Sweet as Honey (The Seven Sisters) (26 page)

“No point in waiting,” Sean said. “It’s good to have kids
while you’ve still got the energy. I find it exhausting, even though Gaby does
most of it.”

“I guess.” Dion knew nothing about having children. One of
his half-brothers in the UK had a couple, but he’d never got involved with
them. He tended to hold babies in front of him like a rugby ball, and when
people saw how uncomfortable it made him, they stopped giving them to him. He
wasn’t one of those jolly uncles who took the kids to the zoo and bought them
sweets. The children steered clear of him now when his brother came to visit,
and he was quite happy with that. “Are the kids at home with Gaby?”

“Nah, one of Gaby’s friends has them for a few hours,” Sean
said. “They take turns to give each other a break.”

That didn’t surprise Dion. New Zealanders had always had the
‘number eight wire’ approach to life. When the first European immigrants
arrived, thirteen thousand miles away from their homeland, they quickly learned
to invent things they couldn’t easily obtain, and the number eight gauge of
fencing wire was soon adapted for countless other uses in New Zealand farms,
factories and homes. The phrase came to represent a Kiwi who could turn their
hand to anything, and they were a people who reacted to problems by pulling
together to help each other out.

The houses thinned, and as Sean took the road leading to
Opito Bay, the countryside spread away from them, rising and falling in a
series of emerald hills until it met the glittering sea on either side. The
finger of land formed part of the sub-tropical paradise of the Bay of Islands.

Dion blew out a breath. “That’s quite a view.”

Sean smiled. “Yeah. I can think of worse scenery to look at
on the way to work.”

Dion thought of the narrow, dirty streets of London, the
crowded Underground, the smell and taste of the city, metallic and dusty. Like
an old but revered actress, London was beautiful in its own way, and of course
its history knocked New Zealand’s into a cocked hat, as the Cockneys would have
said. But he’d forgotten the beauty of
Aotearoa
. How vast and high and
blue the sky seemed.

“How’s the business going?” he asked. He knew Sean had
joined his father’s building trade.

Sean gave him a strange look, but said, “Yeah, good. Things
are picking up a bit after the recession. Lots of new houses being built.”

“Cool.” He tipped his head back on the headrest as a wave of
tiredness hit him. Jet lag, no doubt. It couldn’t be the pace of life in the
Northland. Even the staff at the tiny airport had been laid back, shrugging off
the plane’s late arrival with typical Kiwi indifference. And Sean hardly seemed
stressed, driving along happily at fifty in a hundred kph zone. What was
that—about thirty miles an hour? Jeez. And there weren’t even any speed cameras
to worry about.

What would it be like to get up every morning and know your
day involved driving to a field somewhere and hammering nails into planks of
wood until home time? No airports, taxis, extended lunches, long business
meetings in boardrooms, laptops, iPhones, annual reports. No air conditioning,
stewed coffee, dry sandwiches, or the cloying smell of beeswax from the
polished oak tables. No talking, talking, talking all day until he thought he’d
used every word in his vocabulary and would never be able to utter anything
ever again.

Actually, it sounded quite attractive now he thought about
it.

Then he sighed.
You’d soon get bored
, he scolded
himself. He was disillusioned and tired, stressed after the events of the past
few months, maybe a bit burned out, and he needed a break. But he wasn’t due a
mid-life crisis yet.

Sean glanced at him again.

Dion raised an eyebrow, sensing a question hovering in the
wings. “What?”

Sean’s brow furrowed. “Are you really not going to ask after
Megan?”

Dion blinked. He hadn’t asked about any of Sean’s family
yet—there had hardly been time for that sort of conversation. He stared,
surprised at Sean’s glare. And then realisation sank in.

Sean knew
.
Shit
. It had only been the one
night. They’d both agreed to keep it quiet. Why had she told her brother?

Guilt filtered through him, and he had to force himself not
to squirm in his seat. He and Megan had had a fiery relationship from the first
moment he met her when he was twelve and she was nine. Irritation and
exasperation had eventually matured into a simmering sexual attraction
throughout their teenage years, and even though he’d tried his hardest to
remind himself that she was Sean’s little sister, he hadn’t been completely
shocked—and he suspected she hadn’t either—that when they bumped into each
other the previous Christmas, they’d ended up in bed.

Her passion and apparently genuine desire for him had both
shocked and thrilled him. He liked to think himself fairly experienced in bed,
but he could safely say that night had been the hottest, most erotic night of
his life. They’d practically set the bed alight, and he suspected that if
they’d lived in the same half of the world, it would have changed their
relationship forever, an irreversible chemical reaction, like baking eggs and
flour to make a cake. A hot, sexy, chocolate-covered and caramel-filled
sumptuous delight of a cake, but changed nevertheless.

Still, they
did
live on opposite sides of the world,
and it had only been a fling—they’d both accepted that.

He cleared his throat. “Of course I was going to ask. I was
just…building up to it. How is she?”

“Good.” Sean slowed at a T-junction, but they hadn’t met a
single vehicle on the way, so he didn’t bother stopping and turned the car onto
the main road to the bay. “Her paintings are really taking off. She sells heaps
of local landscapes at the galleries in town, and she’s getting commissions
now.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah. She’s really good, Dion. People are starting to take
notice, you know? She’s been interviewed on national radio, and she held art
classes in Auckland during the winter.”

“That’s so cool.” He was pleased, but not surprised. Megan
had been painting the first time he saw her. He’d met Sean in their first year
at high school, and Sean had invited him home for tea. She’d been sitting on
the deck, trying to capture their Boxer dog on paper, and she’d scolded it when
it dashed off to greet them.

With a typical twelve-year-old boy’s tact, he’d laughed at
the brown smudges she’d made on the paper, and she’d threatened to shove her
paintbrush where the sun didn’t shine, earning her a telling off from her
mother. The memory still made him smile. Her feistiness seemed even more
prominent because it stood out against the disorder she’d had to fight against
her whole life, like a black cloud hovering in a bright blue sky.

“How’s she coping?” he asked. “With the agoraphobia, I
mean.”

“She’s good,” Sean said.

“I’m glad.” Dion had become aware of the condition when she
was eleven. They’d walked into town with a group of friends. Crowds from the
annual summer fair choked the town. They queued up to buy a burger, and the
unfamiliarity of the situation and the crush of bodies triggered an attack.

He hadn’t known about her phobia at the time, and the last
thing he expected the spirited, lively girl to have was panic attacks. Alarm
shot through him when she turned white and started shaking, her eyes widening
with fear. But when Sean reacted not by making fun of her but by announcing
he’d take her home, Dion realised the seriousness of the situation. He walked
with them without asking, and they both held her hand the whole way.

When she got home, she thanked him and cried, and he hugged
her. Her hair had smelled of strawberries, and his lips had lingered as he
kissed the top of her head for a few seconds longer than he should have.

Was that when his obsession about her had started? All those
years ago?

“It got bad for a while,” Sean added, “around the time she
broke up with Cody. She told you about that in Prague, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

So Sean definitely knew they’d met up the Christmas before.
For the first time in his life Dion thought he might be blushing. Not banging
your best mate’s sister was rule number one. No wonder Sean had been cool when
he got in the car.

“But she’s worked at it,” Sean continued. “She has
counselling, and they’ve taught her breathing techniques, that sort of thing.
She copes.”

“That’s good to know. I’m looking forward to seeing her
again.”

That was the understatement of the year. Their coming
together in Prague had been brief but momentous—like a once-in-a-thousand-years
alignment of two planets. He’d tried not to dwell on her too much after they
parted, but he’d spent more nights than he cared to remember lying awake
thinking about that night before Christmas. He couldn’t deny to himself that
he’d chosen to recuperate in New Zealand with the hope of seeing her again.

“She’s at the house,” Sean said. “We’re nearly there.”

Dion’s heart rate sped up at the thought of seeing her
again. For the first time since he left the UK, real pleasure surged through
him that he’d made the decision to go away. All the worries and stress of the
past few months faded. He had two whole weeks here to unwind, to catch up with
his mates and rediscover the friendships he hadn’t realised he’d missed until
he needed them. Two whole weeks to spend with Megan, maybe to explore that
relationship a little more.

Sean signalled at the turnoff for the marina, drove about
ten yards and then turned left into a tiny drive. The road led steeply upward,
and then the car crested the top of the rise.

Dion gasped. The long wooden house below them lay at the top
of a small bay. The hills surrounding the bay were encrusted with palms, manuka
trees and bush. A pair of brightly coloured rosella parrots flew in front of
the car, and when Sean pulled up outside and Dion got out, he heard the tuis up
high in the trees, their distinctive call sounding as if they were saying
George!
George!

“Wow.” He stared at the house. “You built this?”

“Yep.” Sean practically burst with pride. “You like?”

“It’s fantastic.” He hadn’t realised the building business
paid so well. “How much land do you have?”

“A couple of hectares. Not much.”

Not much? Dion tried not to exclaim out loud. He considered
himself fairly well off, but he’d only been able to afford a small apartment in
London. Although situated in Islington, one of the newly transformed parts of
the city, it had only a few rooms and no view to speak of. It didn’t come close
to what Sean had.

The front door opened and out came the dark-haired woman
he’d seen with Sean on Facebook. She looked less glamorous than in her wedding
photos, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her face free of makeup, but she
was a pretty girl, with eyes creased into laughter lines.

“You must be Gaby,” he said. Used to years of meeting and
greeting through the business, he smiled, walked up and extended his hand. “I’m
Dion.”

“Hey, Dion! I’m so glad you came.” She ignored his hand and
gave him a hug. Taken by surprise—how English had he become?— he stood there
awkwardly for a moment before putting his arms around her and giving her a
quick hug back. “It’s lovely to have you here,” she continued. “Sean’s been so
looking forward to it, and he’s told me so much about you.”

“All good things I hope,” he said.

“Of course.” She grinned, then flicked Sean a quick look.
“Everything okay?”

“Yep. Lead on.” He gave a mysterious nod.

Was it his imagination, or did they both look nervous?

She went into the house and Dion followed, puzzling over
their secret communication. But he forgot it instantly as he found himself in a
huge, open plan kitchen and living area with high ceilings and shiny, kauri
wood floors, the far wall completely made of large windows that looked out over
the small bay. “Wow!”

“I know.” Gaby laughed. “It took my breath away when I first
walked in. Sean wouldn’t let me see it until he’d finished it.”

 “It’s fantastic.” He opened his mouth to ask her to show
him around, but the words failed to come as his attention focused on the person
standing on the deck outside, overlooking the bay.

She hadn’t noticed him come in. He could hear her singing,
and it made him smile. She’d always been the same, her brain like an iPod on
shuffle. Now she was singing an old Dylan song,
I’ll be your baby tonight
.
Her husky voice sent a shiver down his spine. He remembered that voice in his
ear whispering erotic things he’d never have dreamed she’d be brave enough to
say to him.

He walked across the floor to the open sliding doors. As he
approached, she turned around, obviously hearing his shoes on the wood.

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped in an almost comical
expression of shock and surprise. Obviously, she hadn’t expected him. Sean
hadn’t told her he was coming.

Fuck.
Why?

He stopped walking and stared at her, his heart hammering.
She hadn’t changed much over the past year. Her hair shone the light chestnut
colour it had always been, and she’d pinned it up in an elegant clip, leaving
curly strands to frame her face.

She’d lost a little weight. She wore denim cut-offs and a
pink vest that clung to her breasts, and sparkly flip-flops, or jandals as the
Kiwis called them. She looked pretty and sexy, and an image shot through his
head of her that moment he’d spotted her Prague, stunning in the scarlet coat,
with the saddest look on her face he’d ever seen on anyone.

No, she didn’t look any different.

What
was
different was the baby she held in her arms.

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