A Southern Star (14 page)

Christie looked over at him, alarmed. “My sister can be quite self—involved,” Blake said, watching her carefully. Christie tensed; watching her, he realised what had happened. “I don’t think it would occur to her that not everyone shops at a store like that.” Christie nodded slightly. “And she has been playing the happily married card quite a bit lately.” He saw fresh tears in Christie’s eyes, searched for an appropriate remark. “You should hear my father when he gets going about it,” he said, trying to give her the impression he was in regular contact with his parents.

Listening to him, Christie realised he was trying to put her at ease without directly asking her about her savings or pointing out she was not part of a couple. She took a shuddering breath, nodded. “Dunedin has quite a few shops, Christie,” he continued easily. “Blake, stop.” He watched her as she spoke. “I know your father dropped you in it today.” His eyes narrowed at her frank expression. “I don’t expect you to take me to Dunedin,” she continued, trying to ignore the look on his face, knowing he was annoyed. “I’m just going to look around Queenstown and Arrowtown for the next couple of days.”
 

Blake shrugged, sat back. “Up to you,” he said. “As always.” Christie flushed as she registered his vaguely sarcastic tone. She did not reply; the silence drifted. “You said at lunch you had somewhere to stay,” he said suddenly.
 

She looked at him quickly. “Yes, I’m staying with Lisa at her parents’ place,” she said.

“I meant after the baby,” he said, after an almost imperceptible pause. Christie covered her shock as Blake referred directly to the baby, started to tell him about the apartment she had been offered through Lisa. She could not read the look on his face as she spoke about her plans, explaining it was fully furnished so she would only need gear for the baby.
 

“It’s just for twelve months,” Christie continued. “But it means less outgoings, which was my biggest concern by far.” She smiled without humour. “And I’ve spoken with my old boss to set up some contracting, so I can get some design work projects. When those come through I can work from down here, get my laptop and other stuff sent down from Auckland.”

Blake said nothing further, only increasing Christie’s concern about his virtual silence at lunch, the evident warmth shown by his parents contrasted with Blake’s own sullen attitude. Christie was close to her own parents, was uncomfortable at the way he had all but ignored his mother by the Arrow River; there was a moment when she wondered if he was going to reply to her at all.
Unless he was just annoyed at his parents inviting me to lunch,
she thought, immediately acknowledging that this was part of the problem but surely not the whole reason.

“Well, this is the best view of the vineyard,” Blake interrupted her thoughts with his abrupt words. “So if you’ve seen enough, I’ll drive you back to Arrowtown,” he added, one eye on the vineyard workers walking down towards the ute. Christie looked across at him, hurt by his words, his clear wish to conclude her visit as soon as possible.

Guiltily, she had hoped for a tour, an explanation of the industry that genuinely fascinated her. And time with Blake, hearing him talk, watching him. Instead, there had been this brief drive up to a vantage point, Blake’s offhand comments about the upcoming harvest and his sudden question about the apartment.
 

Knowing she could not hope for more, Christie nodded politely, commenting on the view, agreeing they should return to Arrowtown. Blake spun the ute around, making polite small talk to cover his disappointment at Christie turning down a trip to Dunedin, her lack
 

of interest in seeing the vineyard with him after all the questions she had asked his father at lunch.

Noticing the curve of Christie’s pregnancy when he first saw her in Arrowtown, watching her joke with his father, talk to his mother, only served to increase Blake’s confusion as he was forced to examine his own behaviour and the reasons for it. The knowledge that this family lunch, at the winery, with Christie, on a brilliant summer day could have been so much more, was bitter. He wished now he had talked openly instead of relying on his father to explain the mechanics of the wine industry, his entire family to shade the truth, omit things on his behalf.

Christie muttered a thank you as Blake stopped the ute outside Lisa’s parents’ home. He kept the engine running, obviously not wanting to stay. Lisa’s mother, Brenda, came out to greet them, smiling at Christie, walking around to the driver’s side of the ute. Christie was quietly shocked as Brenda greeted Blake, was met by a barely civil response.
She’s hurt
, Christie realised, frowning.

Surprised, Christie watched Brenda continue to talk to Blake, asking questions about his work, his family. Again he was curt, dismissive, an unmistakable edge to his voice. He seemed to remember Christie was there, clearly made more of an effort; his body language still betraying his impatience. Christie watched Brenda try to give Blake a tupperware container.

“What’s this?” she heard Blake ask, his tone off hand.
 

“Slices of my chocolate cake, Blake,” Brenda said. “I thought you might like—”

“Chocolate cake,” he repeated. “How thoughtful. Giving that away too, are you?” His words held a hint of sarcasm. Christie’s eyes widened, uncomfortable at the scene she was witnessing, trying to work it out. Not wanting to intrude any further, Christie quickly said goodbye to Blake, left the ute, walked towards the house. Brenda watched her go, turned back to Blake.

“You make this so difficult, Blake. Judging me, judging everyone.” Brenda spoke with quiet emphasis, her dark eyes snapping with sudden anger. She straightened to her full height, suddenly determined to speak her mind. “I’ll save my baking for someone who appreciates it. I hope Marie’s birthday lunch went well today. And that you didn’t act like too much of a spoilt brat, for her sake, at least.”

Blake tensed with shock at Brenda’s bluntness. “Yeah, really spoilt,” he said derisively, trying to cover his hurt. “With a
mother
that—”

“Blake.” Brenda spoke over him, her face paling at Blake’s tone, his words, which she knew were aimed directly at her. He found he could not look away from Brenda’s eyes, knowing her expression so well, knowing she was furiously angry. “Get over yourself. You’re an adult now. With—” she paused, obviously fighting for control, “—parents who have always thought the sun shines out of you, despite your selfish behaviour.”

“Easy for you to say,” Blake interrupted, his hurt rising to the surface. “And you would know all about selfishness.”

“No.” Until he heard Brenda speak, Blake had not realised one word could carry such emotion. “This is not easy for me to say. To think what might have been. If I had been
more
selfish. Not less. It’s difficult for you, yes. And I realise that every day. But it’s difficult for me, too, and for your…” Brenda broke off suddenly. “For your parents,” she finished, her mouth trembling. “Lisa told me what’s going on. You haven’t been honest with Christie, either, have you?” Her eyes narrowed perceptively.

“I have been…” Blake said, uncomfortable, his voice trailing off, for once at a loss for words, confronted by Brenda’s emotion, her words stinging his conscience.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Brenda spoke cuttingly. “Sort it out. Or think about the consequences.” Clearly making an effort, she softened her voice. “Blake, you could have the best of both worlds.” She turned away without giving him a chance to reply.

Blake watched Brenda’s tall, lithe figure walk back towards her home, reach her husband standing at the door, saw her husband say something to Brenda, put his arm around her, watched them close the door. He drove back in the direction of the winery, agonising over Brenda’s words, each one of which had hit home like a well-aimed arrow, thinking of Christie, of her pregnancy, his own childhood. Brenda’s parting comment stayed with him; he acknowledged he had essentially baited Brenda over the last few years, continued to needle her; it was no wonder she had snapped.

Blake strode back into the winery building, found himself unable to focus on work, thinking of his mother’s birthday lunch, her constant excusing of his inexcusable behaviour, his father’s quiet disappointment at his attitude. He realised with a pang of guilt that both of them had still unswervingly protected his secrets, loyally maintained their silence. He thought through his work commitments, realised that aside from some last minute calculations, there was nothing that couldn’t wait until his return from Dunedin.
 

Abruptly, Blake walked back to the ute, drove into Queenstown, spending considerable time examining different titles in two different bookshops, deliberately approaching female shop assistants, intent on information. He ignored their giggling assumptions and comments, eventually dealt with the manager of one store, an older woman who unhesitatingly recommended two books and a particular website, pointed out a magazine. He returned to the ute with the books and magazines he had purchased from both stores, and drove home, planning to immerse himself in the books for the rest of the afternoon, start looking at the Internet that evening.
And prepare for the trip,
he thought ruefully.

— # —

Later, Christie relaxed in the conservatory of Lisa’s parents’ home, asking about Lisa’s family gathering, mentioning the lunch with Blake and his family. A private person herself, Christie did not mention Blake’s obvious attitude towards his parents, the exchange between Blake and Brenda, confined herself to emphasising the wonderful food and setting of the lunch at the winery. Lisa grinned at Christie, asking what she had ordered. “Blue cod,” Christie said, blushing slightly, embarrassed now at the foolish impulse that led her to hope, to order that meal in front of Blake.

Not wanting to mention the shared dessert, discuss Blake further, Christie tried to change the subject, mentioned to Lisa that she wanted to look around at the shops in Queenstown, start getting what she would need for the baby. Lisa shook her head. “If you want to, Christie, but you’d be better shopping in Invercargill. Or organising a trip to Dunedin. You’d get more choice.” Christie tensed, again reminded of Blake, told Lisa about the trip that had been mentioned at lunch. To Christie’s surprise, Lisa was furious. “Christie, how can you be so blind?”

“Blake was just being polite in front of his parents,” Christie said mutinously, thinking of Blake’s reaction to the news of her pregnancy, his impatience when showing her around the vineyard.
 

Lisa stood up abruptly, grabbed her mobile, shaking her head. “Christie, if you only knew,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Christie asked, watching Lisa who was looking intently at her mobile.
 

“Nothing,” Lisa said. Christie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, however, Lisa was concentrating on her mobile, would not look at her. Sudden panic gripped Christie as her emotions, still skewed by Paul and Amanda’s betrayal, seized on the possibility of a relationship between Blake and Lisa.
 

Was that what Lisa meant? That she and Blake were trying to help her, that Christie kept turning down assistance that Lisa herself was trying to arrange, as a friend?
Christie’s mind flashed back to the night at the pub, before she had fainted, Blake’s hand on Lisa’s shoulder, their undeniable connection and easy familiarity. Christie tried to calm herself, sick at heart.

Lisa held out her mobile. “There’s Blake’s number. Call him now. Tell him you want to go to Dunedin.”
 

Christie started to protest. “Why? So we can play happy families looking at baby gear?” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
 

Lisa was obviously losing patience. “Christie, put your pride away. You are having a baby. I don’t see the father of your child stepping up.” Christie blushed, shocked by Lisa’s plain speaking. “You’ve said you have savings. You need gear. Dunedin is the best place.”

“I’ve been looking on the Internet,” Christie said. Rebecca’s words flashed into her head, made her defensive.
 

Lisa sank back onto the sofa, shaking her head. “Reality check, Christie. You need to go to Invercargill or Dunedin at some point. And Blake will probably be tied up with work most of the day.” Lisa gave her a perceptive look. “But as you clearly aren’t interested, that won’t bother you either way. Even if he comes into a shop, as a friend, that won’t be a big deal, will it, Christie?” Lisa’s tone was clearly sarcastic; Christie could make no answer; her face burned, wondering whether to tell Lisa that Blake was in fact interested in her, not Christie.
 

Lisa leaned forward, not letting up. “You’ve said you want to start getting organised. Now’s your chance.” Her voice softened. “It must be hard organising everything by yourself. Are you thinking of your ex?”

“No.” Christie’s voice was firm, definite as she thought of Paul’s harsh words, his suggested solution. “Well, only in the sense that it’s not how I thought I’d be having a baby. Alone, I mean. So it is daunting, that’s true.”

“A lot less daunting if you get a lift to Dunedin with Blake.” Lisa’s voice was equally firm.
 

“I’ll call him later,” Christie muttered.
 

“Now,” Lisa said. “Or I will.” Christie took the phone, her heart pounding. She listened to the dull ring, hoping it would go to answer phone, hoping it wouldn’t. She tensed as Blake answered, his casual greeting and friendly voice giving her a shock.
He thinks it’s Lisa,
she thought instantly.
They’re obviously close friends, whatever Lisa says.