Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance (14 page)

As soon as the receiver clicked back into place, Winnie was on her colleague like Donkey Kong. ‘Lover boy, indeed. That wouldn’t have happened to be the optometrist, would it?’

‘Maybe,’ Olive offered at last in a small voice. ‘All right, it was. He wants to place an ad in
Beach Life
. And he, uh, let me know about an eye health seminar he’s doing at the town hall next week.’ It was kind of sweet to see the usually loudmouthed ad manager squirming in her seat, because of a man.

‘Have you ever considered the real reason he rang is because he’s interested in you? That that’s why he’s advertising in the mag and letting you know about his seminar? That he might be keen to see you again?’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ Olive said doubtfully.

Winnie suddenly clicked her fingers. ‘I’ve
got
it. The day of the seminar, we’ll get Cyndi to do your hair and make-up, so you’re looking and feeling extra hot, then you can waltz into the hall and dazzle him. Give it all that you’ve got, once and for all. No backing out. What do you reckon?’

‘
Cyndi?
You want your nemesis to make me over? Because I presumably need it so much,’ Olive retorted, folding her arms over her petite chest.

‘Actually Cyndi and I are kind of cool now,’ Winnie said, scratching her neck. ‘I saw her on the weekend. She’s one of Eden’s bridesmaids too.’

Olive sniffed. ‘That does ring a vague bell, actually.’

Winnie persevered, ‘It’s not because I think you
need
a makeover either, just a shot of confidence. It’s time you did something about this crush of yours. It sounds like it’s been ages with a whole lot of nothing happening. The appointment bills must be hurting your hip pocket, too.’

‘Well,’ Olive turned back to her computer screen with a flounce, ‘I might consider the idea – maybe.’

Winnie squealed. ‘I’ll talk to Cyndi. See if she’s got time on the day. Hey, by the way, how come Eden didn’t ask you to be a bridesmaid? Surely she knows you better than a newcomer like me.’

‘We’re like chalk and cheese – beauty and the bogan. Plus,’ Olive added nonchalantly, ‘I once slept with her fiancé. Before they were together. Guess she doesn’t trust me.’

Winnie’s mouth fell open. Olive obviously wasn’t shy around everyone of the male persuasion. ‘This town – talk about fence-jumping.’ The ad manager merely shrugged.

Winnie glanced back at her screen, her eyes quickly scanning a new email that had landed in her inbox. She let out a sudden whoop, startling Olive. ‘Oh my gosh, looks like being friendly with Cyndi has already paid off. Allira Becci has agreed to do the fashion shoot, so long as I mention her new swim label. Can you believe it? I emailed her agent over the weekend and the turnaround was super-fast this time. Apparently Allira was coming to town for her dad’s birthday anyway, so it all works out perfectly.’

‘Super,’ Olive echoed, the smile not quite reaching her eyes for some reason. ‘Though what’s it got to do with Cyndi?’

Aha. Maybe the lack of a grin had something to do with Cyndi being the trump card, rather than it just being Olive’s brilliant idea. Winnie was too excited to ponder it for long, though.

‘Apparently Allira used to look up to Cyndi when our local beautician was a beauty queen. I mentioned Cyndi was part of our crew list for the shoot, and voila, we have our cover. Just like that! Christa is going to be majorly impressed.’

‘Indeed.’

Smiling to herself, Winnie pulled her phone from her handbag, eager to let Alex know the good news via text. He was part of the team, after all. A tiny gleam of happiness flickered inside her. Maybe it was going to be smooth sailing ahead from now and she’d actually make the impossible possible: launching a luxury lifestyle magazine in a sleepy seaside town with aplomb.

Hey, stranger things had happened. Landing in the teeny Kingston, for one, all the way from the shining beacon that was Sydney.

A sharp knocking startled Winnie as she slurped on two-minute noodles after work for dinner – again. Despite what some might class as a dull night in, she was actually enjoying herself and none too happy about being disturbed. Dragging herself from the beanbag, Winnie prayed the person at the door wasn’t her chain-smoking neighbour wanting to borrow sugar, or something . . . creepier.

Whipping back her front door, Winnie nearly jumped out of her skin as a figure stepped forward in the dark. ‘Cyndi – what the hell?’

The beautician was dressed head-to-toe in black, complete with a knitted beanie pulled over her dark-blonde waves.

‘We’ve abducted Eden,’ the beautician offered solemnly. ‘For a surprise hen’s party. We wanted to do it early so she wouldn’t be too stressed with the wedding. Plus, we figured we’ve got to get some fun out of being part of her big day, too.’

‘You
abducted
her?’ Winnie peered out into the inky night, her eyes wide. Sure enough, Cyndi’s red Lancer coupé was parked near her front lawn, with shadowy heads visible inside.

‘We did.’ Cyndi nodded. ‘And I’m not sure how long it’ll take her to work out the furry handcuffs aren’t too hard to get out of, so we’d better get going.’

The very last thing Winnie felt like doing was spending more time with Cyndi and co. so soon. But she was a little scared to say no outright. She tried to put off the inevitable. ‘Um, it’s just I’m not really dressed for going out.’ She looked down pointedly at her simple after-work outfit of a grey tee and jeans. ‘Plus,’ she feigned a yawn, ‘I’m pretty knackered. I had a big work day.’

Cyndi was having none of it. ‘You’re a bridesmaid, right? Then you’re coming, no ifs or buts. And you look fine. We’re just taking her to the Royal Mail Hotel, nowhere fancy. It’s not Sydney. Plus,’ she peered inside Winnie’s unit, ‘you don’t look very busy.’

At least it wasn’t the Crown Inn. The Royal Mail was Kingston’s
other
pub.

Cyndi gave it another shot. ‘Aren’t you curious to see what Eden is like tipsy?’

That did it for Winnie. ‘All right, all right. Count me in.’ Rushing to grab her handbag, she dumped her half-eaten bowl of noodles in the sink, shoved chewing gum in her mouth and trailed after Cyndi. In the back of the Lancer was poor Eden, wearing a sleeping mask with
Bride-to-be
spelled out in diamantes and her hands behind her back.

‘Help me,’ Eden bleated as Winnie climbed in. Though she didn’t really sound too distressed. In fact, Winnie noticed the hint of a smile flicker across her dial. Maybe she was having fun letting her hair down for a change. Not literally – the severe ponytail still looked like it was causing her scalp pain and possible future hair loss. Despite her delusions of grandeur and ordinarily uptight nature, perhaps Eden was just trying to find her place in the world like everyone else. Honey gave Winnie the thumbs-up from the front seat.

Half an hour later, Winnie sat with Cyndi and Honey at the bar, vaguely keeping an eye on Eden as she sculled a champagne and orange juice amid cheers from a few other hangers-on who’d turned up. Being mid-week and a country pub, the place was relatively quiet.

‘All we’re missing is a stripper,’ Cyndi lamented. ‘That’d liven things up a bit more.’

‘Ooh, which local boy would we call to do the honours?’ Honey asked gleefully. ‘You know, if we were game.’

One of the other partygoers, with coppery layers and a raucous laugh, leant forwards. ‘Alex Bass! He’s smoking hot. Mmm. Wouldn’t I love to lick whipped cream off those abs.’

Winnie’s eyes rounded, but others in the group were nodding and murmuring in agreement. Huh. So he really was considered the equivalent of Ryan Gosling in these parts. Of course, she got it. His good looks were unmistakable, but it was also the whole unavailable vibe he had going on. Women dug it – lusting after what they couldn’t have. Winnie, though, was trying to rise above such behaviour. She’d already played with fire and been burned.

Cyndi banged down her tumbler of Southern Comfort and Coke, interrupting Winnie’s thoughts. ‘Far out, Eden’s started with the karaoke – and she has the worst voice this side of the big red lobster. She’s only had two drinks. We’d better join her or she’ll never live it down and Flynn will kill us.’

Winnie looked from Eden, now shuffling across the stage trying to do the moonwalk while butchering Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’, back to Cyndi, who’d jumped off her bar stool. Honey, who’d been downing strictly non-alcoholic beverages, also heaved herself off hers. They joined Eden in channelling their inner Michael Jacksons, which was a pretty funny sight. Winnie felt a rush of warmth. Maybe the pair even had a weensy soft spot for Eden after all. At any rate, Winnie was impressed the duo were willing to make a spectacle of themselves to protect the bride-to-be – some Sydney sorts would be too busy sizing up each other’s outfits or trying to catch their pals in unflattering shots to post on social media. But there was no sense of competition here. Despite their flippant exteriors, the girls she’d written off as small-town eccentrics appeared to have a heart. Maybe they weren’t half bad, after all.

Trying out a mini moonwalk of her own, Winnie slid off her seat, preparing to join the trio on stage. Didn’t they say if you can’t beat them, join them? It couldn’t be any more mortifying than dancing alone to a jukebox or throwing herself at Alex. She might even have some fun. If Bruna could see her now.

Winnie returned to Mrs Mannix’s house on Wednesday afternoon. As unglamorous as the museum launch had been compared to Sydney standards, she’d decided to do a story on it for the magazine’s social pages anyway. She knew how to fudge things to make them sound better than they were – and she needed something to fill the space.

This time, Mrs Mannix had laid out a spread of homemade cherry-choc biscuits and rose tea. So far there’d been more chitchat than actual interviewing.

Winnie swallowed another biscuity mouthful. ‘So, do you have any kids who live around here still?’

Mrs Mannix’s hand trembled as she filled Winnie’s cup with more tea from the pot. ‘Peter and I did have one daughter, Cecilia, but she died after a week in the incubator. I wasn’t blessed with motherhood for long. I also had three miscarriages.’

Winnie’s hand sprang up to her mouth. ‘Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I – I shouldn’t have been so nosy.’ She’d royally put her foot in it now.

Mrs Mannix set the teapot down again. ‘Why? Life happens, dear, and you weren’t to know.’ Still, her eyes looked moist. ‘I think not having children pained Peter the most. He was one of eight and always wanted some of his own.’

‘I’m sure he would have been happy spending his life with just you,’ Winnie said quietly.

‘Perhaps.’ Mrs Mannix wiped crumbs from the checked tablecloth. ‘Peter was my everything and even he was taken away too soon. But I’ve become accustomed to a solitary sort of life. I don’t tell many people this, dear, but I was actually the illegitimate child of a prostitute and a policeman. Can you imagine the shame – especially in my time? I was adopted by church folk, but we didn’t see eye to eye in my teens and eventually lost touch. Then, of course, I didn’t have children I could watch grow up.’

Winnie’s mouth hung open slightly. Despite Mrs Mannix’s questionable dress sense, her voice was decidedly posh. Who knew she came from such humble beginnings?

Shaking her head, Mrs Mannix pushed on. ‘Even so, moving to Kingston from Adelaide because of Peter’s work was truly wonderful. The local community has been more of a family than I’ve ever known before. Through thick and thin, the people have taken me under their wing.’

That Lorraine woman aside, obviously. Mrs Mannix’s life made Winnie’s woes pale into insignificance. For some reason, Winnie’s nightmare about the lighthouse flitted into her mind and she couldn’t help asking, ‘Do you . . . do you ever feel your husband’s presence still? Since he passed?’

The old woman gazed at her with watery blue eyes. ‘Always, dear.’ She pressed a hand above her chest. ‘He’s in my heart.’

Suddenly, his appearance in Winnie’s dream seemed less nightmarish and just sad. Overwhelmingly sad.

Winnie surprised herself by heading with Cyndi to the backyard gym of a fisherman’s wife. Coupled with working smack-bang across the road from the Cakewalk Bakery, overindulging in Mrs Mannix’s cherry-choc biccies had been the clincher. To think a few short days ago, she wouldn’t have been caught within a hair’s breadth of the kooky beautician.

At the shed-turned-gym, there were no shiny cross-trainers or treadmills, unlike the slick Sydney outfit where Winnie had put a membership on hold. All that could be seen were some sweaty-looking padded exercise mats on the ground and an overly perky woman at the front, greeting the locals as they straggled in.

Cyndi wanted to look good for the Miss Showgirl judging she was doing at the upcoming South-East Field Days. For Winnie, the gym was her alternative to her usual trashy midweek TV night with Bruna, watching
Snog, Marry, Avoid?
and
Fashion Star.

Cyndi glanced over at Winnie before the class started. ‘Hey, would you be free Sunday week, around lunchtime? I’m throwing a baby shower for Honey. I’ve got a whole bunch of silly games planned, so it’ll be fun, not boring, I promise.’

‘Bummer, I might have to miss out.’ Winnie picked at a jagged nail. ‘A friend of mine’s coming up from Sydney and I’m not sure what she wants to see or do yet. Plus, it’s my birthday weekend, too – sorry.’ She didn’t add that the one thing she was
sure
Bruna wouldn’t want to do was attend a baby shower in a backwater, unless blingy prizes, expensive Bugaboo prams and celebrity guests were in the mix.

Cyndi tugged back the fabric of her aqua top, where it had fallen off her freckled shoulder. ‘No problem. Just thought I’d ask. And if you do wind up having the time and feel the urge, your friend’s more than welcome to tag along, too, of course.’

‘Thanks,’ Winnie mumbled, though she was certain it was one party invite Bruna would happily turn down. ‘Actually, Cyndi, I have something I wanted to ask you, too.’ She filled the beautician in on her idea of a makeover for Olive the following week.

As Cyndi clapped her hands together excitedly at the prospect, her generously sized breasts jostled like puppies beneath her top. ‘Ooh, that’d be fun. Olive doesn’t realise half the assets she’s got, aside from those pins she’s always flaunting. Count me in. I’d love to help out.’

‘Brilliant!’

Winnie took a slug from her water bottle just as an over-confident voice wafted into her right ear. One that made her blood chill. ‘Hello again.’

Turning, Winnie snagged gazes with the
Coastal Herald
reporter with the laughing violet eyes, the one who’d written a gossip item about her and the whole jukebox-dancing episode. Darn being early to class. Now the blonde was unfolding her svelte frame on the adjacent exercise mat. Super. She must be using her country gig as a leg-up at the start of her media career as she had a distinctly eastern-states air about her.

Winnie coughed. ‘Uh, hi . . . Yasmin, isn’t it?’ Unfortunately, she’d have to play nice or risk winding up in the catty column again.

‘It is indeed – Yasmin Cox,’ the journalist said with an emphasis on her surname. Along with making Winnie think of male appendages, the reporter’s name reminded her of a contraceptive pill brand. Not a good combination. ‘I’m in training for a few triathlons,’ Yasmin pushed on, ‘so I thought I’d better drop in here ASAP. You?’

A
few
triathlons. Of course.

Winnie moved her hands about in a hopeless sort of gesture. ‘Just, uh, general fitness.’

Nodding, Yasmin toyed with her purposely messy topknot, then leant forwards. ‘So . . . how’s the little magazine going?’

Suddenly, as clear as day, Winnie could see
Beach Life
as Yasmin saw it: competition. She sat up straighter, feeling buoyed. ‘It’s going great guns actually. Swimmingly. We’ve got a lot of exciting stuff locked in for our first edition. I couldn’t be happier.’ It was a slight overstatement, but Yasmin wasn’t to know. ‘How about the
rag
? All going well?’

Yasmin smoothed a non-existent wrinkle on her yellow sports crop. A diamond bellybutton ring gleamed at her taut, tanned navel. ‘Travelling along nicely. There’s so much to cover. And deadline’s over for the week, which is always good.’

Thankfully she’d missed the scoop on Winnie exiting Cyndi’s beauty salon naked save for a robe. Biting her lip at the memory, Winnie nodded. ‘So, have you been at the
Herald
long?’

‘About a year, and in Naracoorte before that. I’m from Adelaide, but country newspapers are a brilliant training ground, I reckon.’ She wet her finger and ran it over an eyebrow. ‘I’ve got my eye on a gig at WIN News next.’

‘Nice.’ Winnie could just imagine Yasmin’s picture-perfect features gracing TV screens, too. She was certainly blonde enough, courtesy of the peroxide bottle.

‘What about you?’ Yasmin fastened Winnie with her steely gaze. ‘Where do you see yourself next?’

Cyndi’s presence suddenly felt larger than life beside her. Discreetly scratching her arm so as to avoid looking into Yasmin’s truth-seeking peepers, Winnie said, as breezily as possible, ‘Oh, I haven’t really thought about it yet. I’m happy where I am right now.’
Cough, cough.

‘Huh.’ Not having a career plan didn’t really seem to compute with Yasmin. After a beat, she said, ‘Well, I guess having Alex Bass on your books would be distracting. Talk about serious eye candy.’ She tittered. ‘Half the town wants to know if you two are an item. Spill the goss! Promise I won’t tell a soul.’

Yeah, right. What was it with this town trying to lump her and Alex together, just because they were young and single? It was ridiculous. Winnie felt Cyndi’s gaze searing into her skin.

‘We’re definitely
not
an item,’ she offered primly. ‘There’s absolutely nothing going on between us beyond a working relationship. Feel free to print
that
.’

‘Mmm hmm,’ Yasmin murmured, not looking entirely convinced.

Thankfully, Winnie was saved by Shania Twain as the stereo was turned up, signalling the start of the class. Being on the other end of a reporter’s probing wasn’t half as fun as doing the probing yourself.