Читать книгу Christmas Gift: A Family - Barbara Hannay - Страница 8

BINDI CREEK had its last-minute pre-Christmas rush shortly after Hugh left. It seemed to Jo that almost every household in the township, as well as some from outlying properties, suddenly remembered that the shop would be closed for the next two days and that they needed items vital for Christmas.

No doubt it was paranoia, but Jo couldn’t help wondering if some of them had come to the shop just to spy on her. At least two of the local women hinted—with very unsubtle nudges and winks—that they’d heard from Hilda Bligh about Jo’s special visitor. One of them actually said that she’d heard the Martens were expecting a visit from Ivy’s father.

Jo pretended she had no idea what they were talking about.

Apart from these awkward moments, she was happy to be kept busy. The work kept her mind from straying Hugh-wards.

Brad and Nick, two of her brothers who worked further out west on cattle properties, arrived home around eight. They came into the shop and greeted her with hugs and back slaps and they hung about for ten minutes or so, catching up on her news. Then they went back into the house for the warmed leftover dinner Mum had saved for them.

Jo ate a scratch meal at the counter and she was tired when it was time to close up the shop. She went to lock the front door and looked out into the street and took a few deep breaths. It was a hot, still summer’s night and the air felt dry and dusty, but despite this she caught a hint of frangipani and night-scented jasmine drifting from nearby gardens.

Overhead, the Christmas Eve sky was cloudless and clear and splashed with an extravaganza of silver-bright stars. Grace and Tilly would be watching that sky from their bedroom window, hoping for a glimpse of Santa Claus and his reindeer. And Mum would be warning Eric and Bill not to spoil their little sisters’ fantasies.

What would little Ivy be doing out at Agate Downs? Had she received her present? Had she liked the lavender unicorn? For a moment Jo let her mind play with the mystery of Hugh Strickland and this child. She could picture him very clearly as he climbed out of his vehicle with the toy unicorn clutched in one hand. Goodness, she should have put it in something more attractive than a plastic bag.

Thinking about him and his mysterious errand caused an unwelcome pang around her heart. She shivered and rubbed her arms to chase away goose-bumps. What was the point of thinking over and over about Hugh? Perhaps she was getting man-crazy. It was six months since she’d broken up with Damien.

She locked the doors, pulled down the blinds, locked the till and turned out the lights in the shop. It was time to slip into her bedroom to wrap her presents. Once the children were safely asleep, she would have fun setting the brightly wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree in the lounge room.

The Berrys enjoyed a no-frills Christmas Eve. She’d have a cup of tea with Mum and they’d both put their feet up. The older boys would sit out on the back veranda with Dad, yarning about cattle and drinking their first icy-cold Christmas beer, while she and Mum talked over their final plans for the festive meals tomorrow.

She hadn’t quite completed the gift-wrapping saga when there was a knock on her bedroom door. ‘Who is it?’ she called softly, not wanting to wake her sisters in the next room.

‘It’s Mum.’

‘Just a minute.’ Jo had been wrapping her mother’s presents—French perfume and a CD compilation of her mum’s favourite music from the sixties and seventies—so she slipped these quickly under her pillow. ‘I’m almost finished.’

When she opened the door her mother looked strangely excited. ‘You have a visitor.’

‘Really? Who is it?’

‘An Englishman. He says his name’s Hugh Strickland.’

An arrow-swift jolt shot through Jo. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’ Margie Berry’s brow wrinkled into a worried frown. ‘Who is he, love? He seems very nice and polite, but do you want me to send him away?’

‘Oh, no,’ Jo answered quickly. ‘He’s just a customer. He—he was in the shop this afternoon.’

‘Yes, he told me that. He said you were very helpful.’ Margie looked expectant, but Jo was reluctant to go into details.

Her mind raced. Why was Hugh here? He was supposed to be at Agate Downs. ‘W-where is he?’

‘I found him on the back veranda, talking to Dad and the boys, but it’s you he wants. He asked for you ever so politely, so I told him to wait in the kitchen.’

‘The kitchen?’ Her bedroom had been bad enough and Jo winced when she tried to picture Hugh Strickland in their big old out-of-date kitchen, cluttered this evening with the aftermath of Mum’s Christmas baking. Somehow the image wouldn’t gel.

Jo was gripping the door handle so hard her hand ached as she let it go. This didn’t make sense. ‘Did you ask him why he wants to see me?’

Margie gave an irritated toss of her head. ‘No, I didn’t.’

Jo wished she had a chance to check her appearance in the mirror, but her mother was waiting with her hands on her hips and a knowing glint in her eyes. Besides, what was the point of titivating? Hugh Strickland had already seen her today and she would look much the same as she had earlier. Her smooth brown hair was cut into a jaw-length bob that never seemed to get very untidy and she wasn’t wearing make-up, and there wasn’t much she could do to improve her plain white T-shirt and blue jeans.

Just the same, she felt nervous as she set off down the passage for the kitchen, as if she were going to an audition for a part in a play but had no idea what role she was trying for.

Hugh was standing near the scrubbed pine table in the middle of the room and the moment she saw him she went all weak-kneed and breathless.

And that was before he smiled.

Oh, heavens, he was good-looking. She’d been beginning to wonder if perhaps her imagination had exaggerated how gorgeous he was.

No way. His dark hair was still spiky, but that was part of his appeal, as was the five o’clock shadow that darkened his strong jaw line. And beyond that there was a subtle air of superiority about him—a matter of breeding perhaps, something unmistakable like the born-to-win lines of a well-bred stallion.

But behind his charming smile she could sense banked-up emotion carefully held in check. What was it? Anger? Impatience? Dismay?

She wondered if she should ask him to sit down, but his tension suggested he’d rather stand. Why had he returned so soon?

He answered that question immediately when he held out the pink plastic bag she’d given him. ‘I came to return this.’

Frowning, Jo accepted it. She could feel the shape of the fluffy unicorn still inside. Her mind raced, trying to work out what this could mean. ‘Couldn’t you find your way to Agate Downs?’

‘I found the place,’ he said. ‘Your directions were spot on.’

‘So what happened? Weren’t the Martens home?’

‘I turned back without seeing them.’ A muscle worked in his jaw and he dropped his gaze. His face seemed to stiffen. ‘I had second thoughts. It’s the wrong time.’

‘Oh.’ What else could she say? This was none of her business. ‘That’s a—a pity.’ A few hours ago it had been vitally important that Hugh made a good impression on the child. And it had seemed important that it happened today. Jo pressed her lips together, fighting the impulse to interrogate him.

He looked up briefly and she caught a stronger flash of emotion in his intense gaze before he looked away again. Was it anger? ‘I didn’t want to spoil Ivy’s Christmas. I—I mean—her guardians knew that I was on my way, but I realised it would be intrusive.’

She wondered how Hugh Strickland would react if he knew that the locals were gossiping about him.

His eyes sought hers again. ‘I suddenly thought how it would be for Ivy to have a strange man turning up on her doorstep on Christmas Eve, claiming—’ He broke off in mid-sentence.

Claiming…what? Jo’s tense hands tightened around the package and the unicorn let out a sharp squeak. She was so uptight that she jumped.

‘So what will you do now?’ she asked.

‘I’ve found a room at the pub.’

‘Oh…good.’

‘I’ll stay there till Christmas is over and I’ll go back to the Martens’ place on Boxing Day.’

Jo thrust the unicorn back into his hands. ‘If you’re still hoping to see Ivy, you must keep this. You’ll need it.’

Their hands were touching now, and as they both held the package she was exquisitely aware of Hugh’s strong, warm fingers covering hers.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I came here tonight because I wanted to give this back to you in time for your family’s Christmas. There won’t be the same pressing urgency for a gift for Ivy once Christmas is over. And this was really meant for one of your sisters.’

He was looking directly into her eyes and making her heart pound.

Their gazes remained linked for longer than was necessary, and Jo knew she would always remember the shimmering intimacy of his green eyes as he looked at her then and the heated touch of his hands on hers.

It was almost depressing to realise that memories of this handsome stranger were going to haunt her nights and linger in her daydreams…for ages into the future…

‘Please keep the unicorn.’ She felt so breathless her voice was hardly more than a whisper. ‘Believe me, little girls always like presents.’

He sent her a quick smile. ‘If you insist. I’ll trust your deep understanding of what little girls like. The only one I know well is my goddaughter, but she’s only six months old, so our communication has been somewhat limited.’

‘Believe me, where presents are concerned, little girls are no different from big girls; they never get tired of receiving gifts.’

His eyes flashed confident amusement.

‘But I’m sure you already know that.’

‘Indeed.’

But then he seemed to remember something else and almost immediately his smile faded.

And the spell that had kept their hands linked was broken. Jo stepped back, leaving him with the unicorn, and Hugh looked away.

She drew a quick nervous breath. Calm down, Jo. Stay cool. You’re getting overheated about nothing. Nothing. He hasn’t come back to see you and he’ll be leaving again any moment now.

‘There’s another thing I wanted to ask you, Jo,’ he said softly.

Her head jerked up.

‘I wonder if I can possibly impose on you one more time?’

Caught by surprise, she found herself blustering. ‘How? W-what would you like me to do?’

‘I want you to come with me when I go back to Agate Downs.’

Crumbs. ‘Why me? I don’t understand.’

‘You already know Ivy—and you have so many brothers and sisters. I have no experience with young children. I can’t even remember what it’s like to be five.’

She tried to speak as casually as he had. ‘So you think I can help you somehow?’

A muscle in his throat worked. ‘Yes—if you could spare the time. I get the impression you’ve hit it off with Ivy already.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not an expert at managing small children,’ she warned him. ‘You’ve seen how naughty Tilly can be.’

‘But you’re used to them. You’re relaxed around them.’

‘Well…’ Jo’s immediate impulse was to help him, but a nagging inner warning was hard to ignore. ‘It might be helpful if I understood a little more about this situation,’ she said carefully.

He nodded and then he looked directly into her eyes again. ‘The situation’s quite straightforward really. Ivy’s my daughter.’

Right. Jo tried to swallow. So now she knew for sure. Did this mean Hugh was married? She glanced at his hands. The only ring he wore was the signet ring on the little finger of his left hand.

Sensing the direction of her gaze, he smiled wryly, lifted his hand and waggled his bare fourth finger. ‘No, I’m not married. I only dated my daughter’s mother for a while. And…her mother is dead.’

‘Oh, how sad.’ This changed everything. All at once Jo was adrift on a sea of sympathy. She said quickly, ‘Why don’t we sit down for a bit?’

He pulled out a wooden chair on the other side of the kitchen table. ‘If I’m asking you to help with Ivy I should be perfectly honest with you,’ he said. ‘I only learned of her existence a short time ago.’

Jo watched the barely perceptible squaring of his shoulders and she sensed that he was working very hard to keep his emotions under control. ‘That must have been a terrible shock.’ Her kind-hearted urges were going into overdrive now. ‘How come you only learned about Ivy recently?’

Hugh stiffened and she guessed she was delving deeper than he wanted to go. But he met her gaze. ‘Her mother wrote a letter but it never reached me and she died shortly after Ivy’s birth.’

Jo thought of the dear little bright-eyed Ivy who’d danced about their shop like a winsome fairy while her guardian had selected groceries. How sad that her mother never knew her.

How sad that Hugh still hadn’t met her. Jo blinked away the threat of tears.

‘It gets worse.’ Hugh spoke very quietly. ‘Apparently Linley suffered from severe postnatal depression and—and she committed suicide.’

‘No!’ A horrified exclamation burst from Jo. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she added quickly. Then she asked gently, ‘And you never knew?’

‘I thought she had died in a car accident,’ he said. ‘There was never any mention of a baby.’

Jo wondered if he was being so forthright to draw her into the task of helping him. Well, it was working. It would be hard to turn him down now, especially when his eyes held hers with such compelling intensity.

‘Ivy’s grandmother died recently and she left instructions in her will, demanding that I claim my daughter,’ he said. ‘Of course I wanted to do the right thing by the child, so I came dashing over here. But I’ve realised now that my timing is off. On Christmas Eve children are expecting Santa Claus, not strange men claiming to be their father.’

‘Ivy might like you better than Santa Claus,’ Jo suggested gently.

He sent her a sharp, searching look. ‘So you think I’ve done the wrong thing?’

Jo gulped. This gorgeous, confident man was acting as if he really needed her advice. She sent him an encouraging grin. ‘No, I’m sure you’ve made the right decision. I always believe it’s best to follow your instincts.’

‘So will you come with me when I collect Ivy?’

Her instincts screamed yes and Jo didn’t hesitate to take her own advice.

‘Of course I will. I’ve got a real soft spot for Ivy and, as you said, with six younger brothers and sisters I’ve got to be something of an expert with kids.’

‘Absolutely.’ Hugh glanced at the clock on the wall near the stove and jumped to his feet. ‘It’s getting late and I’ve taken up far too much of your time.’

Jo wondered if she should warn him about Ivy’s scars, but perhaps that would only make him more anxious about meeting her. Or maybe he already knew. It might be best not to make a big deal about them.

Standing, she shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and shrugged in an effort to look unconcerned. ‘So we have a date for Boxing Day?’

He nodded stiffly. ‘Thanks. I’d really appreciate your help.’

Then he turned and walked to the kitchen door. Jo followed.

‘I hope you’ll be comfortable at the pub,’ she said as they stepped into the hallway. ‘It’s not very flash.’

‘It looks perfectly adequate.’

‘A bit lonely for Christmas.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Suddenly he looked very English, sort of stiff upper lipped and uncomfortable, as if he couldn’t stand sentimental females who made fusses about Christmas.

Her mother appeared in the hall. ‘Did I hear you say you’re staying at the pub, Mr Strickland?’

Jo wanted to cringe at her mother’s intrusion, but Hugh didn’t seem to mind.

‘Yes. It’s basic but quite adequate.’

‘You’re not having Christmas dinner there, are you?’

‘They’ve booked me in. Why? Is there a problem?’

‘Oh, not the pub for Christmas.’ Margie sounded shocked and she thumped her hands on her hips in a gesture of indignation. ‘We can’t let you do that.’

‘I’m sure the food will be fine.’ Hugh was beginning to sound defensive now. ‘I’m told they do a fine roast turkey.’

‘But you’ll be all on your own. At Christmas.’

Jo could tell where this was heading, but it would look a bit weird if she suddenly leapt to Hugh’s rescue by insisting that he would be fine at the pub.

‘And you’re so far from home,’ her mother said. ‘No, Mr Strickland, I won’t hear of it. You must join us tomorrow. I know we’re not flash, but at least there’s a crowd of us. You won’t feel lonely here and we’re going to have plenty of food. I hate to think of anyone being alone at Christmas.’

Hugh’s expression was circumspect—a polite mask—and Jo waited for him to excuse himself with his characteristic, well-mannered graciousness.

But to her amazement, he said, ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Berry. Thank you, I’d love to come.’

Hugh arrived punctually at noon the next day, bearing two beautifully chilled bottles of champagne.

Jo’s dad, who drank beer, eyed them dubiously, but her mum was effusive.

‘Nothing like a glass of bubbles to make the day special,’ she said, beaming at him. ‘But don’t let me have any till I’ve got all the food on the table or I’ll forget to serve something. Nick,’ she called to her eldest son, ‘can you find a bucket and fill it with ice? We don’t want to let these bottles warm up and there’s not a speck of room in the fridge.’

Jo had given herself several stern lectures while getting ready that morning. She’d chosen a cool summery dress of fine white cotton edged with dainty lace, and she’d applied her make-up with excruciating care. But, in spite of her efforts to look her best, she was determined to stay calm and unaffected by Hugh’s visit.

She was so busy helping her mother to get all the food out of the kitchen and on to the table that she had to leave Hugh to the tender mercies of her father and brothers, but she heard snatches of their conversation as she went back and forth.

‘Hugh Strickland,’ said her dad. ‘Your name rings a bell. Should I have heard of you?’

‘I shouldn’t think so.’

‘What line of work are you in?’

‘I’m in business—er—transport.’

‘In the UK?’

‘That’s right.’

Her dad mumbled knowingly. ‘I almost got a job in transport once—driving buses—but I wasn’t fit for it. My chest was crushed, you see. Mining accident. Lungs punctured, so they pensioned me off.’

Hugh made sympathetic noises.

Jo chewed her lip and wondered if she should try to butt in and change the conversation. Her dad tended to carry on a bit.

But if Hugh was bored, he showed no sign. He was fitting in like a local. Clutching his beer in its inelegant Styrofoam cooler, he relaxed in a squatter’s chair and looked surprisingly comfortable.

The family always gathered for Christmas lunch on a screened-in veranda shaded by an ancient mango tree. This was the cool side of the house, but Jo wondered if an Englishman would realise that. It was still very hot, even in the shade.

‘Now, Hugh,’ said Mum after everyone had found a place to sit and the family had been through the ritual of pulling crackers and donning unbecoming paper hats. ‘You’ll see we don’t have a hot dinner.’

‘That’s perfectly understandable.’ Hugh smiled bravely from beneath a pink and purple crêpe paper crown, which should have made him look foolish but somehow managed to look perfectly fine.

Her mum waved a full glass of champagne towards the table. ‘There’s four different kinds of salad and there’s sliced leg ham, cold roast pork and our pièce de résistance is the platter of prawns and bugs.’

‘Bugs?’ Hugh looked a tad worried.

‘Moreton Bay bugs,’ Jo hastened to explain, pointing to the platter in the table’s centre. ‘They’re a type of crayfish. If you like seafood, you’ll love these.’

Hugh did like them. Very much. In fact he loved everything on the table and ate as much seafood and salad as her brothers, which was saying something. And then he found room to sample the mince pies.

And, not surprisingly, he was an expert dinner party guest, an interesting conversationalist, who also encouraged Nick and Brad to regale them all with hilarious accounts of the antics of the ringers on the cattle stations where they worked. And he enjoyed listening while the younger children chimed in with their stories too.

Knowing how tense Hugh had been yesterday, Jo was surprised by how relaxed he seemed now. No doubt he was charming her family to ensure her commitment to helping him.

She decided to relax. She’d been working hard all year in the city and had put in long hours in the shop during the past week and now she decided to let go a little and to enjoy the fine icy champagne. How in heaven’s name had Hugh unearthed such lovely French champagne in the Bindi Creek pub?

Everyone raved about Jo’s Christmas pudding of brandy-flavoured ice cream filled with dried fruit, nuts and cherries and afterwards her mum announced that she was going to have a little lie down. And everyone agreed that was exactly what she deserved.

‘Jo, you take Hugh out on to the back veranda for coffee,’ she suggested, ‘while this mob gets cracking in the kitchen.’

With coffee cups in hand, Jo and Hugh retired to the veranda. They leant against the railing, looking out over the tops of straggly plumbago bushes to the sunburnt back paddock and it was good to stand and stretch for a while; Jo felt she had eaten and drunk too much.

The air was warm and slightly sticky and it hung about them like a silent and invisible veil. Jo would have liked to run down to the creek, to shed her clothes and take a dip in the cool green water. She’d done it often before, in private, but she found herself wondering what it would be like to skinny-dip with Hugh. The very thought sent her heartbeats haywire.

They didn’t speak at first and she felt a bit self-conscious to be alone with him again after sharing him with her noisy family. The slanting rays of the afternoon sun lit up the dark hair above his right ear, lending it a gilded sheen and highlighting his cheekbone and one side of his rather aristocratic nose.

Eventually he said, ‘Your family are fascinating, aren’t they?’

‘Do you really think so? It must be rather overpowering to meet them all in one fell swoop.’

He smiled as he shook his head. ‘I think you’re very lucky to have grown up with such a happy brood. They’re so relaxed.’

She shrugged. ‘They have their moments. Christmas is always fun.’

‘I’m impressed that they’ll take in a stranger, knowing next to nothing about him.’

Too true, she thought. Hugh had shared rather personal details about Ivy in his bid to enlist her help, but she knew next to nothing about the rest of his life.

‘You don’t come from a big family?’ she asked.

‘Not in terms of brothers and sisters. I’m an only child. I guess that’s why I’m always fascinated by big families.’

‘Sometimes I envy only children. It would be nice, now and then, to have that kind of privacy. Then again, I spend most of my time these days working in the city.’

His right eyebrow lifted, forming a question mark, but, unlike her, he didn’t give voice to his curiosity, so there was an awkward moment where they were both aware that the rhythm of their conversation had tripped.

Hugh stood staring into the distance.

‘Are you thinking about Ivy?’ Jo asked.

At first he seemed a little startled by her question, but then he smiled. ‘How did you guess?’

‘Feminine intuition.’ She drained her coffee cup. ‘Seriously, it must have come as a shock to have a five-year-old dropped into your life.’

‘It was a shock all right.’ Taking a final sip of coffee, he set his empty cup and saucer on a nearby table and, with his usual gentlemanly manners, he took Jo’s cup and set it there too.

‘I feel so unprepared for meeting Ivy,’ he said. ‘I don’t like being unprepared. How the hell does a bachelor suddenly come to terms with caring for a child?’

‘He hires a nanny?’

‘Well, yes,’ he admitted with a wry grimace. ‘A nanny will be essential. But I’ll still have to do the whole fatherhood thing.’

‘At least Ivy’s not a baby. She can talk to you and express her needs. I’m sure you’ll become great mates with her.’

‘Mates?’ He couldn’t have looked more stunned if she’d suggested that Ivy would take over as CEO of his business.

‘Good friends,’ she amended.

‘With a five-year-old little girl?’

Jo thought of the warm lifelong friendship she’d shared with her mum. ‘Why not?’

Hugh shook his head. ‘A boy might have been easier. At least I have inside knowledge of how little boys tick.’

‘Don’t be sexist. There are lots of little girls who like the same things as boys. Grace and Tilly love to play cricket and go fishing. So do I, for that matter.’

‘Do you?’ He regarded her with a look that was both amused and delighted, but then he frowned and with his elbows resting on the veranda railing he stared down into the plumbago bush. ‘But what if Ivy turns on a horrendous scene? It would be horrible if she cried all the way home on the flight back to London.’

‘Goodness,’ cried Jo. ‘You’re a walking advertisement for the power of positive thinking, aren’t you?’

For a moment he looked put out, and then he smiled. ‘You’re right. I’m normally on top of things, so I guess I should be able to handle this.’ He sent Jo an extra devilish smile. ‘With a little expert help.’

Gulp. ‘Just remember Ivy is your flesh and blood,’ she said. ‘She’s probably a chip off the old block.’

‘Which would mean she’s charming and well-mannered, even-tempered, good-looking and highly intelligent.’

‘You missed conceited.’

Hugh chuckled softly and then he glanced up and seemed suddenly fascinated by something above her head. ‘Is that mistletoe hanging above you?’

Jo tipped her head back. Sure enough there was a bunch of greenery dangling from a hook in the veranda roof. ‘I can probably blame one of my brothers for that.’ She rolled her eyes, trying to make light of it, but as she looked at Hugh again his smile lingered and something about it sent shivers skittering through her.

How silly. This reserved Englishman had no intention of kissing her. And, even if he did, why should she get all shivery at the thought of a quick Christmas peck?

But her jumping insides paid absolutely no attention to such common sense.

Hugh gave an easy shrug of his shoulders and his eyes held hers as he murmured ever so softly in his super-sexy English voice, ‘Tradition is terribly important, Jo. And you’re under the mistletoe and it is Christmas.’

Her stomach began a drum roll.