Читать книгу Party of Three - Joan Kilby - Страница 9

BEN SPLASHED A SOUPÇON more cognac into her glass, only too aware of a still wide-eyed Danny avidly watching the proceedings. He’d better not blab to his mother….

“I’ll call a taxi to take you home,” Ben informed Ally.

She tilted the bottle and gave herself another five or so ounces. “I don’t want to go home. Not until George has had time to pack and leave.”

The alcohol had to be hitting her empty stomach like a ton of bricks. As she took a swig, her eyes began to glaze.

“I need to get back to work,” Ben explained. “Do you have a friend or a relative you can call to come and get you?”

“No, no, don’t want to cause a fuss.” Ally suddenly noticed the glass in her hand and raised it to her lips. “This is good.”

“Are you sure I can’t take you home?” Ben was starting to feel desperate.

“I have no home,” she declared melodramatically.

“You’ve had enough cognac, that’s for sure, at least until the food’s ready.”

Ally twisted away before he could take her glass and moved unsteadily across to the window overlooking Main Street. The storm was directly overhead; wind gusts rattled loose windowpanes and spattered them with rain.

Ben went to the side table that held the phone and the local directory. “What’s George’s last name?”

“No!” She whirled around, arm outstretched as if she was a wizard about to smite Ben with her staff. “I forbid you to call him.”

Oh, boy. What had he gotten himself into? Ben led Danny out of Ally’s earshot and into the cramped kitchen with its old-fashioned appliances. “I’m going to run downstairs, check on the staff and pick up her dinner. Take care of her for a few minutes, okay?”

Danny’s eyes widened. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t let her go back out in the storm.”

“I’m just a kid. How can I stop her?”

“Lock the door after I leave.”

“What if she’s crazy and chops me up into little pieces?”

“She’s not crazy. She’s upset.”

“You can’t leave me alone with her,” Danny said, obviously panicking.

He was probably right. Ben went back to the lounge room. Ally had collapsed on the overstuffed couch and was refilling her glass. Amber liquid slopped over the rim and she licked it off her hand. She raised her glass to him with a giggle. “It’s not the drinking that’ll get you, it’s the steady sip, sip, sip.”

Ben checked his watch. He’d been away from the restaurant for over half an hour. Anything could have happened in the kitchen in that time. Gord was a volcano waiting to erupt, especially when he got into the bottle of vodka he kept hidden in the walk-in freezer.

Ben paced the wide space between the couch and the fireplace, trying to come up with a plan. Who could he call? He didn’t know anyone in town well enough to ask them to babysit a drunk woman.

He felt a tug on his sleeve. “Dad?”

“Shh, Danny, I’m thinking.”

“Dad, never mind.” His son pushed him around to face the couch where Ally lay sprawled, eyes shut, one arm clutching the bottle to her chest, the other dangling above the floor, clinging to the empty glass. “She passed out.”

Ben walked over and with a sigh, removed the glass. “I guess she can stay here tonight.”

WHEN ALLY AWOKE her head felt as though it was gripped inside a vise being screwed tight by some sadistic monster while a dozen tiny hammers pinged on miniature anvils. Scrunching her eyes shut she tried to slip back into oblivion.

“Water?” asked a voice floating above her.

“Go away,” she muttered. Something awful swam just below her consciousness, something too terrible to acknowledge, too enormous to confront.

“You really should take liquid after drinking alcohol,” the annoying voice persisted.

“I don’t drink,” she croaked. Then she became aware her throat was dry, her skin burning hot. She opened one eye. A man loomed over her, holding out a glass.

He had streaked blond hair and was somehow familiar.

Memories of yesterday flooded through her like an injection of poison. George. Kathy. The storm. Cognac.

“Ohhh,” she groaned, and curled into a fetal ball. George had cheated on her. With Kathy.

The bed creaked and sank beneath a weight greater than her own. A hand gently grasped her wrist and pulled her arm away from her face. Ben’s jaw appeared, bristly with golden stubble, his hair tousled from sleep.

“Drink this,” he said, propping up her pillow. “You’ll feel better.”

She pushed back the rumpled chocolate-and-cream-colored duvet and sat up. Then she saw the source of the pinging; leaks from the roof were dripping into pots at various locations around the room. Talk about Chinese water torture. Her right shoulder was damp where she’d been dripped on in bed.

“Is the storm over?” she asked, accepting the glass of water with shaking hands.

“Pretty much. The rain is easing.” Ben placed his cool fingers over her feverishly hot ones to steady them. Ice water slipped down her sore throat, easing the dryness. “You must feel awful,” he added.

She nodded, which made her head hurt so much she decided not to risk speaking.

“A broken heart is just about the worst thing going,” Ben went on, smoothing her hair off her face. “Trust me, anyone who would cheat on you isn’t worth having.”

He thought she was sick over losing George. Ally sipped more water, taking a moment to examine her feelings. Was she heartbroken? No…relieved described it better. Her pride was badly dented but George was out of her life without her having to be the bad guy, or worry that he’d be lonely. In fact, things had turned out pretty well. She was free. Her lips curved in a tremulous smile.

“That’s the spirit,” Ben said, rewarding her with one of his own warm smiles. “But remember, it’s okay to cry. If you want my shoulder, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” she rasped. “I feel better already.”

She glanced around the room. An old-fashioned wardrobe leaned against the wall, the door open to reveal a rack of men’s clothes. A wicker chair in the opposite corner was draped with her skirt and blouse. Apart from her clothes, nothing looked familiar. “Where am I?”

“In my apartment above the restaurant.”

“Whose bed am I in?”

“Mine.”

“We didn’t…” she croaked in alarm. “Did we?”

“No.” He seemed faintly amused. “I spent a rather uncomfortable night on the couch, if it makes you feel better.”

“Much, thank you.” She preferred to be conscious when making love. Then she glanced at the clock on the bedside table and gasped. “Is that the correct time?”

Ben checked his watch. “Yep. Just after eight-thirty.”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God. I’m late for work.” She ran her fingers through her snarled hair and threw aside the covers. Her thighs were bare and she wore nothing but a man’s T-shirt. Quickly she tugged it down. What had happened to the track pants?

“The sky won’t fall in if you’re a few minutes late,” Ben said, getting out of her way.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Her feet hit the floor and she stood up, her stomach lurching. “Lindy doesn’t have a key. She’ll be waiting outside for me to open the door—” She groaned as further recollection of last night hit. The Americans!

“Are you going to be sick? Here’s a bucket.” Ben produced the receptacle from beside the bed and shoved it under her nose.

Swallowing hard, she waved it away. “I’m fine. I just have to get to work.”

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Ben said as he moved to the door. “Nothing like bacon and eggs to cure a hangover.”

“It’s Saturday—” she began “—Muesli Day,” but he’d already left.

She staggered over to the chair and reached for her blouse. It was damp and wrinkled but it would have to do. Shivering, she buttoned it on in front of the mirror. For a moment she didn’t recognize her own reflection. Her puffy bloodshot eyes looked more muddy than hazel, her skin was blotchy and somehow her hair had turned lackluster and stringy overnight.

Outside the door she could hear Ben speaking to his son. “I know I promised to take you swimming but it’s just not going to be possible.”

“You always break your promises,” Danny said matter-of-factly. “Just like Mum says.”

“That’s not fair,” Ben replied. “And please keep your voice down. She can hear you.”

Danny whispered something Ally didn’t catch. She tiptoed to the door to listen.

“Last night while I was out of the restaurant the soufflé situation turned into a complete disaster,” Ben said in a lower voice. “I have to work this morning. It’s not a whim.”

Her escapade had had consequences for both Ben and his son. The sooner she got out of here, the better for everyone.

“I’ll just play on the computer,” Danny said, subdued but apparently indifferent. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. The pool’s just around the corner,” Ben went on. “Why don’t you check it out?”

“Mum would never let me go by myself,” Danny said. “Don’t you know anything about taking care of kids?”

“This is a small town, not Melbourne.”

“Bad things can happen anywhere,” Danny said, clearly repeating a favorite phrase of his mother’s. “You said you wanted to spend time with me.”

“I do. You just need to be patient.”

“Good morning!” Ally entered the room, a big smile plastered on her face. She found her purse on the floor beside the couch and sailed toward the door. Ben and Danny stopped their bickering as she slipped her feet into shoes that squelched. “I’ll be going now. Thank you so much for having me.”

“You haven’t had breakfast,” Ben said.

“I don’t need anything, thanks. Except…” She glanced around the room. “Do you have a barometer?”

“Barometer?” He laughed. “I barely have furniture.”

“Then how do you know what the weather will be?”

Ben walked to the window overlooking the street and glanced out. “The rain has stopped. I reckon the clouds will burn off before long.”

In other words, he had no idea. She pursed her lips and smiled tightly. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Where are you going?” Ben said. “What are you going to do?”

“I told you,” she explained patiently, “I’m going to work.”

He came closer. “I mean about your fiancé.”

“Oh, that. I’m sure it’s all for the best.”

He just looked at her, frowning.

“Something wrong?” she said, a touch defensively. She knew she looked a wreck.

“Take it from me, you shouldn’t ignore your feelings about your breakup. You’ll get over him faster if you allow yourself to be angry.”

“Oh, I’m angry. He lied to me and cheated on me.” Mostly she was angry at herself for getting engaged to a man who it turned out she didn’t love. But how could she explain that to Ben when she didn’t understand it herself? “Thanks for everything. I’ll be fine. And I’ll check into that cottage for you. You really can’t stay here with this leaky roof.”

Clutching the banister for support she hurried down the stairs and slipped past the kitchen—where a gangly teenager with acne was chopping mushrooms at the stainless steel bench—and out the back door.

The side street was empty, desolate as the morning after. Sporadic raindrops rippled the puddles lying in the gutter. The paperbark tree next to the footpath had been torn in the wind; a broken branch hung forlornly, tattered layers of bark fluttering in the cool breeze.

Ally turned the corner onto Main Street and her heart dropped to her feet. Olivia’s cherry-red Mazda was out front of the agency. For her to have driven from Ballarat this early on a Saturday morning was not a good sign. Then Ally noticed something worse. A minibus was parked in front of the Mazda and emerging from it was a group of groggy, disheveled men and women in wrinkled clothes.

She hurried past them and went inside. Olivia was seated behind Ally’s desk, her black hair pulled back severely, her narrow features set in icy disapproval. Ally caught a fleeting glimpse of Lindy’s anxious expression before her assistant swiveled to face her computer.

Ally’s stomach started to churn and she wished she’d taken Ben up on breakfast. Her shoes made squishy noises as she crossed the marble tiles to stand before her employer. “I’m terribly sorry—” Ally began.

“Did you see those people on the street?” Olivia demanded. “They arrived last night under the impression they would be warmly welcomed to an idyllic weekend getaway. What did they find? The office shut and locked. Unable to obtain other accommodation, they spent the night in the minibus. In a thunderstorm.”

“It’s entirely my fault—”

“Were you ill?”

“No, I—”

“Were you struck by lightning?”

“No, but—”

“Were you kidnapped and held against your will?”

“Olivia!”

“What possible excuse could you have for not being here during stated business hours to hand over the keys to guests you knew were arriving?”

Ally heaved a large sigh. “I broke up with George last night, got drunk and stayed in a strange man’s apartment.”

“If you think a recap of your sordid love affairs is going to get you off the hook, you’re wrong,” Olivia said, tapping her pen against the desk in a jackhammer beat that bored into Ally’s splitting head. “I have no choice but to let you go.”

“What!” Ally felt her jaw drop. “You can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry. I simply can’t afford to have someone in charge who isn’t responsible.”

“But I’ve worked here for three years and there’s never been a problem before.”

“That’s not strictly true, you know.” Olivia’s gaze was accusing. “Six months ago you left the office unattended for a whole afternoon. Your sister had some crisis, I believe.”

Melissa had called Ally in hysterics after she’d singed both her eyebrows off while trying to light a cigarette at the gas burner on her stove. Ally had applied aloe vera and told her sister to quit smoking. It was one of the few times Melissa had acted on her advice.

“Then there was the time you had to bail your father out of jail,” Olivia said.

“His arrest was a complete misunderstanding.” At least that’s what Tony claimed. Generally speaking her father squeaked in on the right side of the law in his business endeavors.

“Excuse me, ladies.” One of the men from the minibus poked his head through the door. “Is there a washroom?”

“On the next block,” Ally said. “Right beside the Tourist Information office.”

When he’d gone, Olivia went on. “The first two incidents I let pass. I even hired Lindy to assist you so there was always someone here in the event of an emergency.”

“It won’t happen again,” Ally promised.

“You’re correct, it won’t. Three strikes, you’re out. This is the height of the tourist season. I need someone I can count on. And just look at your appearance….”

Olivia’s voice rolled over her, a steady stream of criticism and chastisement. Suddenly, Ally couldn’t take any more. She turned and walked out of the office with Olivia still talking. All she wanted to do was go home. To crawl under the covers and sleep for a million years. And when she woke her life would be back to normal.

Except that George would be gone.

Well, they said every cloud had a silver lining.

The hill had never seemed so steep as that morning. Evidence of the storm littered the road—fallen tree limbs, knocked-down fences, overturned rubbish bins. Luckily, her own property was intact, barring a cracked window.

The first thing Ally did was bring in the laundry. Most of it had been torn off the line by the wind and flung in the mud. She carefully separated out George’s socks, underwear and shirts and placed them, still filthy, in a black plastic garbage bag. Upon reflection she decided to add a poor dead mouse that had drowned in the water barrel. A treat for Siggy. Then she tied the bag up tight and left it in a patch of sun on the veranda for George to collect. Just because he’d brought another woman to her bed didn’t mean she couldn’t act civilized.

Her own clothes she put back in the washing machine and waited until it filled. Then she had a long hot shower, washed her hair, put on a clean skirt and blouse and sat down at the breakfast table with a bowl of muesli. Getting back to her routine made her feel a little better. Food helped, too, although she couldn’t help but think wistfully of the hot breakfast Ben had offered.

Doggedly, she chewed and contemplated her situation. Losing her job left her feeling adrift in a way that losing George could never do. Worse, the loss of income caused a big financial problem. With no salary and no George to contribute a share of the mortgage, how was she going to make payments on her house?

She loved her home and didn’t want to give it up. It represented both stability and independence. Besides, she really, really hated moving.

The phone rang.

“Ally, it’s me, Mel.” Her sister sounded agitated. “I called your office and Lindy said you were fired and that you’d broken up with George. Sorry to hear that but thank God you’re home. You’ve got to come quick.”

“Slow down. What’s up?”

“Tony and Mother had a big fight. Mother left him and she’s over here. With her luggage. That’s suitcases, plural. Her entire set of faux Louis Vuitton. The last time she did that she stayed a whole month.”

“Calm down, Melissa,” Ally said. “She can’t leave him. Their wedding anniversary is in three weeks and I’ve got it all organized.”

“What she can’t do is stay with me.” Melissa lowered her voice, but her tone was increasingly urgent. “I only have one bedroom and I met this cool guy from the Cirque du Soleil. You know how men always get that nudge, nudge, wink, wink, smile about women gymnasts? Well, now I know why. You’ve got to convince her to go home.”

“Can’t you stay at your boyfriend’s place?”

“It’s not just that, it’s…you know what she’s like.”

Ally couldn’t blame her for not wanting Cheryl moving in. As much as they both adored their mother, she was the roommate from artist hell. Painting, pottering, fixing, fussing, arranging, changing, moving, improving—she engaged in an endless quest for visual perfection, right down to repositioning the kitchen utensils in a jar.

Fifteen minutes later Ally walked into Melissa’s renovated miner’s cottage and picked her way through the tiny lounge room crowded with brown-and-cream-patterned luggage. In the kitchen, Melissa, in a burgundy lace top over a black satin slip dress, was making tea. Black filigree earrings dangled from beneath impossibly red hair and, even at ten in the morning, her deep blue eyes were lined in black with dark silver shadow.

Cheryl, slim and attractive in a black linen sheath and fine gold jewelry, was standing on a chair to reach a leadlight suncatcher hanging in a window charmingly framed with ivy.

“Leave it there, Mother. I like it,” Melissa said.

“Red and blue doesn’t go with the teal on your walls, darling. While I’m here I’ll help you redecorate.”

Melissa turned her desperate gaze in Ally’s direction. “Tell her, Ally.”

“Well, it does kind of clash—”

“No, I mean how she loves Tony no matter what he does. And she should go back to him now and save me, I mean them, a lot of heartache.”

Cheryl succeeded in unhooking the suncatcher and climbed off the chair. “Never mind that. How are you coping, Ally, darling? Mel says you and George have split up and you’ve lost your job.”

“Yes, but I’m fine, honestly.”

“You can always get another job,” Melissa said. “But quick, change the locks before George changes his mind.”

“He can’t,” Ally said flatly. “I kicked him out.”

Cheryl patted Ally’s hand. “Good for you.”

Was her mother being supportive or had she always disliked George? Ally decided there was no point in knowing. “What has Tony done this time?”

“He refinanced the art gallery to take out a loan. I knew I should have had it in my name but he needed the tax write-off so on paper, it’s his.” Cheryl set the suncatcher on the table and gazed around the room as if looking for further insults to her sensibilities. “I’d just knocked the mortgage down to a reasonable level and now suddenly I owe twice as much as I did five years ago.” Her nostrils flared in a refined quiver of rage. “I could kill him. Boil him in his own olive oil.”

“Olive oil?” Ally took a sip from the teacup Melissa handed her. She was starting to feel vaguely human.

“He bought a majority stake in an olive grove along the Murray River,” Cheryl explained. “Turns out there’s no water lease for irrigation. The company is struggling to survive.”

“Fancy Tony getting into farming,” Melissa said as she rehung the suncatcher. “I can see him now in a flannel shirt and Akubra hat with his faithful dog at his heels.”

“You’re thinking of sheep farming.” Ally turned back to her mother. “At least the deal sounds legitimate.”

“No irrigation means a poor harvest,” Cheryl informed her gloomily. “I could lose the gallery.”

“I’ve got mortgage problems, too, now that George is gone,” Ally commiserated.

Melissa looked from her sister to her mother. “Hello! Obvious solution here. Mother, if you want to make Tony sweat awhile longer, and frankly, it would do him a world of good, move in with Ally. You two can split costs.”

“What a great idea!” Cheryl said, taking up the suggestion enthusiastically. “I’ve been dying to do something with that house of yours, Ally. I know you think you’ve got it the way you want it but you haven’t heard my ideas yet. Now that stick-in-the-mud George is out of the way I can really let loose. Oh, I can’t wait. We’ll have a ball, won’t we, Ally?”

If there was any justice in the universe the look Ally threw her sister would have been fatal. For years she’d been collecting furniture and artwork for the time when she had a place of her own to decorate. Since she’d moved into her house she’d worked her way through each room, painting walls, polishing floorboards, sewing drapes and cushions. She’d scrimped and saved so she could have the kitchen and the bathroom renovated. Now her mother was proposing moving in and changing everything. Over Ally’s dead body!

“There’s just one problem. I, uh…” She racked her brains for inspiration. “I have a roommate already.”

“Oh.” Cheryl looked disappointed. “Who?”

Ally crossed her fingers in her lap. “Ben Gillard, the new chef at Mangos.”

“Wow,” Melissa said. “Fast work. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, well.” Ally tried to look modest.

Now all she had to do was convince Ben to move in with her. It shouldn’t be too hard; her house easily fulfilled his requirements. Plus, she had something he didn’t even realize he needed—a barometer.