Читать книгу Idle Lies - Lian Knight - Страница 13

Monday, 16 May, eighteen months earlier

THE RADIANCE OF THE late autumn sun lit the Harbour and cast a glorious sparkle on the water. The bay was alive with the usual hustle and bustle of boats and ferries, some returning from commercial shipping ventures and others with the usual mass of daily commuters on their way home from a long day at the office. A crowd of small runabouts nipped and tucked their way between the larger vessels, their passengers waving and laughing as they bounced across each other’s wakes. Closer to the pier a large yacht eased its way gracefully between the traffic, heading slowly towards the marina to park in its mooring for the night. The choppy waters twinkled in the sunlight, and a large flock of seagulls, circling in ever increasing arcs, studied them intently for the slightest sign of a meal that might emerge. Several birds, frustrated with the low returns, glided skilfully to the pier and landed on consecutive pillars, glaring at each other to ensure pecking orders were duly respected. Stretching their necks, they called to anyone who would listen; then, once ownership rights were agreed, they straightened and began canvassing the parched pavement for scavenging opportunities.

Opposite the pier, the sound of light voices and the occasional chink of glasses spilled from the grand hotel. Large glass panel doors, folded wide open, granted the observer magnificent uninterrupted views of the Harbour and surrounding shops and eateries, as well as passers-by traversing the wide walkway. Several patrons leaned on the long timber outdoor bar that broadsided the path, sipping their drinks and chatting as they watched the sunny afternoon stretch its way into what looked to be a beautifully warm and charming evening.

A rather large businessman, sweat drops building on his brow, balanced his beers delicately as he squeezed himself away from the inner hotel counter. He swore when, despite his best efforts, precious drops of the golden liquid spilled down his wrists and into his shirt cuffs. ‘Sorry, excuse me, sorry …’ he mumbled as he juggled his prized possessions above the sea of heads. Reaching the outdoors, he hesitated, then stepped carefully over the feet of the last patron who sat outstretched on a wooden stool at the end of a long table. ‘Geez,’ he whispered under his breath, shooting him a sideways glare.

The patron made no effort to apologise or help. Lean and muscular, he sat with a quiet confidence behind mirrored sunglasses that gave little away. He took a sip from a schooner and watched as the businessman crossed the walkway and almost collided with a young woman at the pier. She gave him the barest acknowledgment and returned to her phone which she was studying intently. As the sun’s glare blocked her view she turned away to read, brushing her long hair back and tipping her sunglasses on top of her head. From a distance her tight white lace dress blended against her skin and for a moment it appeared that she was wearing nothing at all. His eyes were transfixed.

She seemed to be so engrossed that he was not surprised when she suddenly stopped reading and stepped forward, breezing straight into the path of an oncoming pram. The woman pushing it spoke crossly to her and she gestured regretfully and hastily retreated. Several passing tradesmen winked and whistled, but she ignored them. She put the phone away and adjusted her sunglasses, then when the path was clear, strode purposefully across the walkway towards the hotel.

His sharp eye watched her approach.

‘Hey,’ he ventured, touching her hand as she drew next to him. ‘That’s a Tissot.’

Immediately she pulled her hand away and turned to look at him. She stared blankly and this time he pointed from a discreet distance at her wrist.

‘That’s a Tissot,’ he repeated, nodding in the same direction. ‘A T-Gold, if I’m not wrong. A very fine gold watch.’ He extended his own hand forward and bent it towards her.

‘Tissot too,’ he said proudly. ‘Bridgeport T-Gold Classic Chronograph, to be precise. Beautifully made with sapphire glass.’

She looked down at the large gold dial that gleamed in the sun.

‘Oh! Yes, I see. Mine is a T-Gold – you’re right.’

‘Some pretty famous people have worn Tissots. Elvis Presley, Grace Kelly. Angelina Jolie wore one in Lara Croft: Tomb Raider.’

‘The girl in the jewellers told me Angelina had one in Mr and Mrs Smith.’

‘Yes, she did wear one, that’s true. Do you remember Rear Window, the Alfred Hitchcock? James Stewart wore one in that too.’ He paused and patted a spare stool beside him. ‘Wanna have a seat? I’ll buy you a drink. I’d like to see the one you’ve got.’

She studied the man more closely. His eyes were hidden behind stylish sunglasses but she could see his face was unmistakably handsome, with slender cheekbones that disappeared into dark tousled hair. He appeared to be slightly older than her, probably early thirties, with a slim, well-built physique. His white shirt lay open and slightly crumpled, revealing a bronzed, hairless chest and a fine silver chain at the neckline. His shoulders, although not broad, extended into strong biceps that almost stretched the shirt sleeves to their limit, and the edges of his baggy shorts gave a glimpse of more powerful muscles honed from heavy physical activity or a regular workout. She did her best to conceal a smile.

This tiny discernment however did not go unnoticed. He sipped the last of his beer, one leg outstretched and the other tapping the footrest. ‘My name’s Ryan,’ he added, shifting his sunglasses to the top of his head. He leaned forward and extended his hand. ‘Ryan Scott.’

‘Hi!’ she replied, offering her hand in return. He took it and examined it carefully as if it were a business card, turning it over to see if the underside gave more detail away. Laughing, she snatched it back quickly and pretended to slap him with it. She reached for the stool but in a single move he pulled it from under the bench and steadied it for her. ‘Aw, thanks,’ she grinned. ‘I’ll have a gin and tonic. I’m Indio.’

Ryan admired at close range the cleavage he had studied from a distance.

‘Indio …?’

Turning her head to one side, she examined his face carefully as if it might reveal his true intentions. His steel-blue eyes, which she hadn’t previously noticed, were hypnotic, and it took a few moments for her to realise they were fixed on her.

‘Indio Ladd,’ she finally relented. ‘Is it that important?’ She gave him a pretend frown.

‘I like to get to know who I am talking to,’ he replied, breaking into a smile. ‘Where did the name Indio come from?’

‘My father named me after a nearby town.’

‘Indio,’ he repeated, eyeing her slyly.

‘It could have been worse,’ she laughed. ‘I might have been called ‘Cactus’ after one of the local trails.’

He smiled broadly. ‘Indio is cool.’ Without averting his gaze, he signalled to a passing waiter who changed his direction and strolled over with a pad and pen.

‘A G&T, and another beer please.’

The waiter nodded, put his pad back in his pocket without writing anything and ambled away.

‘Do you mind if I take a look at your watch?’

‘By all means.’

She put her hand forward again, and he reached over and ran his finger lightly over the small gold face. ‘Mine has the vintage style with the extra functions but this has a beautifully simple design. Good choice,’ he added, leaning back again.

‘I thought so.’

‘American?’ he asked. ‘Let me guess. California?’

‘Yes,’ she said, surprised. ‘Good guess! You’re definitely an Australian,’ she laughed. His eyes were striking, almost piercing, and reminded her of someone that she couldn’t place.

‘Is it that bad?’ Ryan grinned. ‘I really didn’t think we had that much of an accent. Let me try an American one … you’awll have a good day now …’ he said, dragging his vowels.

She laughed. ‘You do a pretty good Texan drawl. Not bad. But I’m from the other side, in Palm Springs. We don’t speak like that.’

‘Palm Springs,’ he repeated. That’s north of LA?’

‘East,’ she corrected.

‘Right.’ He paused, choosing his words. ‘I’ve been to Anaheim and San Diego, but not in that direction,’ he remarked. This was a lie and he hoped she wouldn’t quiz him on it. He looked at her carefully but she didn’t ask and he let his shoulders relax slightly. ‘What were you doing there?’ he questioned.

She pushed a curl behind her ear and the late afternoon sun illuminated it like burnished copper. ‘That’s where I grew up. My father is a property developer.’

‘I thought Palm Springs was just desert …’ A smile played on his lips, and she wondered if he was teasing her.

‘It’s quite a big place – lots of Hollywood celebrities have lived there.’

‘Like Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin?’ he offered.

‘So you do know! I thought you were ribbing me.’

‘You gotta know your onions … so to speak. That’s what you guys say, isn’t it?’ His eyes sparkled. ‘Does he build their houses?’

She laughed. ‘No, he’s into hotels actually. He’s met one or two, though, when they’ve come to stay.’

‘Anyone I might know?’

She thought for a minute. ‘Ron Hale is one.’

He looked at her blankly.

‘Gotcha! That’s one point to me!’ she said gleefully. ‘I thought you knew your celebrities.’

‘Do I get points back if I guess who Hale is?’ he asked playfully.

She folded her arms and gave a light snort. ‘Okay. You’re on.’

‘Movies?’

‘Yes, but that’s not what he is famous for.’

Ryan chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘TV obviously. Drama?’

She paused. ‘I guess so,’ she said. ‘More like a soap.’

‘Bold and the Beautiful?’ he mused, giving her a wink. ‘The Young and the Restless? His face broke into a broad grin. ‘No? What about Days of Our Lives? Come on, that’s gotta be a close fit …’

She laughed again. ‘No. Give up?’

‘Alright. What is it?’

‘General Hospital.’

‘I should get half a point for being close.’

‘Okay, half a point. That’s being generous.’

‘So, are you on holiday here? What do you say … on vacation?’ He gave her a long smile.

‘Sort of. My dad wanted me to get straight into the family business but I needed a year off after college. You call it a gap year, right? We don’t really have such a thing in the States, but I’m having one anyway. Actually, I’ve been here for two.’

She sat back and shifted her sunglasses down over her eyes, adjusting them so she could study him more closely without her examination being obvious. He looked a bit like an actor himself.

He ran his fingers lightly through his hair and her stomach jumped. She wondered how he would react if she reached out and touched him.

‘What are you doing in Australia?’ he asked.

She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Well, nothing, really. I’m having an extended holiday, more or less. I should get a job, but I don’t need to. My father sends me money so I’m alright. I’m sure he thinks that if he does that, I won’t try to get work and I’ll come home sooner!’

A large black tray suddenly appeared beside them and she leaned aside so that the waiter could put the drinks down.

‘What does he want you to do?’

‘Oh I don’t know. There’s plenty of stuff. My brother manages one of the developments, and he would like to train me up to run another.’ She paused. ‘But right now it’s not something I’m interested in. He’s kinda disappointed but I have always done my own thing – I do what I like.’ She swirled the lemon around the ice and took a sip. ‘I’m daddy’s little girl, but I get what I want …’ she said slyly.

He shot her a sideways glance, his eyes twinkling.

‘We’ve talked heaps about me. What about you?’ she asked, raising one eyebrow. He really was incredibly hot.

He rotated his beer anti-clockwise on the drink coaster until it jammed on a corner and stopped suddenly. A little froth cascaded over the edge and began a trail of fluid across the table. He halted its progress with his thumb.

‘I work on an oil rig in WA,’ he said, without looking up. ‘Have you heard of Woodside?’

‘No …’

He paused, contemplating his words. ‘They’re a big Australian company with floating rigs searching for oil and gas. They’re right up here …’ He drew a rough outline of the country with his finger and pointed to the spot. ‘Do you know where Broome is?’ he asked.

‘It’s high up from Perth, right?’

‘Yes. Well, the rig, where I am, is a few hundred kilometres north of that.’

‘That’s a long way from Sydney. Why are you sitting here, then?’

He glanced at the pier. ‘I get three weeks on and three weeks off, give or take. Rotating shifts. I’m on a break, and I come here sometimes for a visit.’ His steely eyes returned to her. ‘It was certainly worth it this trip.’

She felt her heart jump. ‘Do you have family here?’

He hesitated, playing with the coaster. ‘No. I don’t have any.’

‘What, none at all?’ The words were blunter than she’d planned and although she thought she detected a small flinch it didn’t seem to bother him.

‘They died in a car crash when I was seventeen. Sister too.’ He swirled his drink again.

‘Oh …’ Indio took a breath. She suddenly felt terrible for asking.

‘It’s okay,’ he replied. ‘Stuff happens.’

‘So what did you do?’ she asked, recoiling inwardly. She wouldn’t have survived if this had happened to her. Even now, she called her father if there was so much as a spider in the apartment, not that he could do anything from half a world away.

‘Oh, I packed up, sold the furniture and got a job.’

She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. ‘What did you do for work?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘Fruit picking first, then I was a jackeroo.’ He paused. ‘That’s someone who does odd jobs on a sheep or cattle station,’ he added, sensing this was a term that was unfamiliar. ‘And now I’m on an oil rig.’

She nodded for him to go on.

‘That’s it.’

‘What sort of work is it?’

‘Not very exciting,’ he said, toying with his drink. He readied himself for more detail but she seemed to be satisfied with the answer.

‘Is that where you get your tan? On the deck?’ she laughed.

He checked his arms. ‘I guess. A lot of the work is on the platform, but some of it is in the engine room too.’

‘Is it dangerous?’

‘It has its moments.’

‘What kind of moments?’

‘There’s been a few accidents. I don’t like to think about them.’ He pulled his feet in. ‘What about your parents?’ he asked. ‘Tell me about them.’

‘My folks? Well my mom died when I was four, and my dad, Brian, remarried a woman from Cleveland called Beth. She’s an interior designer. He’s been with her now for a long time, actually twenty years!’ she recalled, doing the sums in her head. ‘She raised Kurt, my brother, and me, and to me she’s my mother. She’s wonderful.’

‘Have you been back to see them?’

‘I haven’t, but I’m … oh!’ she exclaimed suddenly as her bag, which was resting on her lap, buzzed loudly. ‘Excuse me, but do you mind if I take a quick peek at this?’

‘Not at all.’

She retrieved the phone and studied the message.

‘Oh heck! I am meant to be meeting my friend. She is wondering where I am. If I don’t go now she will give me the whole nine yards! Oh, and I owe you for a drink …’

‘Go,’ said Ryan, waving her off. ‘Can I catch you again?’

‘Here, I’ll give you my cell.’

Ryan took the number. Suddenly she leaned forward and gave him a bold kiss on the cheek. ‘Nice to meet you, Ryan,’ she said smiling. ‘Sorry I’ve got to fly. Call soon.’