So Far Into You (21 page)

‘I would have thought you'd find a way to make sure
you
were Remy's liaison officer, Rina?'

‘How could I? I had no idea she was even here,' Rina defended.

Ailsa stayed silent. Rina let her think.

‘You said it was in the paper?' Ailsa asked.

‘Yes. The gossip column. I'm sure it will all blow over.'

‘It might help us if it doesn't blow over. Remy isn't used to the media pressure that comes with Seth. She has no idea how much attention he gets.'

‘You think we can use that?'

‘I do. She won't like it. It might make her reconsider whether she wants to get in too far with him. Especially if the press hears some of her dirty little secrets.'

‘Secrets?' Rina said. ‘Not the sexual harassment or the blackmail, Ailsa, Seth would be furious if the media got wind of that.'

‘No. Not that,' Ailsa agreed. ‘That looks as bad for us as it does for her. There's plenty of other things. Her relationship with Blake for a start. We can suggest to the media she was involved with him first.'

‘Blake will deny it.'

‘Maybe, but it will make a good story anyway.'

They talked it over some more, and Rina's headache was gone when she hung up the phone.

***

After the third phone call before 10.00 am from a news reporter trying to confirm whether she was the Hills grapegrower linked in the newspaper with Seth Lasrey, Remy stopped answering the phone.

One journo had even gone so far as to ask if she could come up to the farm that afternoon to take a few pictures. Remy told that caller she had a dog that would eat Cujo for breakfast and she wasn't afraid to use it. The reporter thought she was joking.

The phone rang again. Remy listened to her answer machine run through its message: ‘Hi, this is Remy. I'll get back to you.'

‘Remy, it's Seth. I'm calling because—'

She leapt for the phone and got there before his next words. ‘Seth, it's me! What's going on? I've had three reporters call so far today.'

‘We made the news. Well, I did. You didn't, which is a good thing.'

‘How? What news? Why?'

‘I'm not certain, but I think your friend Zac might have told someone what he saw yesterday at your place. Journos don't need much more than a rumour these days to publish.'

‘But Zac didn't see anything. You'd already kissed me at that point. It was all over.'

His voice dropped a notch. ‘I hope you're not complaining about the length of that kiss, Remy. You're the one who kicked me. I could make it longer next time.'

Hell and Tommy.
‘I am most definitely not complaining about the length of that kiss.'
The intensity in it. The fire, maybe. The way I think it means so much more to me than to you. Not the length.

‘Good.'

‘So what does it mean? Can I leave the house? Will there be photographers stalking me at the post office?'

‘I just own a few wineries, Remy. I'm not a rock star.'

‘There've been enough pictures of you in the paper in the last few weeks for a rock star,' she grumped.

‘It will all blow over. Don't worry.'

‘If my mother hears about it, she'll have a fit.'

‘Your mother? What about what happens if my mother hears about it? She'll have a stroke.'

‘Ailsa won't have a stroke. She's too mean to die.' Then: ‘Oh bloody hell, I didn't mean that, Seth. Not really.'

‘Yes you did,' but there was a smile in Seth's voice as he said it. ‘Where is your mother anyway, Rem?'

‘She's driving around Australia in a caravan with Bernie. He was my tiler. He was working on the splashback in the kitchen when my mum was visiting and they hit it off. That's great. He's a good guy, but the bummer was, he goes gallivanting off around the country with my mum and I was hoping I could rope him into helping me redo my bathrooms.'

Seth didn't ask, but she was on a roll, and she couldn't seem to stop talking, so she said: ‘They're getting married in spring. They want to get married in the garden here. Bernie figured if they could travel for four months in a caravan, they could cope with married life. That's why I was trying to fix the step yesterday … so it will look nice for them in the photos. I've got a lot of jobs to do before October.'

There was a pause, which Remy didn't know how to fill.

‘So you're alright then, Rem? About the media? If any of them ask you anything, just deny it or say “no comment”.'

‘I'll tell them it's a really bad connection and I can't hear them. That's what I do with telemarketers. They hang up pretty quick.'

‘As long as you're okay. I'm used to them coming after me, but you're not. I don't want anyone to scare you.'

‘It's nice of you to care.' Remy drew a careful breath. ‘I'm not about to fall to pieces. I'm okay. I will, however, be ringing Zac Williams to give him a piece of my mind.'

‘Don't give him a piece you'll need.'

‘Oh, ha, bloody, ha.'

Seth's internal line buzzed. ‘I've got to go, Rem. I'll see you later. Have that poop scoop ready.'

‘I will.'

He hung up.

Remy ended the call and glanced around her house. There were magazines everywhere, letters on the bench, remotes trying to fall off the couch; books, bills.

If she had company coming, she should tidy up. Shouldn't she?

Yes.

***

It was after seven by the time he got to Remy's. She met him at the side gate in a blue dress with a darker navy swirl through it, and no shoes. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she'd missed a chunk at the back when she pinned it.

He said hello, or something equally enthralling, and she told him where to find the shovel. It felt a bit like the story of their lives.

‘Where do you want me to throw it?' he asked.

‘Over the back fence is fine.'

It took him two trips. When he finished he propped the shovel against the stable wall.

That stable was interesting. He could have spent longer inside. There were teapots with various cacti spilling out of spout and holes; seedlings and cuttings, pea straw bales and stacks and stacks of wooden pallets. Some of those were pulled apart, with timbers painted white, others blue. He had scores of the same pallets at the winery and had no idea why Remy would need so many, or why she'd paint them.

She came out into the yard to hang a load of washing while he was snooping and when he looked up and his eyes found her, the sight of her hit him like a punch. There was a gentle breeze that blew the dress into her body, outlining it for only his eyes to see. She had more curves than the Remy of his memories. She'd been a girl back then. She was all woman now.

She threw a ball for the dogs, which only Breeze was interested in chasing. Occhilupo chased Breeze.

Seth came out of the stable and joined her on the lawn. ‘Did you get any more calls from the press?'

‘Only one. They stopped after lunch.'

‘Good. Did you read the riot act to your neighbour?'

‘Yes. He said he told his mum and his sister, Clea, and he reckoned none of them would have said anything to the paper. Clea and I are the same age. We used to hang out a bit when I first got over here. Then she met a tuna fisherman and moved with him to Port Lincoln. Zac's mum doesn't mind a good old chinwag either. Sheila could have told anyone and not given it another thought.'

For a long time they played with the dogs. She'd pinned sheets on the line and he watched them billow and sway, brushing the lavender bushes planted around the base, imagining the sweet lavender scent in the cotton. He admired the bare curve of Remy's neck and her cheek, the grace of her shoulders, ponytail bouncing as she threw the ball.

Breeze brought the ball to Seth. He picked it up and launched it toward the silver birches and they listened as the dogs crashed after it. It was lucky Remy's garden wasn't delicate.

‘I think they've given up,' he said, when the dogs didn't return.

‘Breeze will look for it all night. When I wake up in the morning, she'll have put it on the mat.'

‘Yeah?'

Remy shivered and hugged her arms with her hands. Seth didn't think it was cold. He was still getting used to daylight saving in South Australia. It stayed light so much later.

He dug in his pocket. ‘Here,' he said. ‘This is for you.'

She looked at it. ‘I don't want any money. I'm happy to have Occhy here. It's fine.'

‘I was paying to keep him at the motel. I'd have to pay if I put him in a kennel. Take it.' He waved the cash at her. ‘It's $200. A hundred a week. Is that enough?'

‘Hell and Tommy,' she muttered. ‘Of course it's enough. This is hardly the Ritz. He's not at doggy day care. I don't have a dog spa, and you're scooping his poop.'

He picked up her hand and pressed the money into her palm, closing her fingers around the notes. ‘Take it.'

‘Okay, then. Fine.' She waited, arms wrapping her ribs then she looked at him and said: ‘Do you have to be anywhere tonight? I made soup. It's nothing much, but if you're hungry, you're welcome to have some before you head off.'

‘That would be great,' he said, and it was only as he said it, and they walked toward her house, he realised how much the simple invitation meant to him.

Remy opened the French doors and stepped through onto the floorboards. Seth followed.

‘Sure smells good in here.'

‘It's lentil and curried vegetable.'

No, it's you.
Rich timbers and home-cooking and spices.

‘You've got a nice place.' He looked at her and waited until her grey eyes met his. ‘Thanks Remy. It's good of you to take Occhy like this. I really appreciate it.'

She waved the compliment away but it left her all flustered. She hadn't expected to be thanked for her dog-sitting, or her soup.

Remy ladled soup into bowls and made toast. Seth pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat. She joined him, sitting opposite, one chair along so he wouldn't feel like she was in his face.

The spoon seemed so small in his fingers. It felt so surreal having Seth here. But
man,
he looked good in her house.

‘Tell me about this place,' he said, glancing around. He tore a piece of toast in half and dunked it through the soup.

‘Well … The front rooms, the bedrooms, and that nook there where the TV is, they are all part of the original 1890s cottage. My bedroom has an ensuite off it, going down the other side of the verandah.'

She pointed as she talked and when Seth's gaze wasn't on his soup or his spoon, it was on her face.

‘The kitchen and this part we're sitting in are new. If you keep going round there,' she pointed to where the corridor disappeared behind a built-in pantry: ‘there's the second bathroom and the laundry and a door to get outside.'

Seth mopped his bowl with the last of the toast before pushing the dish into the centre of the table. ‘That was great. Thanks.' Then he shoved his chair back and relaxed, splaying his legs comfortably, while he watched her finish. Her foot bumped his beneath the table.

‘I'm doing too much talking. I've got heaps to go.'

‘Don't rush.'

Remy tucked her feet under her seat so he wouldn't think she was playing footsies. She took a couple hasty spoons of soup.

‘Eventually I'll whack the bathrooms off too and rebuild that entire side. I was going to do that—' she hesitated.

‘And?' He prompted, eyes on her face.

‘I ran out of money.' Remy's skin grew warm and she hoped she'd dimmed the lights enough that he wouldn't notice the flush in her face. ‘I told you I got ripped off by my carpenter? It cost me heaps.'

Seth rubbed toast crumbs off his chest, then cupped his hand at the edge of the table and swept up the specks.

She hoped he didn't ask about the carpenter because she sure didn't want to bring Andrew Straw into her living room.

Seth stood, flicked the crumbs from his hand to his bowl and took his crockery to the sink. He rinsed it and packed it in the dishwasher, along with the spoon. He asked her where she kept her glasses and she half-rose from her seat, thinking he was the guest and she should get it for him.

‘I'll get it,' he said. She sat her butt back down.

He was the first man who'd ever helped himself to a glass of water in her kitchen. If she didn't count Ryan Gosling, he was the only man she'd ever dreamed of in this house, too.

Seth poured a big glass of water and drank. A trickle overshot his mouth and when he'd finished, he wiped moisture from his chin. There were drops on the t-shirt. He wiped at those too.

They were quiet for a while and then Seth said: ‘Can I ask you something? I don't want to wreck the mood.'

‘It's okay.'

He put a hand on her kitchen bench, flexed his fingers on the wood. ‘When you left Margaret River, you had our hundred grand—'

They'd been playing nice before, well,
she
had been, but those words were sandpaper across her spine.

Seth saw her stiffen, and quickly qualified: ‘What I mean is: how did you do all this on that hundred, less what you had to pay that loan shark? I can see it might have been a deposit on the land, but you'd still have needed a loan to do up the house.'

Briefly, Remy debated whether that was any of his business. She didn't like the way he continued to talk of Ailsa's money as something she'd sought and taken. Ailsa had written her that bloody cheque. Till the day she died Remy would remember those lines of lilting zeros. Under the lights, they'd dazzled her almost as much as Ailsa's rings.

‘You don't have to tell me,' he said softly.

His interest seemed genuine and Remy made her decision. ‘My Grandma Roberts—mum's mum—died a few years back. She never had much money, but she owned her house. It's in Vic Park in Perth on one and three-quarter acres. You know how Perth property has been … Mum was an only child, and the property sold to some developers for a good price. Mum and her parents were estranged because of my dad—they never liked him. Not long after I came here, Grandma Roberts had a fall and broke her hip and she couldn't live alone again after that. Mum moved to Perth to care for her. When Grandma died, Mum helped me out. It gave me enough equity that the bank would lend me some more. That's how I had money saved toward paying Ailsa back.'