Mr. Unforgettable (14 page)

“No, you didn't,” Kirsty said patiently. “They're around your neck. I've never seen you so nervous. You can swim, can't you?”

“Yes.”
In a pool. Not in a choppy sea
. A gust of wind hit them as they walked onto the beach, throwing sand in Liz's eyes and making them water. She didn't stand a chance.

Officials with loudspeakers and reflective armbands milled among the crowd, and the kids participating had been corralled into a makeshift fence of fluttering yellow tape. Her legs felt as if they were sinking farther and farther into the sand.

“Look, there's Nev and Harriet,” said Kirsty. Glancing at the base of the dunes, Liz saw Harriet, nearly obscured under a sun hat, digging clumsily in the sand with a red plastic spade. Nev waved. She could barely lift her hand to wave back. And she was expecting to swim with this arm? Panic broke through her dread.

Beside her, Kirsty prattled on. “I think his lover is local. There was no car parked in his driveway, so either it's a big secret or she lives within walking distance.”

“Will you shut up about Luke Carter's lover!”

Kirsty stopped dead in her tracks. “Lizzy!”

Deep breaths, Liz told herself, deep breaths. “I'm sorry.” Suddenly too hot, she unzipped her tracksuit jacket and stripped it off, bundled it into her carry bag, then took Kirsty by the arm. “The thing is, I'm not a
great
swimmer and I'm a little nervous.” They drew closer to the starting line and Liz tightened her grip. “Humor me by talking about something else.”

“I like your bathing suit,” Kirsty said tentatively. “Is it new?”

She'd bought it to replace the one by the pool in case Kirsty had seen it. Luke had told her she was being paranoid. This one was red. Red was probably a shark's favorite color.

Across the sea of children Liz caught sight of Luke chatting to the organizers. If he was wrong about Kirsty seeing the swimsuit, he could be wrong about her being ready to do this.

“I'm sorry, but I have to say one other thing about Luke Carter,” said Kirsty. “Hubba hubba.”

He did look good in his ice-blue Camp Chance T-shirt teamed with black board shorts that exposed the solid muscle of his great legs, but right now Liz's strongest urge was to cut and run. Kirsty peeled her reluctant fingers from the sports bag and gently pushed her into the fray. “You'll be fine.”

The children were wild with excitement. They jumped and pulled and chattered at her, all teeth and smiles. Liz automatically dispensed pats and words of encouragement, hearing nothing but the thundering of her heart.

Luke caught her by the hand and he pulled Liz into a circle of adults, squeezed her hand and let go.

 

S
HE LOOKED
so petrified, he ached to take her in his arms and reassure her that every athlete felt like this before a big event. For the first time, Luke felt the frustration of keeping their relationship secret.

They couldn't go on like this.

Over the next thirty minutes as he stood on the sidelines watching Liz shake hands, smile for the obligatory photos and interact with the excited young swimmers, he came to another realization. She was good at this. Very good.

Knowing how terrified she was about the swim, he could only marvel at how well Liz could still perform a mayor's primary function—building community. Somehow, after he'd introduced her to the camp kids, she managed to mix the shy newcomers with local children.

The ice-blue swimming caps of Camp Chance were now dotted among the crowd, instead of being clumped together in a defensive huddle.

“I hope you've done a head count.” Frowning under an enormous straw sun hat, Delores Jackson came to stand beside him. “Remember, adequate supervision was one of the conditions of consent.”

“It's a kids' camp not a high-security prison. And for the record, they're disadvantaged not delinquent.” He'd been meaning to have a word with her since her quote in the
Chronicle
. “When are you going to give me a break?”

“When I can trust you to keep to the rules.”

Rules. Despite his irritation, Luke smiled. “People need to feel part of the community before they buy into its rules, Delores. Did you ever consider that?”

They spent the next five minutes in a heated philosophical discussion. If so much didn't ride on her influence he might have enjoyed it. With her active intelligence, she should be running a business, he reflected, instead of minding everyone else's under the guise of the Residents and Ratepayers Association.

“What did you do?” he asked abruptly. “Before you became a witch.”

“I was a dental nurse for forty-two years.”

“So torturing poor kids is a calling, then?”

Her eyes sparkled. “If only they'd all had your big mouth…my job would have been so much easier. Your charges have better manners than you do.”

That surprised him. “You mean you've actually been talking to some of them?”

“Mr. Carter?” An official hurried over. “We're ready to start.”

 

L
IZ FELT
rather than saw Luke approach because she couldn't tear her gaze from the orange marker buoys parallel to the beach, bobbing in and out of the whitecaps. “I think they're drifting farther away,” she muttered.

He squeezed her shoulder. “A couple of kids from Camp Chance will be swimming with you, Mayor Light. They're a little timid in the water and I was hoping you'd keep an eye on them for me.”

Liz's attention snapped back to him. Was he crazy?

Luke beckoned the kids forward. “Meet Moana and Jayden.”

Automatically, Liz shook hands. The girl, preadolescent and slight, looked as though she'd be swept out on the tide; the older boy, maybe fourteen, was twice Liz's weight. “I don't think—”

“A couple of tips, guys,” Luke said to the kids, and she shut up and listened. “This isn't a race, so relax. Take your time and have fun.”

Liz reswallowed her breakfast.

“With the choppy water you might have to slow down and take more breaths or even lift your arms and body farther out of the water on each stroke.” Luke demonstrated. Desperately, Liz copied every move. “Water's probably going to get in your mouth but there's no need to panic. Simply blow it out during your stroke and then take a breath on the next one. Okay?”

Liz realized all three were staring at her and the penny dropped. She wasn't their lifeguard; these kids were hers. And by the anxious looks on their faces they were taking that responsibility very seriously. She couldn't let them carry that burden, so she croaked, “No sweat.”

“You guys go in the first shot of the starter gun. The other kids will follow you after four minutes.”

Her chilled fingers wrestling with her goggles, Liz nodded.

“You can do it,” he murmured. “And if all else fails, walk.”

Her panic eased slightly but the sound of the starter's gun still had the punch of a heart attack. Her smile set like rigor mortis, Liz jogged into the sea, Jayden and Moana kicking up spray beside her. She'd expected the water to be as icy as her blood; instead it closed around her as benignly as a warm bath.

Luke was right—she could do this.

“Don't worry,” whispered Moana, behind goggles that took up half her face. “We'll look after you.” With an encouraging smile she dived into the water like a fish.

Jayden looked after her wistfully, but said to Liz, “You can go first.”

Taking a deep breath, Liz started to swim, trying to ignore the push and pull of the surface chop. It was difficult—she adjusted her stroke, turned her head for a gasp of air—but not impossible. With grim concentration, she counted ten strokes, then lifted her head to sight the marker. Adrenaline had given her power and it was much closer than she'd expected.

Rounding the second buoy, she choked on a mouthful of seawater and had to stop and tread water while she coughed it out. A banshee cheer went up from the beach and the shoreline exploded into white water as a hundred kids hurtled into the sea. “Yikes.”

Jayden's blond head surfaced beside her. “You got a cramp?”

Water streamed off Moana's ice-blue swimming cap as she powered back toward them. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” As long as they stayed ahead of the hordes. “Race you,” Liz invited. Water slapped her across the face as the two kids kicked away from her at speed. Carefully, Liz followed in their wake, so intent on coordinating her strokes and breathing that her hand hit the seabed before she realized she was in knee-deep water.

Feeling like a fool and grinning like an idiot, she stood up and dragged off her goggles, instinctively searching for Luke in the cheering crowd.

He stood among the kids and counselors of Camp Chance, feet slightly apart, arms folded, watching her. Ray-Bans shielded his expression but she could sense his pride, as warm as the sun on her back, could read his delight in the wide smile, a slash of white against his tanned face.

This feeling, so rusty, so lovely…what was it? For a minute Liz couldn't identify it because it was tangled with the euphoria, the sense of achievement.

Then she did.

L
UKE HADN'T SEEN
Liz in two days and he was getting withdrawal symptoms. One hand on the steering wheel, he massaged the back of his neck with the other. She could defuse the day's tensions with a touch.

In his driveway, he switched off the 4WD's engine and stared at his big, empty house. So the challenge was over, so she didn't need swimming lessons, so the elections were eleven days away and she had to prepare for the public meeting next Tuesday.

All good reasons, but his instincts told him they were excuses. Thoughtfully, he got out of the car, checking his mobile for messages. None from Liz. He'd sensed wariness, even a formality, in her attitude after the swim and in their two brief phone-calls since. Something was bothering her, and he wanted to know what it was.

Maybe it would be third time lucky. He brought up her number. About to push Send, Luke paused. Was Liz turning into an obsession? Aborting the call, he picked up the courier package sitting on his doorstep and let himself into the house.

This was the perfect opportunity to regain some perspective on their affair. And if it turned out that he'd served his purpose and she didn't need him anymore, well, easy come, easy go.

He dropped his keys on the bench and ripped open the envelope. His thoughts elsewhere, it took Luke a moment to focus on the contents. He hadn't expected to feel anything and the pain took him by surprise.

Pouring himself a straight bourbon, he sat on the deck in the gathering twilight for an hour, then, unable to stand his thoughts any longer, pushed redial.

 

L
IZ HADN'T INTENDED
to answer the phone. This was a special night and she'd already put on Harry's favorite music—Vivaldi's
Four Seasons
—and settled herself on her bed with the photo albums. Except…what if it was Kirsty calling to share memories?

“Hello?” she said.

“Liz? It's Luke.”

“Hi.”

“Have you eaten?”

She had to smile. He was always trying to feed her. “No, not yet.”

“There's a casserole in the freezer that Jord made last time he was here. Can I tempt you?”

Too much
. “I can't tonight.”

“Look outside the window, Fred.” Though it was after eight, the setting sun had turned the sky into a watercolor sunset of delicate pinks and violets. The estuary, on full tide, twisted like a melted rainbow through the mangroves. “See what you're missing by working?”

Liz turned away from the view. “It's not work, it's…something else.”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

She gave him part of the truth. “It's Harry's birthday and I wasn't planning on seeing anyone.”

“We don't have to have sex. Let's raise a toast to his memory…I've got a ghost that needs laying to rest myself.”

“No.” Harry and Luke had to be kept separate. “I'd rather…not.”

There was a brief pause. “Sorry for being so slow. I've got my diary here, so let's mark those important dates now. The first time you and Harry met. The first time you kissed…made love. Your wedding anniversary—”

“The day he died. December third.”

There was a tense silence. “I'm sorry.” Luke's tone was no longer savage, but strained and tired. “My divorce came through today. I guess I'm jealous of your perfect love.”

Now she understood his persistence. “Luke, I—”

“It's all right, Liz. I understand. Enjoy your special evening.” He hung up.

With mixed emotions, Liz replaced the receiver. Dammit, this was
their
time, hers and Harry's. Luke was already impinging on her thoughts too much. This was one of only two days in the year she devoted to Harry—his birthday and the anniversary of his death.

Determinedly she stuck to her rituals—lighting candles, opening a bottle of Harry's favorite wine, settling on the bed with her albums. But the sense of sanctity was gone.

Staring at a picture of herself and Harry on holiday in Sydney, she found herself worrying about Luke. “He's a big boy,” she told her husband's image. “He can take care of himself.”

In fact, Luke insisted on it…which made the hint of desperation in his invitation more unnerving. “Dammit, he's ruining our evening.”

In the photo, Harry smiled.

“Well, if you're going to be this casual about it, I might as well tell you…I could be falling in love with him. Which is the
last
thing he'd want.”

Harry's smile didn't waver.

“
I
don't want to.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, my darling, I don't. I need to be safe. Please come back to me.”

But as with all the other pleas she'd made over the last twenty-seven months, nothing happened. Drying her eyes, Liz went downstairs with the wine bottle and found a cork, then picked up her bag and took both out to her car.

She might not be able to ease her own misery, but at least she could alleviate someone else's.

 

L
UKE OPENED
the door with a glass in his hand. “Oh, hell,” he said.

His shirt was unbuttoned, his eyes were slightly bloodshot and his hair looked as if he'd been clutching it.

“I see I've got some catching up to do.” Liz handed him the bottle as she passed.

He closed the door and followed her into the lounge. “What are you doing here?”

“We're friends, aren't we?”

Luke passed a hand over his eyes. “Yeah, we're friends, but—”

“No buts—pour me a glass of wine.” She added curiously, “So how drunk are you?”

His grin was rueful. “Enough to wish you weren't here.”

She walked into the stark lounge. “How about we sit outside?”

“Yeah, I look a lot better in the dark.” He pointed—not to the pool courtyard—but to the deck on the ocean side. “I'll get a glass.”

She followed him as far as the dining room, shifting newspapers on the table to make room for her handbag. Luke's Olympic medals fell to the floor, landing on the wood with a clang. “Oh, look what I've done.” Horrified, Liz crouched to pick up the tangle of ribbons. “I'm so sorry.”

From the kitchen, he glanced over the breakfast bar. “Don't worry about it. They'll be fine.”

“Did you leave them out for cleaning?” Carefully, Liz returned them to the table. God knows they needed it. The kids at the wedding had really given them a hard time. Looking more closely, she saw the dullness on the metal was longstanding. “You know I use Metalson on the mayoral chain. I'll give you some.”

“Sure.” Luke pulled a wineglass out of the cupboard and held it up to the light. Even from here, Liz could see the dust.

Maybe it was painful for him to remember his glory days. She touched the discs with reverence. “You must miss it sometimes.”

Rinsing the glass under the tap, he snorted. “Which part? The relentless training schedule that meant I didn't date until I was eighteen? The public adulation that turned to disgust whenever I didn't place? Or maybe the weight of carrying other people's dreams? My coach—”

The glass, clinking against the sink, stopped him. “God, I'm getting maudlin, aren't I?” He checked it for cracks then added lightly, “Swimming got me a scholarship to university. I'll always be grateful for that.” Reaching for a tea towel, he started drying the glass. “Go sit down, I'll be there in a minute.”

Liz took the hint.

Outside, she found a deck chair between a half-empty liquor bottle and his divorce papers. She picked up the bottle and sniffed. Bourbon.

“Bring Coke,” she called. If Luke wanted to drown his sorrows, that was fine, but he should probably slow down.

Pulling up another deck chair, Liz made it comfortable with cushions. Beyond the dunes, she could hear the sibilant whisper of the waves, mere meters away but, from where she sat, she could only get a glimpse of the moon-bright sea. He was a man who guarded his privacy.

A shadow fell on the light spilling onto the deck. Luke padded out and handed her a glass of wine. Splashing Coke into his drink, he raised his glass. “To?”

“Surviving,” she said.

“Good choice.” They chinked glasses and he sat down. “I'm over her, you know,” he said conversationally.

Liz sipped her wine; it was tart and cold on her tongue. Lime, green apple and a hint of grassy herbs.

“It's the messy way Amanda did it I'm still bitter about,” he said. “I had to find out she'd left me for ‘true love' through the tabloids.”

“Dignified goodbyes—we all want them,” she said slowly. “My last words to Harry were ‘Don't forget the Slug Slam.' We had a snail infestation in the canna lilies and he was driving past a garden center.”

“I like that,” he said. “Love
should
be domestic and comfortable and something you can take for granted.”

Except Harry had never come home. “You can never take love for granted.”

There was a small movement on the dunes, and for a moment a rabbit stared at them.

“Amanda and I never had those kinds of conversations. Truth is, I sucked at marriage. Maybe the capacity for intimacy was conditioned out of me in the children's home before I got fostered.” He swirled the ice cubes in his glass. “No, it was probably earlier when my mother left me there.” Because there wasn't a trace of self-pity in his voice, it took a moment for Liz to register what he'd said. She turned her head to stare at him.

“I can't blame Amanda for having an affair,” he continued reflectively. “Hell, if she hadn't publicized it, I'd even be glad she found someone who could make her happy.”

“That's a good attitude,” she managed to say.

“Except it also lets me off the hook.” Luke refilled her glass, topped up his own with Coke. “I don't have to feel guilty.”

“Just because you couldn't love Amanda—who doesn't sound very lovable, I have to say—doesn't mean you're incapable of the emotion. I know it sounds like a cliché, but you haven't met the one.”

Maybe it was the earnestness in her voice, maybe it was her profile, pale and beautiful and sad under the moonlight. Maybe it was the hot burn of bourbon that finally made Luke hear what his heart had been telling him ever since the wedding. Oh. Shit.

“Tell me about Harry,” he said, because he had to know if he had a chance with her.

She did.

And he didn't.

He went back on the bourbon.

 

T
HE MOON ON HIS FACE
woke Luke at two in the morning. He vaguely remembered Liz putting him to bed, fully clothed. With a raging thirst he went to the bathroom and drank from the tap, great gulps of water, then filled the sink and dunked his head.

It wasn't enough, so he stripped and showered, letting the water pummel every screaming nerve.
No. No. No
.

“Luke, are you okay?”

Wearing one of his T-shirts, Liz peered anxiously through the steamed glass. “You're still here,” he said.

“I'd drunk too much to drive. I'm in the spare room.”

Of course she was, Luke thought sourly. Because she didn't want to have sex on her late husband's birthday.

Except it wasn't Harry's birthday anymore.

Turning off the shower, he stepped out and started drying himself down with a towel. Slowly.

Liz took a step back but her gaze stayed exactly where it was. On his body. Under the thin cotton of the T-shirt, her nipples pebbled. The camp's logo rose and fell with her quickening breath.

“Sweltering in here, isn't it?” she said and shoved open a window. Luke grinned. The steam spiraled lazily into the night.

As she turned back, he lifted his arms and started toweling his hair dry. Her gaze fastened on his biceps and she moistened her lips.

Luke clenched his fists in the towel to accentuate the muscle. “Are you hungry, Fred?” he asked innocently, then had to drop the towel to cover himself. Watching her dark eyes melt always made him hard. Anger flashed through his need and the fun suddenly went out of the game. He'd given her too much power.

Liz's expression grew wary. “We never did get around to eating.”

Luke knotted the towel around his waist. He had to start practicing self-control where this woman was concerned. “Let me get some clothes on and I'll meet you in the kitchen.”

As he pulled on a T-shirt and jeans in his bedroom, Luke decided he needed to kill these new feelings before he slept with her again. He was a realist, so it shouldn't be difficult.

In the kitchen, he stuck the Pyrex dish, still dewy from being defrosted, into the microwave, then buttered some bread rolls. Liz arrived fully dressed and dropped her car keys casually on the counter. He scowled.