The House at the Bottom of the Hill (12 page)

Ethan shifted Lochie in his arms. ‘All we have to do now is figure out where he can stay until all this is done.’

‘He can stay at my B&B.’

Silence struck—Charlotte had never experienced such excruciating quiet.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Ethan said at last.

He didn’t say any more and nobody else spoke.

Charlotte held her breath. Whatever the reason for her outburst of generosity, she’d made herself responsible for an old man who lived in a pretty farmhouse a five-minute walk from town. She looked at Daniel for some sort of support as her unease increased.

He cleared his throat and walked back to her side. ‘What a generous offer, Charlotte, thank you.’ He held his hand out.

Charlotte slid her fingers into his and shook his hand. He squeezed her hand slightly, a promise things would be okay, but the puzzled look in his mink-brown eyes told her he was questioning her. Why? How could she do any harm to him or the town by looking after an old man?

‘Not sure if Grandy will accept that,’ Mrs J said but didn’t offer any further negativity.

Charlotte looked at Julia, who was looking at Charlotte’s and Daniel’s hands—still bound. She slipped her hand free and instantly missed the reassurance of its strength.

‘He’ll like sitting on the veranda,’ Junior Morelly said contemplatively.

‘What about all the renovating you’re doing at the Cappers’ place?’ Grace asked. ‘He’d be in the way.’

‘My place—and he wouldn’t be in the way.’

‘He won’t be able to manage the stairs,’ Grace said.

‘He can have the ground-floor room. I’ll move upstairs.’

‘Are those rooms ready for use?’ Daniel asked; again, that interrogative look narrowing his gaze.

‘Yes. They’re lovely rooms. They only need cosmetic attention but that can wait.’ Wait? Had she just said that?

‘He’ll enjoy the dog’s company,’ Junior said.

Ethan laughed. ‘He’ll likely enjoy Charlotte’s company too.’

Charlotte smiled at Ethan. Gran hadn’t been alone, not for a minute during the last years of her illness. Grandy shouldn’t be alone either. Not when he was so well loved. Not when Charlotte appeared to be the only person with the means to house him in the centre of town, which was where he wanted to be. She’d enjoy the company in the house herself. Might not feel so outcast and lonely if there was someone to look after and care for.

‘I’d pay you for his board and such,’ Junior Morelly offered.

‘How much would you charge?’ Grace asked.

‘Um …’ Charlotte clasped her hands in front of her. ‘I wouldn’t charge him anything.’

‘That wouldn’t be right,’ Ethan said.

‘I wouldn’t charge,’ she said again, enforcing her point politely. ‘I’d be happy for his company.’

‘Sounds right funny to me,’ Grace said. ‘Not charging. Thought you were planning on running a business.’

‘I’m not open for business yet.’ Neither would she ever be. ‘But I’d like to show some goodwill.’

‘Like a gesture?’ Mrs J asked.

Charlotte jumped on that. ‘Yes.’ That’s what Daniel had suggested she do—offer them a gesture. She turned to the group. ‘I’d be delighted to have Grandy stay at the B&B.’ Maybe delighted was the wrong word but if it meant her offer hastened the approval of her renovation ideas, she was all for taking it on.

The ensuing silence sparked a new anxiety. If they refused her offer, she’d be left feeling less welcome than she had since her arrival. Which was infuriating, given that she wasn’t supposed to care.

Dan rolled his chair closer to the desk and his laptop and skimmed the British newspaper article, surprised he’d found something about Charlotte so soon.

Australian born? He shifted the lid of the laptop until the early morning light from his bedroom window didn’t reflect on the screen so much and went back to the start of the column.

Dan grinned as a vision of Red staring down Forsters executives came quickly to mind. He wouldn’t want to be too close to the heat of that bonfire.

‘Good for her.’ He couldn’t halt the swell of satisfaction, but he’d bet his left arm she hadn’t expected the dogmatic will of small-town inhabitants to bring her plans in Swallow’s Fall to a standstill. He smiled. He might feel a tug of pride for her but Red had no patience. Nothing new there.

But what had brought her back to her native country? Charlotte’s battle had happened nine months ago. She’d been in Australia a couple of months now.

The answer probably lay in the reason why she’d left in the first place. The article said she’d lost her home, not just her business, and stated she’d been in England since childhood. Yet she hadn’t let anyone think she was anything other than British. Why would she hide the fact that she was born in the same country as those who were against her? It was as though she didn’t want them on her side. Or had no reason to seek their acceptance.

He shut his laptop down, pushed from the desk and moved from the contemplative atmosphere of his room into the all-consuming silence of the empty bar. He grabbed a cold bottle of beer from the fridge, gripped the top in the palm of his hand, unscrewed the cap and flicked it into the metal bin beneath the counter. He took a long drink of the beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Charlotte would be worth a bob or ten now but she hadn’t bragged about her success. If Firecracker Red had moved to Swallow’s Fall because she wanted out of the rat race and into the slow-placed groove of country life—
remote
country life— there’d be only two reasons why: either she was running from or searching for something. Whichever reason, she hadn’t been egged along by some life-changing wish to come here, she’d made a deliberate move. She’d chosen this town.

He took a slower pull of his beer. Hadn’t he done the same?

Six years ago he’d been in north Queensland, flushed with more than the heat. He’d worked hard, had his fun and played the field with a choice of attractive, decent women, not to mention the occasional adventurous one. He’d made his money—a considerable amount—but apart from his success as a draughtsman and his ability to put in dedicated hours of hard graft as he renovated a dozen properties for resale, not one calculated and disciplined task he’d set for himself had fulfilled his expectations. He’d forced himself to sit back and think about where he was and where he wanted to be.

Funny he should see now how clear that choice had been, as he looked out of the window onto Main Street and the town he had such a blistering fondness for. It hadn’t been a desire to change gear that had been
his
motivation for moving back to the country either. It was the culmination of a cycle. He hadn’t bought the hotel and moved to Swallow’s Fall to transform himself, he’d bought it to come home.

Charlotte stared Daniel in the eye, hand on the flyscreen door. ‘If you’re here to chat about the bet you think I accepted, please don’t bother.’

He held out a takeaway coffee. ‘I just love that happy face of yours. What’s got your back up this time?’

Charlotte took the coffee from him. ‘My wallpaper steamer.’

He looked over her shoulder, down the hallway. ‘Not going to ask me in?’

She stepped back. ‘Watch your step.’

‘Man, what are you doing with all this stuff?’ He pointed to the under-stairs cupboard where the tools Charlotte had bought in Canberra were normally kept neatly.

‘Getting on with my renovations.’ Before purchasing the property, she’d been shown enough photos to know about the peony-flocked wallpaper, the peeling kitchen and laundry bench tops and the 1960s farmyard-scene paper lining the back of cupboards and wardrobes.

‘And what’s wrong with your steamer?’

‘It won’t steam.’

He walked towards the jumble of boxes and tools in the hallway. ‘Want me to take a look? What a mess,’ he added, stepping over extension leads, a sander and a large plastic tool box.

Charlotte clamped her lips together, trying to hold back the sulky frame of mind she hadn’t been able to shake all morning. On the one hand, it was great the townspeople had agreed to her suggestion to have Grandy stay, but on the other hand—what the hell had she been thinking? The older Mr Morelly might be sitting on her veranda through winter—this year and the next. She could see the newspaper advertisement now:

On Monday she’d said yes to dinner at Sammy’s place. By Wednesday she’d offered her house to Grandy. She’d also taken up some fanciful challenge from Daniel and put her concentration into running and getting fit when she should have been renovating. At this rate, she’d never get Ethan alone. Never get out of this town. Never get her new life.

‘How come you’re suddenly working so hard?’ Daniel asked.

‘I need to do as much as possible before Grandy moves in.’ And she could move out.

‘You’ve only got four days.’ He unplugged the steamer from the socket, checked the tank she’d filled with water, then pulled and tugged the hose that ran from the tank to the rectangular steam pad. He unscrewed it from the base, shook it and screwed it back in.

‘I’ve got to start somewhere,’ Charlotte said, her voice filled with the frustration building inside her.

‘Okay, stop getting touchy.’ Daniel hooked the hotplate pad onto the steamer stand and bent to turn the machine on at the wall socket. The water tank gurgled. He twisted her way and grinned.

‘That was lucky,’ she told him.

He switched the steamer off. ‘How come you softened up and offered to let Grandy stay here?’

‘I’ve been told by practically everyone it’s not certain he’ll
want
to stay.’

‘He will. So wallpaper first, then what?’

‘The upstairs rooms.’ They only needed decorating but the back bedroom—her room, the one she’d offered to the old man—was in need of the most renovation and would now have to wait.

‘What’s the sander for?’

‘After I’ve taken up the lino in the kitchen, I’m going to sand the floorboards. But I can’t do that until Grandy leaves.’

‘Grandy won’t mind the noise, he’ll probably help you.’

‘Yes, good idea. Until the dust from the sander gets on his chest and sends him right back to hospital.’ Imagine the furore. They’d kick her out of town for sure. Or bury her alive in the pioneer cemetery. Who’d feed Lucy then?

Lucy. Charlotte’s shoulders sank. Who would take the dog when she left? Taking Lucy back to Britain meant getting her through all the regulations. She’d need a pet passport, which might take months to obtain, and vaccinations, and perhaps a stay in quarantine. Miss her though she would, Charlotte couldn’t put the young animal through the loneliness of all that.

‘When are you starting work on Grandy’s house?’

‘Got to draw up some plans first, then order gear from Canberra. What’s wrong, Red? You’re looking real sulky.’

‘Thanks for the observation. How much do I owe you for the coffee?’

‘Fine.’ He raised his hands in surrender. ‘I get it. You’re having a bad day.’

Her ‘day’ had started at three a.m. when she’d woken for the fourth time. But it wasn’t because of the dream—her mother had been on her mind in the shadowy hours of the night. She wrapped her hands around the coffee and sipped. At least the caffeine kick would keep her going for a few hours. ‘Put it on my tab. If I’m allowed a tab?’

‘Well, now, if you want a tab I’m going to have to ask a few questions about your credit rating.’

‘Fine. I’ll pay cash.’

‘What’s wrong, Charlotte?’

Charlotte chewed on her tongue but the question she needed to ask danced on the tip of it. ‘Why did I offer to let Grandy stay?’

‘You don’t want him now?’

‘Of course he can stay, it’s just that …’ She was getting caught in a mesh of charm called Swallow’s Fall.

‘Could be you’re coming round to us.’

‘Huh.’ Her sulkiness was a defence mechanism aimed at hiding her nerves and one sleepless night too many meant she couldn’t keep the tone of it out of her voice.

Pulled from her bed by an intense force—a will she wasn’t sure was hers alone—she’d settled in the warmth of the kitchen, with Lucy at her feet, and made a list of exactly what it was she was here to do: see Ethan and pound him with questions until all the fearsome ones were answered and she was free to leave. But there was something else hovering—and unattainable. A quest for happiness … a chance at happiness? Charlotte didn’t understand it, and pushed it to the back of her mind.

‘Any news on my weatherboard colour?’

‘I’m going to see Ted now, see what I can do for you.’ He paused. ‘What was your B&B in England like?’

‘Home.’ A single word, but an all-encompassing, dreamy depiction for her Starfoot habitat.

‘So why’d you leave it?’

‘I sold up. After my gran died.’

‘Couldn’t bear the memories, eh?’

All her memories had been bulldozed and now sat beneath the eighteenth hole.

‘I did the same thing when my grandfather died. Just sold up, and moved on.’

‘Where are you from?’ she asked, sipping her coffee.

‘Small town in south Victoria.’ He bent and picked up the extension cord. ‘Went to Queensland after that and made some money. I was a draughtsman, then I got into renovating properties.’ He glanced at her. ‘You must have made a reasonable living in your B&B. I hope you get the same here in Swallow’s Fall or you might have wasted your investment.’ He put the extension cord on top of the tool chest and put both into the under-stairs cupboard. ‘Hope you haven’t got a large mortgage.’