Licence to Dream (11 page)

It was a modernised two-storey colonial building, with verandas and balconies, typical early Australian architecture. Her upstairs room was cool and shaded, furnished with old-fashioned wooden pieces instead of square minimalist furniture. It looked out over brick-paved courtyards filled with tubs of plants and flowers.

She wished she had someone to spend the evening with. Perhaps she should have accepted Ben Elless’s invitation? No, better not. She’d checked the hotel register before she booked a room, to make sure he wasn’t staying there. If he had been, she’d have found somewhere else.

When she went down that evening Meriel found the restaurant as quietly elegant as the rest of the hotel. As she was choosing her meal, a shadow fell across the table and she looked up into Ben Elless' smiling, sun-tanned face. Her heart started to thud and the worst of it was, she didn't know whether she was glad or sorry to see him.

‘I'd really welcome some company tonight. May I join you?’

She hesitated, trying to resist the temptation to say yes, and failing.

‘Please?’ he begged, clasping his hands together at his chest in a gesture of mock supplication.

‘Well . . . ’ she began, then fell silent. He really did have the most delightful smile. And perhaps if she got to know him better, it might cure her of this ridiculous reaction every time she saw him. ‘You must be in the mood for an argument, Elless,’ she said, smiling back at him in spite of herself.

‘Couldn't we cry truce tonight? I'll promise to be on my very best behaviour, if you'll just smile kindly at me from time to time.’

‘Oh – why not? Sit down.’

It was his turn to hesitate. ‘Be honest. Would you rather I took another table? I won't impose myself on you if I'm making you feel uncomfortable. After all, you've already refused to have dinner with me four times.’

‘I’d welcome a bit of company tonight as well, actually.’ What harm could there possibly be in sharing a table with him for one meal? As he sat down, she took the initiative firmly into her own hands. ‘Tell me about yourself.’

 ‘Thirty-four, in excellent health, only child. And you?’

‘That's a thumb-nail sketch if ever I heard one.’ He was probably married. He must be married, a good-looking man like him. It was out before she could stop herself. ‘Are you married?’

He stiffened. ‘That's a very personal question.’

She raised her brows. ‘I like to know where I stand with people.’

He tossed the question back at her. ‘Why? Are
you
married?’

‘No.’

‘Divorced?’

‘Certainly not! When I marry – if I ever do – it'll be for ever, as far as I'm concerned. I don't believe in on-off relationships. And you didn't answer my question.
Are
you married?’

‘Not now.’

Why did she feel so disappointed. ‘Divorced?’

‘No.’ He took a deep breath, then said in a quiet level voice that didn’t match the pain on his face, ‘My wife died in a car accident.’

‘Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to . . . ’ Meriel couldn’t think what to say, so laid her hand on his for a moment.

Before she could pull away, he had taken hold of her hand, as if he needed the comfort she was offering. He was looking down at it as he added, ‘It happened four years ago. I should be used to it by now, but the memory still sinks its claws in sometimes.’

From the expression on his face, he must have loved his wife very much. That was hard to reconcile with the image she’d built up in her mind. She looked away, giving him time to recover, but didn’t like to pull her hand away.

When she raised her eyes to his, the mood changed again and he gave her a wry smile. ‘Sexual attraction can spring up between the unlikeliest people, can’t it?’ He chuckled at her discomfiture. ‘You did say you like to know where you stand, didn’t you?’

She could feel the flush creeping across her face and couldn't think of a smart response.

He let go of her hand and picked up the menu. ‘What shall we eat, then, Ms Ingram?’

‘Why do you keep addressing me so formally?’ She was rather puzzled by that after such a frank exchange.

‘Because I don't actually know your first name, except that it begins with an M.’ He put his head on one side. ‘Mary doesn’t suit you, nor does Margaret. Miranda, perhaps? Or Matilda?’

She couldn’t help laughing. ‘Not quite. My name's Meriel.’

‘Meriel. Unusual, but it suits you. What on earth is a woman like you doing looking at properties in a small country town like York?’

‘What do you mean by ‘a woman like me’?’

‘Someone so attractive. You should be on the front cover of magazines, not hidden away on the back blocks.’

His voice was honey-warm as he murmured, for her ears only, ‘You must be aware that you're good looking. I'm surprised you didn't go into modelling with that face and hair.’

She had never been good at accepting compliments, especially about her looks. ‘I'm not tall enough. Models are usually six foot tall. I'm a shortie, only five foot two.’

‘Five foot two, eyes of blue,
’ he sang in a rich baritone voice.
‘Has anybody seen my girl?
Do you always blush like that when someone pays you a compliment?’

She scowled at him. ‘Yes. So don’t do it again. And my eyes are green, not blue.’

He smiled and patted her hand. ‘I’ll stick to insults and witty repartee from now on, if you prefer that. So what
are
you doing here, Meriel?’

‘I'm looking for a place I can call my own, a small house with a few acres and a view – as I already told you. And now that I don't need to work for my living any more – or at least, not full-time, I can please myself.’

‘It must have been a considerable legacy.’

‘Enough to manage on for a while, if I'm careful.’

‘And have you found your shangri-la yet?’

Innate caution made her say, ‘Not yet.’

‘What will you do with yourself when you do find your country retreat? Won't you get bored all on your own?’

‘Perhaps. I don't think so, though. I have my – er – hobbies.’

‘Dare one ask what they are?’

‘If
one
is prepared to talk about one's own life and pastimes,’ she retorted. ‘What were
you
doing out at Somerlee?’

‘Looking round my uncle’s properties – there’s one nearby where I used to spend the summers when I was a lad. I need to get some idea of their value and look at what borders them.’

There. She’d known he wasn’t seriously looking for a home. ‘And what do
you
do for a living?’

‘Landscape gardening. Though it’s more of an obsession, really.’

‘Gardening!
I can't imagine
you
gardening.’

‘Now why do I feel you're not being complimentary when you say that? I'll have you know that I'm besotted with begonias, rabid about roses and quite delirious about delphiniums.’

She had to laugh and when he joined in, she realised yet again how attractive he was. Seeking a safer, less personal topic, she steered the discussion round to native plants and the correct way to develop a native garden in Australia.

York wasn’t in the outback, where you measured your property in square miles. It reminded her in some ways of England, a cosy little town, surrounded by rolling hills with occasional outcrops of smooth, rounded rock. But the colours were different. The grass in the fields had now turned to its summer shade of dusty beige, the soil was reddish and the gum trees were dull green in tone, not the fresher green of English foliage.

Even the houses were very different – one storey mostly, with colonial styling and verandas. Some of them were old and shabby, with corrugated tin roofs and walls formed by strips of wood on a sagging frame. They looked as if they'd blow down in a strong breeze.

Ben was very well informed about the techniques of landscaping with native plants, and she found what he said both interesting and useful. When he recommended a couple of books for beginners, she took out her notebook and jotted the titles down.

He chuckled. ‘I might have known you'd carry a notebook.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘You even look as if you're well-organised.’

‘Not all blondes are dumb, Elless.’

‘Indeed, they're not, Ingram. My mother's a blonde and no one would ever call her stupid.’

That remark disarmed her completely. He was, she decided, looking at him sideways, quite lethally attractive. She shouldn’t have risked this encounter. She was sure he had set out to charm her this evening and he had succeeded, too, damn him!

When the meal was over, she excused herself and he made no attempt to detain her or follow her to her room, just walked with her to the door of the restaurant and left her there with a casual wave of the hand.

She had to admit to a touch of disappointment about that. Maybe he was only passing a pleasant hour in her company and would forget her as soon as he walked away. No! That wasn’t true. He’d talked about the attraction between them and they’d both experienced it. Anyway, his eyes spoke for him. They showed exactly how he felt, lingering on her face, smiling at her, as he ignored everything else that was happening in the room.

She hoped her eyes hadn’t betrayed too much of what she was feeling.

Loneliness hit her as she locked the door of her room behind her and since she wanted someone to give her an unbiased opinion of Somerlee, she rang Rosanna before she went to bed.

‘Would you like to drive out to York for lunch tomorrow and look over a place I’m thinking of buying?’

‘York? Why do you want to live so far out of the city?’

‘For the peace and quiet. Will you come?’

‘Of course I will, but I’ll have to bring Karl. Where are you? OK. Got that. We’ll meet you at ten, then. Good thing I’m an early riser.’

‘Thanks. I’ll buy lunch.’

‘No need. It’ll make a pleasant day out. Look, I’ll bring my cousin Paolo as well. He’s in the building industry and knows all about property.’

She rang off before Meriel could protest that she did not want a date with Paolo. How many cousins did her friend have?

* * * *

Meriel asked Rosanna not to appear enthusiastic in front of Bill when he showed them Somerlee, no pretence was needed. Rosanna teetered around the property in high-heeled sandals, shrieking at the sight of a big racehorse goanna running along the ground near the damp creek bed. She shuddered at the numerous skinks running in and out of crevices on the back veranda, though the tiny lizards were a common sight in the city as well, and she complained loudly about the isolation.

As the four of them stood in the kitchen, Paolo turned to Meriel and whispered earnestly, ‘Not good, this place. Lousy location. Poor resale value.’

Watching her friend cuddle up to Karl, Meriel thought how nice it must be to be so much in love. Since the fiasco with Gary she seemed to have lost the ability to trust anyone whole-heartedly.

Get real, Ingram!
she told herself.
The last thing you need at the moment is a guy in your life.

She went to stand by the family room window, watching the estate agent stroll up and down the lawn to give them time to talk privately about Somerlee. ‘I love it here,’ she said softly. ‘I think I'm going to make an offer. No, don’t try to change my mind, because you won’t. But don't tell Bill when he comes inside again. I'll leave it for a while, then I'll let him persuade me to try a low offer. Shh! He's coming . . . Hi, Bill. We're just leaving. I'll have to think things over.’

‘But you do like Somerlee?’

‘I like it but I don't like the price. I told you: I'm not made of money. And there's too much land.’

‘It's not a good place for a woman on her own,’ said Paolo severely.

Rosanna moved forward. ‘Haven't you got something nearer town to show us, Mr Lansome? Something with neighbours?’

‘This place has neighbours, well, one neighbour, anyway.’

‘I can't see any other houses,’ Rosanna objected. ‘Neighbours should be within screaming distance, if you want my opinion.’

His scowl said he didn't.

‘Who's the neighbour?’ Meriel nudged her friend to be quiet.

‘Johnny Elless' nephew.’

‘What?’ Meriel's heart did a big somersault. Right next door? Why did Fate keep throwing her and Ben together like this?

‘He’s living in Johnny's old shack, just over the rise there. Nice young fellow, he is. Single, too.’ He winked at Meriel as he said that.

She kept her expression calm only with an effort. ‘I've already met him. He told me he lived in Queensland.’

‘He does. He’s not here permanently, just visiting for a week or two. Used to come here for the summer holidays as a lad, if I remember correctly. He's inherited a few other properties in the district as well. Great believer in the future of our region, old Johnny was. Sad loss that he died so young. Only seventy-one, you know.’

Meriel decided they’d been discussing Ben Elless and his concerns for too long. ‘Yes, well, I wish Mr Elless luck. I'll come into your office tomorrow. You said you might have some other places to show me. We'll talk it all over then. Perhaps something nearer town would suit me better, as Rosanna said.’

After that the four of them went for lunch and a stroll round town, but Meriel was glad when the others returned to Perth. There was absolutely no spark between her and Paolo, though he was a pleasant enough guy, as you would expect of Rosanna's cousin.

She sat on the balcony of her hotel room for a while, going over her calculations and mentally reviewing the situation. Perhaps she would stay on for another night or two so that she could get to know the area better. No need to make any final decisions today or even tomorrow.

In the evening, she again put on the one smart dress she’d brought with her, midnight blue with a soft, floaty skirt that could travel without crushing. As she went down to the restaurant, she couldn’t help wondering whether she’d see Ben again, hoping she would. He was an interesting companion, a good talker and an equally good listener.

She was disappointed to see no sign of him in the restaurant. How pitiful was that for an independent woman!