ Meg said, a bit too primly, and Jenny laughed.
‘You mean the walls are too thick and there’s no way we can find out. Let’s face it, you’re interested, and why not? He’s the most eligible man on the planet, as well as the most gorgeous. As well as that, he’s your house guest for three days. You have him trapped. Meg darling, if you don’t try and get him interested-seriously interested-you have rocks in your head.’
‘Finished,’ William’s voice growled from the door and they both jumped and Meg did her blushing thing again. That was twice now. All I want for Christmas is my dignity, she thought desperately, as Jenny stifled laughter.
‘Did…did you get onto who you wanted?’ she managed, wondering how pink her face was.
‘Yes, thank you.’ How much had he heard? she thought. The most eligible man on the planet… And… You have him trapped… If he thought…
‘Who did you need to talk to?’ Jenny asked innocently and offered him a plate of mince pies.
‘Friends,’ he said shortly, his face expressionless. Meg knew that expression. It meant the McMaster displeasure was about to wreak consequences. There wasn’t a lot of wreaking he could do right now, though, except wave away the mince pie plate as if it was poison.
‘Eat my mince pies or I’ll be offended for ever,’ Jenny said. ‘The price of my Internet café is a compliment for the cook.’
And he really was trapped, Meg thought. He was forced not to snap; he was forced even to be pleasant.
So he ate and he somehow managed to tell Jenny her mince pies were excellent, while Meg tried to get her face in order, and she almost managed it but then Jenny, dog at a bone, refusing to be deflected, said, ‘So are you going to tell us who this friend is who’s awake at six o’clock in the morning in New York?’ and Meg blushed all over again.
‘Jenny, he doesn’t have to answer.’
‘No, but I’m interested.’
‘Thank you very much for your Internet use,’ William said, clipped, tight and angry. He tugged his wallet out and laid a note on the kitchen table. A note so large it made Jenny gasp.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Paying,’ he said.
‘Put it away,’ Jenny said, angry to match now. ‘There’s no need for that.’
‘Jenny’s my friend,’ Meg said. ‘She’d never charge.’
‘She’s not my friend.’
Whoa. Line overstepped. She was home for Christmas and there were some things which she would not put up with. Hurting Jenny was one of them.
‘She is because she let you use the Internet when she didn’t have to. Without thought of payment. You won’t have to walk back to the station. I’ll drive you,’ she snapped. ‘Jenny, do you have a sleeping bag I can borrow? And a water bottle? Give him a couple more of those mince pies so he won’t starve.’
‘Hey, I wasn’t that offended,’ Jenny said, her flash of hurt disappearing and being replaced by her customary laughter. She took William’s money and tucked it back into his suit pocket. ‘It was very nice of him to offer.’
‘It was not nice,’ Meg said, glowering. ‘He was being snarky.’
‘Snarky?’ William said.
‘Don’t look at me like I’m speaking some other language,’ Meg retorted. ‘You know what snarky is. Jenny. Sleeping bag.’
‘You’re not serious,’ Jenny said. ‘If you are, he can sleep here.’
‘He’s not your friend. He just said so.’
‘He wasn’t serious.’
‘I was,’ William said. ‘But I’m having second thoughts.’
‘You know, I think that’s wise,’ Jenny said, and grinned again and waggled her finger at the pair of them. ‘Birds in their little nest agree…’
‘Jenny!’
‘Go on, get out of here, the two of you,’ Jenny said cheerfully. ‘Take him home, Meg, and don’t even think of going via the station. Can you just see the headlines? Tomorrow’s express train thundering through Tandaroit Station, with William McMaster sleeping off the effect of too many mince pies on a deserted platform? So be nice to her, William, and if you can possibly manage it, tell her who it is that you contacted tonight. She’s dying to know, even if it isn’t her business.’
She raised floury hands and shooed them out into the hall, out of the front door. She banged it shut after them, and then tugged it open again. An afterthought had just occurred.
‘It’s the season for peace on earth and goodwill to all men,’ she called after them. ‘So don’t leave him on the railway station.’
They drove home in silence. Meg was too embarrassed to say anything. William simply…didn’t.
She pulled up outside the house and made to get out, but William’s hand came down onto her arm, making her pause.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But I don’t take kindly to questions.’
‘That’s your right. But you will be nice to my family and to my friends.’
‘I will be nice to your family and to your friends,’ he repeated. ‘Tell me about Scott.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I’ve employed you for three years. I’ve never asked about your family.
‘I don’t take kindly to questions,’ she intoned and he grimaced.
‘That’s your right,’ he conceded. ‘Of course you’re not obligated to tell me.’
‘As you’re not obligated to tell me who you just telephoned.’ She relented then, sighed and put up her hands in mock surrender. ‘No. Don’t tell me. It’s Jenny who wanted to know that one, not me.’ And how about that for a barefaced lie? she thought, but some lies were almost compulsory.
But William’s question still hung, unanswered, and he wasn’t taking it back.
She glanced at the house. Apart from the Christmas decorations it was all in darkness. Letty and Scott would be long asleep. Even the dogs hadn’t stirred on their return. They’d be sleeping in a huge huddle at the end of Scott’s bed, she knew. Turps and Roger would be on the bed itself-Scott had trained them to lie still so he could use them as a rest for his brace. The others would be on the floor, as close as they could get.
She loved Scotty so much it hurt. It hurt so much she wanted to cry. And, all at once, it was easy to answer William’s question. She wanted to talk.
‘Scotty’s my half-brother,’ she said, staring ahead into the darkness. Speaking almost to herself. ‘My mum was a single mum-she had me early and she raised me the hard way, with no parental support. Then, when I was nine, she met Scott’s dad. Alex was a farmer, a fair bit older than she was. Mum was selling second-hand clothes at a market and Alex had come to town to check out some new, innovative water pump. He never bought the pump but he took one look at Mum and he fell hard.’
‘Love at first sight,’ William said, and he sounded a bit derisive. Meg glared at him. He was on shaky ground. Derision wasn’t something she was putting up with tonight.
And apparently he realised it. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry, sorry. Love at first sight. It happens.’
‘So it does,’ she said and glared at him a bit longer until she was sure he was remembering the railway station and the water bottle and the express train thundering through, crowded with people with cameras.
‘So it did,’ she reiterated as he attempted to look apologetic-not a good fit for W S McMaster but it was a start. Her glare faded. ‘I remember the weekend Alex invited us here. He was a great big dairy farmer, in his forties. He hardly talked. That was okay. Mum was a talker, and I remember he just kept looking at Mum like she was some sort of magic. And then I met Letty and Letty was my magic. We arrived on the Friday night and Mum and Alex couldn’t take their eyes off each other all weekend, and on Sunday Letty said “call me Grandma.” It was like we’d come home. We had come home. Alex took us back to Melbourne and we threw our things into the back of his truck and we headed back here and stayed. Alex married Mum a month later. I was a flower girl. Letty made me the most gorgeous dress. We were so happy, and then five years later Scotty was born and it was perfect.’
‘Nothing’s perfect,’ William said, as if he couldn’t help himself, and she shook her head in disgust.
‘And there’s no such thing as love at first sight? Don’t mess with my fairy tales, Mr McMaster. It was love at first sight and it was perfect for sixteen whole years. Sure, the farm’s not big and we struggled a bit, but Mum still did markets and everyone helped. I was good at school and we knew there was no way the farm would support Scotty and me-or even one of us-but I was really happy going to university. I missed it more when I got a full-time job, but I was still pretty happy, having this place here as my backstop. And then four years ago a truck came round a bend on the wrong side of the road and it all crumpled to nothing.’
Silence.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said at last.
‘Yeah,’ she said grimly. ‘It makes you realise that when you have the fairy tale you hang on and you appreciate it every single moment. Just like that…’ She shook her head, shaking away nightmares. ‘Anyway, Mum and Alex were killed instantly. Scotty was eleven. He was in the back seat. He just broke…everything. For months we thought he’d be a paraplegic, but he had so much grit. He has so much grit. He’s fought and fought. For ages neighbours kept the farm going for us. We thought we’d have to sell but then Letty and I figured maybe we could keep it. If we use my salary to augment the income, we can just get by. It’s where Scotty’s happy. It’s where Letty’s happy.’
‘And your job with me…’
‘See, there’s the fairy tale again,’ she said and smiled, but he didn’t smile back. He looked intent, as if trying to see meaning behind her words. It disconcerted her, but no matter, she had to keep going. ‘I thought I’d get a job in Curalo and commute the twenty miles,’ she told him, ‘but then along came your advertisement and it’s been fabulous. We have a lady who comes and milks for us while I’m not here. Letty’s still active. We’ve coped.’
‘So if I sack you…’
Her smile faded. ‘Then…’
‘Then the fairy tale ends again?’
‘It’s not as bad as that,’ she said and tilted her chin. ‘We’ll manage.’
‘I won’t sack you.’
‘I don’t need sympathy.’
‘I’m not offering it. We’ll put this behind us as an unfortunate aberration…’
‘On my part.’
‘On your part,’ he agreed gravely. ‘It’s been a sad hiccup in your normally exemplary efficiency. We’ll get this weekend behind us and then go back to where we were. You’re normally an extremely competent employee.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ she said before she could stop herself. Who was being snarky now?
‘If that’s sarcasm…’
‘No, I’m overwhelmed,’ she said. ‘Honestly I am.’ She had to get herself under control here. Meek, she told herself. Do meek.
‘I don’t give compliments that aren’t deserved,’ he said stiffly and she thought-what am I doing, joshing with a guy who controls my life? But there was something about this day, or this night, this time, this season-maybe even it was just that Santa was still waggling dumbly overhead-that made her refuse to treat this as normal. She wasn’t going back to being Miss Jardine; not just yet.
‘You know you don’t have to simply “get this weekend behind us,”’ she said cautiously. ‘You could enjoy it.’
‘I’m hardly in a position to enjoy it.’
‘Because you don’t have the phone or the Internet?’
‘Because I’m right out of my comfort zone,’ he said honestly. ‘And I want to be back in New York.’
‘And I want my parents back,’ she retorted. ‘But that doesn’t stop me enjoying what I have. The here and now.’
‘That’s very commendable.’
‘It is, isn’t it,’ she said evenly. ‘In fact, if I’m not mistaken, my boss just commended me. He said I was normally an extremely competent employee. So while I’m ahead I might just stop.’ She swung herself out of the car and waited for him to do likewise. ‘I have an early start, Mr McMaster, so I need to go to bed.’
‘Why do you have an early start?’
‘I milk cows,’ she said, heading for the back door. ‘If you can’t sleep and run out of work, then you’re welcome to join me at dawn. Instead of a gym workout. If I were you, though, I wouldn’t wear a suit.’ And she walked into the house and left him to follow-if he wanted.
What choice did he have?
None at all.