Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance (24 page)

‘So.’ She hurried to catch up with Olive. ‘Your late night wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain optometrist named Oscar, would it? You’ve been pretty quiet on the subject since the town hall seminar.’

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Olive offered cryptically.

‘C’mon, I need details, girl.’

‘Okay, okay. We might have caught up and phoned each other a few times. And I like to think I’ve relaxed around him a bit more.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess I just want to make sure he’s the right fit first, though, before I go blurting out too much. You know, not rush things, like I did with that first guy I followed to Kingston; have my head in the sand.’

‘Whatever happened to that guy anyway?’ Winnie asked curiously. ‘Would I know him?’

‘Nah.’ Olive’s eyes uncharacteristically darkened. ‘He racked off to wine country in Coonawarra, never to be seen again. Thank goodness.’ She stopped suddenly and Winnie nearly bumped into her. Olive lowered her voice. ‘He was a nasty sort actually. Used to throw me around a bit.’

Winnie pressed a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Olive, that’s terrible.’

‘It’s probably why I’ve been a bit terrified to love again. Preferred one-night stands and lusting after country singers from afar, that sort of thing.’

‘That would make sense,’ Winnie said softly, rubbing the ad manager’s forearm. ‘For what it’s worth, Oscar seems a good sort.’

‘Thanks, Win.’

And just like that, it made sense why Olive had been like a roo caught in headlights in the face of her crush on Oscar, why she presented such a tough facade half the time. Winnie felt for her.

Nearing the stands, Winnie had her mind on another no-good sort. Perhaps he wasn’t on quite the same level as Olive’s ex, but he was damaging for her, emotionally at least. She did a quick scan of those who preferred barracking from the metal benches to sitting in their vehicles. One part of her prayed Alex wasn’t among them and another small, sad part of her hoped he was.

Urgh. Rather than Alex, she spied other familiar faces in the crowd: Eden and Mrs D, all decked out in the club colours of red, white and black. Eden, obviously there to support her footy star fiancé, had teamed the look with pearl earrings. Winnie gave a reluctant wave, though she made sure to keep a safe distance. Time with the Delawares needed to be limited.

Her gaze flicked to the oval again, for want of anything better to do, and it was her turn to freeze. Finding her feet again, she sped up behind Olive. ‘I didn’t know
Alex
played footy,’ she hissed.

‘Alex?’ Olive echoed distractedly, her mind obviously set on food and food alone. She followed Winnie’s stare. ‘Oh, I think he fills in occasionally. When the club’s strapped or doesn’t want to tire out its good players. He’s fit, but it’s obvious he hasn’t grown up playing the game. Still, he’s good enough.’

‘Huh.’

Winnie joined Olive at the end of the food queue, the smell of hot pastries making her stomach grumble in spite of herself. Every so often, she allowed her eyes to wander back to Alex on field.

If women were in charge of picking who played, she knew they’d choose Alex, hands down – if only due to the way the uniform flaunted his muscular arms and thighs to perfection. Not that his buff form should do anything for her. Not that her fingers should itch to wipe the sweat off his brow or smooth his unruly hair. On personality, on the respect he showed women who cared for him, he wouldn’t pass the test.

‘Crap!’

Winnie tore her eyes away from the field to glance at Olive, who was looking down mournfully at her charcoal tank top. It bore a whitish splodge of bird dropping.

‘Stupid seagulls!’ Olive plucked the front of her top for closer inspection, revealing a hint of purple satin bra beneath. ‘Trust my rotten luck.’

‘Um, I thought it was good luck,’ Winnie hedged, if only to make her colleague feel better.

A figure, just leaving the queue, was at Olive’s side in three long strides. ‘Uh, this might help.’

It was Chester Wyatt, looking typically red-faced. He extended a folded serviette and water bottle in Olive’s direction. Grumpily, the redhead took them both from his fingertips, heaving out a sigh.

‘Thanks,’ she huffed, sounding anything but. She quickly turned to Winnie. ‘I’m going to the ladies to try to clean up this mess. Don’t forget my pie! I’ll give you the money later.’

‘Got it,’ Winnie said, before shooting an apologetic look at Chester as Olive raced off. ‘That was kind of you. And please ignore my friend – she’s just miffed about her top. And a bit sleep-deprived.’

‘No problem.’ Chester shrugged shyly, offering a half-smile, then drifted away again.

As Winnie watched him go, light suddenly dawned. Could the soon-to-be reality TV star actually be infatuated with the feisty Olive? Despite a gaggle of bachelorettes set to throw themselves at him and TV fame looming? They
did
say opposites attracted. And stranger things had happened. Not that Olive appeared to have noticed any of his kind actions. Though quiet, he seemed another good sort.

Shouts from players and fans saw Winnie’s focus pulled back to the football field. Okay, along with the prospect of spying Alex in action. Her gaze homed in on the fisherman just as he leapt up like a panther and – 
oh dear
 – headed the ball.

‘It’s not bloody soccer,’ a spectator jeered from the sidelines.

Landing back on the grass, Alex rubbed his forehead, seeming a little dazed. And embarrassed. Good.

Before an ounce of sympathy could register, Winnie put a hand to her mouth, swallowing a giggle. Even she knew it wasn’t the done thing to head-butt the oval-shaped ball, not in Aussie Rules. She hoped the humiliation cut him deep. Gave him a little taste of the way his rejection had cut her. It felt small and mean, but it was really all she had at her disposal – short of throwing a cake in his face, à la Cyndi.

For Alex, it was sweet torture being so near Winnie yet unable to lay a finger on her. Of course, it was his own fault. Or that of his circumstances, at least. But it didn’t mean the proximity didn’t kill him.

They were at the ceremony rehearsal for Eden and Flynn, a week before the couple’s big day. Everyone involved in the wedding was there, from the bridal party to the classical musicians. Eden had also asked Alex to take some practice snaps to ensure she had the right facial expression when she walked down the aisle. At the request, Alex had had to grit his teeth and remind himself that attending to a client’s every whim was all part of the job. The quaint country church provided a calming backdrop, at least, with its timber trusses, classic columns and stained-glass windows – the latter rattling slightly in the breezy night.

Alex held his breath as Winnie made her third practice trip down the aisle in time to the music. The journo-cum-bridesmaid was worth a million Allira Beccis. More. He knew that now. He’d hated being chummy with the model in front of Winnie after . . . everything. But he’d had to keep Allira sweet, warning her early he’d be at the shoot under a new persona and not, under any circumstances, to mention his past. Allira might be vacuous but he knew she wouldn’t go running to the tabloids – in that regard, she was harmless. She didn’t need the five minutes of fame. If only she hadn’t kept calling him ‘Cy’.

A small gift he had for Winnie burned in his pocket. It was a friendship gift – all he could offer at this point in time; when he couldn’t be entirely truthful about who he was, when he could only give half of himself. He just needed the right moment to approach her with the token.

‘No, no, no. I don’t like that song for the exit,’ Eden’s voice cut over the string quartet. ‘Can we try another number?’ The musicians fumbled with their sheet music while Eden was busy folding her arms and tapping her foot.

And there was Alex’s moment.

Winnie neared, her familiar citrusy perfume hanging in the air. Something about her slightly windblown hair, looking like she’d just gotten out of bed, caused an ache down below. He put out a hand to stop her as she passed and she flinched. It was now or never, though. Fishing in his pocket, he found the small object he was after and pressed it into her hand before she could wrench it away.

‘I found this out fishing today,’ he whispered as the string quartet tried out another musical piece for Eden’s approval. ‘Dangling from the lighthouse platform – almost blinded me. The water was good so we could get real close today. I thought you might like it.’

Winnie uncurled her fingers and stared at her palm. A French angelfish pendant, just like the one Mrs Mannix always wore, twinkled there. Her head jerked up again, her face white, apart from her sun-blushed nose, and her eyes haunted, almost like she’d seen a ghost.

‘You found this?’ Her voice cracked. ‘On the platform?’

He nodded, not sure whether she was uncertain about the pendant itself or his giving her a gift. ‘Yeah.’ He massaged the back of his neck with his camera-free hand, trying to keep his tone light. ‘It was wedged between some wooden planks. Good thing gold doesn’t corrode. It could have been there for eons. I thought it was a happy coincidence, after the photo and all.’

Winnie didn’t appear to be listening any more, though. Eyes glazed, she forged ahead again zombie-like, without another word.

His skin prickled as he glanced over his shoulder at her retreating back. What had he done? He stupidly thought she’d like the pendant. That she was over all the stuff about that old woman. Obviously he’d thought wrong. He was clearly lucky Winnie hadn’t thrown the necklace back in his face.

Two months in the country and Winnie had clearly lost the plot. Why else, after the wedding rehearsal, had she sped off to rouse some poor old lady from her sleep? But she couldn’t wait a moment longer. She had to share what she’d discovered before she burst.

It was a good thing she’d be back in Sydney before long, all going to plan, like Dorothy returning to Oz. She’d gotten a call about an interview – an actual interview – for the maternity-leave gig at
Panache
. And she felt more spurred on than ever to ace it. As was typical of life, when one area was falling apart – the relationship sector, particularly – another began to flourish. Her excuse to Christa about the upcoming trip home, in case she bumped into her, would be that she was attending a ‘family matter’. Hey, her dad
did
live in the harbour city. The editorial director needn’t know she had no intention of visiting him while there.

Resolving things for Mrs Mannix – her current mission – would be a fitting end to Winnie’s time in Kingston in a strange sort of way. After jumping out of her car, she marched up to Mrs Mannix’s door and buzzed the bell. Determination warred with nerves.

Within minutes, the older woman appeared in the doorway, clad in a pink dressing-gown. Her silver French twist looked slightly lopsided. She probably turned down the sheets at seven. As usual, her angelfish necklace shimmered at her neck.

‘Winnie – is something the matter?’

Winnie felt her bottom lip tremble, overcome by sudden emotion. She might as well get to the point. ‘Doris Starling told me everything about your worries regarding your husband. But he
did
love you.’ She pressed the necklace Alex had given her into the woman’s hand. ‘Peter had an identical pendant to yours, didn’t he? So this was his. An acquaintance of mine found it on the lighthouse platform while out fishing and I was fiddling with it at church just now. When I opened it, I found proof that Peter loved you, and you alone, whether you could give him children or not. And for the record, he never had a thing for Lorraine Burgess,’cause I asked her.’

Mrs Mannix was staring, mouth slightly open, at the pendant in her hand. Winnie reached to grab it back again. She fumbled with the accessory, causing a secret compartment to spring open at its rear. A tip of rolled-up paper was revealed. Winnie pulled it out, unfurling with a flourish the small black-and-white photo of a twenty-something June. She knew it was her, because Mrs Mannix still wore the same hairstyle.

‘It’s a picture of you. He must have had the hidden compartment added in so he could always have you close at heart, even at sea,’ Winnie plunged on. ‘On the back, it reads “The only one, always and forever”. So romantic. Peter must have been wearing it when he got swept off the lighthouse, the necklace catching on the platform. This was a man who loved you with all his heart and soul, Mrs Mannix. He was a
stayer
.’ Unlike Alex, or any other male in Winnie’s life for that matter.

Mrs Mannix remained speechless, her face disbelieving.

A lump constricted Winnie’s throat, making her voice hoarse. ‘I know what it’s like to feel unloved, unwanted, unworthy – like a waste of space – but you weren’t any of those things, Mrs Mannix. Please believe me. You were very much loved.’

She hauled in a deep breath, waiting for some sort of reaction, a semblance of life, as the sea air swirled around them. The seconds ticked by, and
nothing
. Then, all of a sudden, the older woman looked up, her blue eyes shining. Stepping forwards, she enveloped Winnie in a warm hug, smelling of baking and mothballs.

‘Thank you, dear,’ she whispered, her voice sounding choked. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure,’ Winnie said, squeezing back tears.

It felt like a weight had been lifted from both their shoulders.

Winnie shifted for the millionth time on the white leather couch in
Panache
’s reception. She’d come straight from Sydney Airport to the magazine’s offices, where her big interview for the fashion editor role was mere minutes away. Well, there’d been a quick detour when she’d dumped her suitcase inside the front door of her old apartment, but that was all. Next she was meeting Bruna at a city watering hole for Friday night drinks – and a debrief – like old times. She wasn’t mad at her housemate any more for forgoing the Kingston trip. These things happened. She was just excited to see her.

Winnie’s gaze drifted to the chicly dressed receptionist, who could double as a model, typing madly at her desk. Then to the framed magazine covers on the back wall.

Winnie was doing her darnedest to practise possible interview responses in her head, but her thoughts kept wandering back to Kingston. Like pondering how Cyndi was doing since the whole T-Bone episode at the field days. Or how Honey was faring with her due date so near. And Olive, who’d been coy about her dating success with the optometrist dreamboat, though she
had
mysteriously revealed she had a date for Eden’s wedding. Winnie even wondered about Casper, who was being looked after by her divorcee neighbour. It was strange adding up how many people – and beings – had come into her life since only a few months ago.

Disturbingly, Winnie also thought about Alex. Ironically, she’d been worried about somehow accidentally touching him at the ceremony rehearsal – then
he’d
approached
her
, pressing that necklace right into her palm. It was so, so typical of him, coming on all heavy like a Sydney bogong moth plague, then disappearing again. But, unfortunately for him, emotional scattiness was her new deal-breaker. She wouldn’t tolerate it any more. She deserved better.

‘
Panache
magazine, Margarita speaking,’ the receptionist trilled into her phone headset, interrupting Winnie’s thoughts temporarily.

Margherita. It reminded Winnie of a cocktail and what she’d be downing with Bruna in under an hour. She could hardly wait.

Zoning out again, Winnie picked up a copy of
Panache
from a stack next to her. She leafed through to a fashion shoot at the centre, featuring an It girl living off the notoriety of a recently leaked sex tape. Again, Winnie’s mind wandered – this time to Allira Becci and the five-finger discount the model had given herself on the designer shades at the shoot. Even after Winnie had said no to taking them. She’d discovered the sunnies were missing afterwards, when she was ticking off the stock to send back. It was another cost Winnie would have to grin and bear. Better than upsetting the talent and having the cover pulled at the eleventh hour. So long as the launch went off without a hitch, she’d be more than happy.

A thought niggled at Winnie – the idea of regularly working with celebs like Allira at
Panache
didn’t appeal as much as it once would have. In fact, it even scared her a little, made her feel exhausted before she’d even begun. But she was sure she’d get used to doing so if
Panache
hired her. The big expanse of sky and fresh country air in Kingston had just made her soft, that was all. A little time back in Sydney and she’d harden up again. If she could handle life in the sticks, she could handle any wayward A-listers.

‘Ms Cherry?’ The receptionist was calling her, and by the slightly harried look on her face, she must have repeated her name several times.

‘Oh, sorry, yes?’ Winnie sprang to her feet, nervously dusting down the front of her skirt in readiness.

‘Sharon is waiting for you,’ the receptionist purred, pronouncing the editor’s name as ‘Sha-rohn’, like Citroen. So wannabe pretentious – and so Sydney. ‘Just head through that doorway. Hers is the third office on the left.’

Winnie nodded. ‘Right . . . thank you.’

She sucked in a breath. Her next life direction possibly lay beyond that fate-filled third door.

‘Fancy another glass of liquid confidence?’ Bruna shouted in Winnie’s ear over the pounding music.

‘Another drink?’ Winnie clarified, adjusting her handbag on the crook of her elbow.

Bruna grinned at her like a Cheshire cat. The multicoloured lights created a halo effect around the finance worker’s dark locks, though she was anything but angelic. ‘I reckon that legal eagle over there’s got one with your name written all over it.’

Of course Winnie should have known her housemate wouldn’t be dipping into her own sequinned purse. ‘Actually,’ Winnie said tiredly, not in the right frame of mind to talk to some boring suit, ‘I might get my own. You want anything?’

Bruna’s jaw slackened, looking aghast. ‘What are they putting in the water in Kingston?’ She nudged Winnie’s side. ‘You’ve changed, girl.’ But thankfully Bruna was quickly distracted by something – some
body
 – across the room, winding a strand of hair coquettishly around her finger. ‘I think I’m all set, though.’ Her code for being on the prowl. ‘Thanks anyway.’

‘Cool,’ Winnie murmured.

Pushing forward, she navigated her way around pointy elbows and oversized handbags, feeling like her personal space was being invaded. In truth, Winnie couldn’t wait to hit the sack, though was trying to put on her best game face for Bruna. Her feet ached from being in heels all day and the constant city noise had given her a slight headache.

After Kingston, it had felt strange not bumping into a single person she recognised on the way there, though she’d sidestepped being ambushed by various charity tin collectors. She’d forgotten how Sydney could make her feel like an anonymous speck.

Squeezing into a space at the bar, Winnie looked up at the shelves of colourful glass bottles, trying to decide what she wanted. If anything. She should really be celebrating. The interview with Sha-rohn had gone extremely well, despite the editrix seeming even scarier than Christa – if that were possible. Perhaps it was just the woman’s puffy collagen lips and her Scottish accent, thicker than her false lashes, that had slightly unnerved Winnie. Or just a case of better the devil you know. At any rate, Sharon had seemed impressed with her, gushing over the pics from the Allira Becci shoot. Winnie had an inkling the job was in the bag. Likely she’d have more energy tomorrow to kick up her heels. Surely Bruna wouldn’t mind if they had an early one tonight?

‘Winnie – fancy seeing you here.’

She turned at the sound of a familiar, charming voice and felt her ovaries shrivel. Grant, her magazine publisher’s executive chairman, all suited up, stood before her – the very person who’d seen her banished to Kingston in the first place.