The Last Guy She Should Call (7 page)

‘Glad you find it amusing. I don’t. I don’t know how to deal with it,’ Rowan muttered, leaning her hip against a display stand of orange sweet potatoes. Instead of discussing Seb further, she chose to shove her head in the sand. ‘So, tell me about your fling.’

‘Hot, conservative, sweet. And you’re changing the subject because you don’t want to deal with your sexy side!’

‘Bye, Cal, love you.’

‘Avoiding the issue isn’t going to change it—’

‘Miss you. Hurry home, okay? I need you!’ Rowan interrupted, before disconnecting.

Rowan rolled her shoulders in frustration, thinking about her ‘sexy side’. Sex had always just been nice and pleasant. Uncomplicated. It gave her a little buzz. But she could probably live without it if she had to. Just as she could live without having a permanent man in her life, being in a permanent place. She had never given her heart away—couldn’t, because she still hadn’t learnt not to look at a man and wonder if he she could trust him. She didn’t need sex and she definitely didn’t need love.

She’d managed without it all these years and probably wouldn’t know what to do with it if she found it. And if she occasionally yearned for it then it meant that she was human, didn’t it?

She wouldn’t mind some respect, though.

She’d loved Joe. Had been passionately, deeply, mind-blazingly in love with him. The type of love you could only experience when you were eighteen and everything was black and white. Somewhere in the part of her that was all woman—mysterious and wise—she’d known that Joe would be the guy who would change her destiny, would alter her mindset, would change her in ways that she’d never believed possible.

She’d never considered that her love for him would spin her life in such a different direction...

Rowan was pulled back from her memories by a store announcement and found herself staring at piles of fruit, multi-coloured vegetables, the perfection of the display.

Apples as red as the poisonous fruit in
Snow White
, atomic orange carrots, purple eggplant. Six different types of lettuce, herbs, sweet potatoes...and no people. At nine in the morning the supermarket was all but deserted.

She looked down and saw the aisles, shelves packed full of consumer goods. Where were the shouts of the vendors in Tamil? The smell of lemongrass and hot oil? So much abundance, so much choice, no people. So much artificial colour, piped music that hurt her ears...no people. Where was everybody? How could there be so much choice and no one to choose?

She wanted to be back in the markets in Hanoi, standing in a queue to touch a statue of Buddha in Phuket, on a crowded train on her way to Goa.

She didn’t want to be back here, in the city that held so many bad memories for her. She didn’t want to deal with Seb, who set her blood on fire, made her feel things that were hot and uncomfortable. She didn’t want to deal with her parents, revisit her past.

She wanted to be back on crowded streets, on the Inca trails in Peru, in an Outback logging town in the Yukon. She wanted to be on her own, having transient relationships with people who expected little or nothing from her.

She wanted her freedom, she thought as she left the supermarket empty-handed. Her independence, solitude.

Money in the bank
.

Money...
Dammit,
Rowan thought as she turned around and walked back into the shop. She’d made a deal with the devil and part of that deal required her to shop for food.

Ugh.

* * *

After she’d spent a healthy amount of Seb’s money Rowan drove towards the coast and onto the main road that led to the beach in the area. Behind her sunglasses her eyes widened with surprise as she took in the changes that had occurred since she’d left. Her favourite beach was still there—of course it was—but the buildings on the other side of the road had been converted into upscale boutiques and gift shops, restaurants and a coffee shop-slash-restaurant-slash-neighbourhood bar.

Rowan headed straight for the restaurant/bar and slid into a tiny table by the window. She ordered an espresso and a slice of cheesecake and silently told herself that she’d add it to the mental tab she owed Seb.

It was such a stunning day. She could see Table Mountain, blue, green and purple, a natural symbol of this incredibly beautiful city. The sea was flat, aqua and green, and the sun glinted off the white sand.

Rowan looked up at the waitress and pointed to the ‘Help Wanted’ sign on the door. ‘I see you need another waitress?’

‘A bartender, actually.’

Even better, Rowan thought. She loathed waitressing. ‘Tips good?’

‘Very. You interested? If you are, I can call the manager over.’

Rowan nodded and within fifteen minutes had agreed to tend bar on Friday night as a trial. If that worked out she could have three night shifts a week. Rowan agreed with alacrity... She’d do anything to add cash to her depleted coffers so she could leave this city as soon as possible.

A stream of feminine cursing distracted Rowan from her appreciation of the scenery and she turned to see a fifty-something fashion plate slip into a chair at the table next to her. She was fantastically turned out, with styled curly hair, large breasts and long legs in skinny jeans. She wore Audrey Hepburn glasses and a very sulky expression.

Rowan felt like a garden gnome next to her.

Rowan took a bite of cheesecake and sighed as the flavours burst onto her tongue. The lady gestured a waiter forward and pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. Fine lines surrounded her light green eyes and Rowan revised the estimate of her age upwards. Maybe closer to sixty, but looking good. She pointed to Rowan’s cup and cheesecake.

‘I think she wants the same,’ Rowan told the confused waitress, and smiled when the blonde lifted her thumb.

‘What do you mean you’ve made a mistake?’ she shouted into her cell, in a French-accented voice. ‘
L’imbécile!
I booked the Farmyard on the fourth, and I don’t care if you double-booked with the President himself. Unbook it!’

Rowan rested her chin in the palm of her hand and didn’t pretend that she wasn’t listening. She was fascinated. What was the Farmyard? A brothel? A nightclub? A restaurant?

‘How am I going to explain to my seven-year-old grandson that he can’t have his party there? Are
you
going to explain?’

Or a children’s party venue.

After swearing very comprehensively, in both English and French, at the Farmyard’s representative, she snapped her mobile closed and rested her head on her folded arms.

Rowan felt her sympathy stirring and leaned over and touched her on the arm. ‘Hey.’

She might not be able to make emotional connections to places or things but she’d never had a problem talking to anyone, making casual connections that could last a minute, an hour, a day...

The blonde head lifted, the sunglasses slid down the pert nose and Rowan noticed tears in the dark eyes. ‘What’s the matter? Can I help?’

The woman shoved her glasses up her nose and sniffed. ‘Only if you can provide a venue for twenty-five kids in ten days’ time, complete with horses and a mini-quadbike track and paintball shooting. And an army tank cake.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I booked this exclusive children’s party venue for next Saturday and they double-booked it. I’m going to have to cancel the party and I am going to break my grand-baby’s heart. I’m Annie, by the way.’

‘Rowan,’ Rowan replied as her mind started to whirl. She knew of a place that had horses, a paddock suitable to make a mini-quadbike track, and haybales to make up a mock battle field for paintball-shooting. ‘What’s your budget?’

The Jane Fonda look-alike frowned at her and named a figure.

Rowan swallowed and wasn’t sure if she’d heard her properly. Who paid that sort of money for a kid’s party? Were these people nuts? He was seven and not the Sultan of Brunei’s kid!

Rowan stood up, picked up her plate and moved to the blonde’s table. ‘My name is Rowan, but my friends call me Ro...let’s chat.’

* * *

When Seb was twenty-two, Patch had told him that he was handing over the family’s property portfolio to Seb to manage and that he was going to open up a company in Simon’s Town, doing sea-kayaking tours.

Seb hadn’t believed him, but within six months he’d had the added responsibility of managing various warehouses, office blocks and houses around Cape Town, Patch had moved out of Awelfor and into a house in Simon’s Town and had started leading tourist tours showing off Signal Hill, Lions Head and Table Mountain from a sea perspective.

The company had taken off, and he’d opened a branch in Hermanus, but most days he still went out on the water and led a tour. For Seb, Patch’s Kayak Tours was just across the peninsula, and he often found himself driving to Simon’s Town, running along the promenade and joining his dad for an early-evening paddle.

Today it had been easy, paddling in the shelter of the harbour, and he’d soon pulled ahead of the group in the open sea, wanting to feel the strain in his arms and his shoulders. Skirting a navy striker ship waiting to dock, he headed south towards the world-famous Boulders Beach as he kept an eye out for whales. He flew past the huge rocks at Boulders, laughing at the penguin colony that stood on the beach contemplating hunting for food, and after a half-hour turned back and caught up with the sluggish tour.

Seb laughed again as two endangered Black Oyster Catchers pecked at Patch’s hat and with a pithy insult drew abreast with him. He cursed when his mobile jangled in its waterproof jacket. He put it to his ear and ignored Patch’s hiss of displeasure.

‘No mobiles on the water, Sebastian!’ Patch said loudly.

Recognising the number at Awelfor, Seb ignored Patch and quickly answered it. ‘Rowan, what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. Well—um—I need to ask you a favour.’

Rowan’s voice sounded hesitant and his face cleared. Oh, this should be good. Another favour? She was racking them up!

‘What is it?’

‘May I hold a function here on Saturday?’

‘I thought you were broke! Do you have money to entertain?’

‘It’s not entertaining...exactly. I need a place to host a birthday party for some kids and I kind of suggested Awelfor.’

Seb thought that she had to be joking. ‘You kind of
what
?’

‘This lady will pay me a grotesque amount of money to organise a kid’s birthday party and I need a place to make a track for mini-quads and to set up a paintball course.’

Seb dropped his hand, looked at his phone and shook his head. ‘Are you nuts? I don’t want kids all over my property!’

‘You won’t even be here! I saw that notice on the fridge for a trail run you’re doing on Saturday!’ Rowan protested.

‘Rowan, you’ve been in the country two days and you’ve already managed to meet someone who can give you a job. How is that possible? And how do you know she’s not a con?’

‘Oh, maybe because she’ll pay me sixty per cent of the fee up front,’ Rowan whipped back. ‘Yes or no, Seb? If it’s no I need to go to Plan B.’

‘Do you have a Plan B?’ Seb asked, curious. Patch leaned over to yank his mobile out of his hand and he jerked away.

‘No, but I will have to find one if you say no. Please don’t say no.’

‘Why do I suspect that you’ve already told her that you can host the party at Awelfor?’

‘Because I have,’ Rowan said in a small voice. ‘Sorry. But I’ll make another plan if you
really
mean no.’

He wasn’t even surprised or, come to think of it, that upset. If anyone else took such liberties with his house and his property he’d have a fit of incredible proportions, but Rowan had been such a part of Awelfor for so long that it wasn’t that much of an intrusion or an imposition. Weird, but true.

‘Okay, knock yourself out. However, when you agree to house a shedload of monkeys, or a circus comprising of Eastern European acrobats, run it by me first, okay? Got to go.’ Seb disconnected and shoved his mobile away before Patch could yank it away. He’d lost two mobiles to Patch’s strict rule about ‘disturbing the peace’.

‘I’m going to ban you from joining my tours,’ Patch complained.

‘Sorry,’ Seb replied, and picked up his paddle again and pulled it through the water.

They rowed for a while in companionable silence until Patch spoke again.

‘So, what’s Ro done this time?’ Patch asked.

Seb explained and Patch laughed.

‘Life certainly has been less...colourful without her presence.’

‘But a great deal more sensible.’

‘Sensible...
pshaw
! I had coffee with her this afternoon. It’s lovely to have her home,’ Patch said. ‘I’ve always loved that girl.’

Seb sent him a measuring look. ‘I know you did when she was a kid, but...’

Patch pointed out a seal to his group, exchanged some banter with them and turned back to Seb. ‘But?’

‘Doesn’t she remind you of...Mum?’

Patch was silent for a minute and then shook his head. ‘The only commonality between the two is that they both like to travel. No, Seb. Ro is nothing like Laura. Ro would never leave her kids—leave the people she loved and never make contact again.’

‘She did for a couple of months,’ Seb pointed out.

Why was he pushing this? What did he hope his father would say?
Yes, she’s exactly like Laura and that he should run as if his tail was on his fire
? Would that make his big brain override his little one and cancel out all the X-rated visions he was having about her?

Patch’s slow, measured words pulled him back into the conversation.

‘Everyone seems to have forgotten that Ro sent Callie regular e-mails, asking her to tell Stan and Heidi and us that she was fine. She was a little lost and she was trying to find herself. When she had enough distance from her parents she made contact again. Ro didn’t have it easy at home, Sebastian.’

‘They loved her, Dad,’ Seb protested.

‘As much as they could. But she needed so much more. She wouldn’t have run if she’d felt loved. They didn’t understand her, and sometimes I think that’s worse. Don’t get me wrong—I like Stan and Heidi—but I think Peter fulfilled all their requirements for a child. Studious, quiet, introverted, brilliant and unemotional. Having to deal with an emotional hurricane like Rowan rocked their world.’