strips, capsicum, carrots, snow peas. There was a bottle of sweet chilli sauce in the fridge. Excellent. And some fresh coriander…
She flicked the switch on the transistor radio, and the strains of Ella Fitzgerald crooning ‘Summertime’ filled the room. That was better. The lush swell of the music began to calm her. Tessa kicked off her shoes and padded about the kitchen in her bare feet as she found a chopping board and a suitable knife. Then she began to slice the carrots.
‘Need a hand?’
Tessa swung round, and her sudden movement sent a carrot rolling off the bench. Isaac was standing mere inches behind her.
‘Whoa!’ He ducked and neatly caught the vegetable centimetres from the floor.
‘What are you doing here?’ she snapped, her heart wildly thumping again.
‘Rescuing falling carrots.’ He grinned. ‘And clearly not enjoying the warmth of your welcome.’
‘I’m glad you’ve got the message.’
‘That I’m not welcome?’
‘Exactly. I came in here to get some peace.’
‘But this is a big job, Tess.’ Isaac surveyed the assembled collection of vegetables. ‘You’ll be chopping here for ages. You need another pair of hands.’
‘Mum will be in soon.’
‘I don’t think so. She’s on the phone to some relative of Paul’s having an in-depth conversation about seating arrangements at the reception. Things were getting a touch heated.’
Isaac sauntered across the room and picked up another chopping board before selecting a sharp knife.
‘Give me a job, Tessa.’
She glared at him. ‘If you insist, I’ll need some onions sliced. You can do that. You’ll find them in the bottom of the pantry.’ It would serve him right if the onions made his eyes water, she thought triumphantly as she turned once more to her carrots. Why couldn’t Isaac leave her alone? She offered him her back as she chopped slowly and carefully, angling the knife to produce slim oval slices.
‘Summertime’ finished on the radio, and Ella Fitzgerald began another number. The instant Tessa heard the opening bars of ‘I’m In the Mood for Love,’ her hand shot out to snap the radio off. And in the echoing silence, she heard Isaac’s knife drumming rhythmically against the wooden board. She turned. Isaac was slicing onions with the speed and dexterity of a professional chef. ‘Isaac! Where on earth did you learn to chop onions like that?’
He looked up, feigning innocence. ‘Like what?’
Tessa rolled her eyes. ‘I thought it was mining engineering you’ve been studying, not cooking.’
Isaac slid the pile of finely sliced onions into a bowl and picked up a capsicum. He tossed it lightly then held it out as if studying the smooth, bright red skin. ‘I’ve discovered all sorts of hidden talents in the last nine years, Tess.’
Tessa’s eyes closed automatically as a wave of painful jealousy washed over her. Jealousy for all those years in Isaac’s life she hadn’t shared. What had he been doing? And who had shared all these hidden talents?
Why should she care?
‘I dare say you’ve learned a great deal, too,’ he added and shot her a searching glance. Then his face relaxed into a mocking grin as his gaze rested on her small pile of carrots. ‘But perhaps not in the kitchen.’
‘You grub!’ Tessa yelled. ‘You’ve barged in here when you’re not wanted. You’ve taken over the place, and now you’re making snide remarks about my ability in the kitchen! It’s a pity you didn’t learn some modesty along with all your multi-skilling.’
Isaac ducked as Tessa let fly with the last of her carrots just as Rosalind walked into the kitchen.
‘What’s going on in here?’ she demanded.
‘I’m making a nuisance of myself,’ said Isaac with a grin. ‘So I’ll leave you two in peace.’ He retrieved the carrot from its landing place in the sink and placed it carefully on the bench in front of Tessa. Then he winked at her before walking quietly out of the room.
Of course she couldn’t sleep.
All evening endless questions and haunting memories distracted and tormented her, but once she was in bed, alone in her room, they marched through Tessa’s mind with relentless lucidity. What on earth had possessed Isaac to come back now? What was the real reason for his return? Had he heard about the wedding? Surely, as Rosalind had said, it was too much of a coincidence that his business would bring him to Townsville on this particular week.
He was more self-contained, more confident now than he had been when she knew him before. That had probably come with success. Success in business and in love, most likely.
Tessa flopped onto her stomach and tried to blank out the tormenting thoughts. Just breathe deeply and relax, she told herself. She lay in the dark trying hard to empty her mind. But soon the taunting images came rolling back. She thought of Isaac lying down the hall. Was he snoring blissfully, or was he remembering, too? How had he felt today when he drove up to the house?
For seven years it had been his home.
She pictured him sitting in his truck staring at the house for several moments before he began to climb the curve of smooth sandstone steps bordered by drifts of bright bougainvillea. In her mind’s eye she saw his long legs taking the steps two at a time. Did he encounter, as she so often did when she came home, the ghosts of a laughing, golden-haired girl and a tall, dark, brooding boy?
And when he stepped out onto the deck and saw once again the blue sweep of Cleveland Bay and the mass of tall, straight masts, which delineated the marina, did he remember Antares? She felt her cheeks grow hot. What a fiery couple they had been when she was nineteen and he one year older. Alone on the family yacht, they’d seduced each other with all the excitement and passion of intense, young love.
How special that time had been!
She could still remember the delicious smell of Isaac’s sun-warmed skin as she buried her face in his chest, the taste of his lips on hers and the reassurance of his arms holding her tight. And especially she remembered the way he’d looked at her, his dark eyes smouldering with desire, and how her senses exploded with longing.
Paul Hammond’s serious face flashed into Tessa’s mind, and she knew at once that she had to stop thinking about Isaac. Sleep was going to be impossible. She wondered if Rosalind kept any chamomile tea.
Putting her thoughts into action, Tessa padded down the dark, silent hallway to the kitchen. Luckily Rosalind’s big pantry cupboard was fixed with an internal light, so she could find the herbal tea bags without having to illuminate the whole area. She left the pantry door open and used the glow from its light while she found a mug and boiled the kettle.
She placed two tea bags in a small teapot, filled it, then carried it and a mug onto the moon-washed deck. It was cool outside, and she was glad of her warm pyjamas as she settled into a canvas director’s chair, hoping the silvery bay and the distant lights of Magnetic Island would soothe her.
‘I’ll
