dropped the phone, then picked it up and spluttered. ‘I—I’m sorry, Lucette. I’ve got to go.’
Then, her heart thundering in her chest, she bounded out of bed and snatched up a towelling bathrobe, tying it around her as she hurried across the room. It couldn’t be! Surely not.
At the front door, she paused and took a deep breath. Don’t be ridiculous, she warned herself. He’s on the plane. This will be someone from work. Get a grip! But it was a shaking hand she raised to the latch.
She inched the door open. At first, all she could see was an enormous bunch of Cooktown orchids with lilac petals and purple throats. But then, from behind them, came Fletcher’s uncertain smile.
‘Oh!’
‘These were the only purple flowers I could find,’ he said with an apologetic grin and a slight shrug of one broad shoulder. ‘I know it’s your favourite colour and—’
‘Fletcher, you’re still here.’
‘I couldn’t do it, Ally,’ he whispered into her hair as she flung her arms around him. ‘I don’t know what this means, but I couldn’t get on that plane. I...’
The rest of his words were lost as she linked her hands behind his neck and, with a gesture that felt as right and natural as breathing, pulled his face and his beautiful, sensuous mouth to meet hers.
She managed to wangle a week’s special leave. The following days and nights were perfect. They drove into the country and wandered hand in hand through fields of springtime wild flowers. They dined out, cooked for each other, brought home take-away meals and watched movies together. Sensational days and mghts. Ally had never had so much fun, had never felt so happy. It was a happiness she knew could not last, but she refused to think about the future, and had absolutely no inclination to think about her work.
And the Cooktown orchids were the first of many purple presents. Fletcher showered her with gifts; chocolate hearts with violet cream centres, a purple velvet evening bag, a box of crystallised violets and finally a beautiful pendant with amethysts set in filigree silver.
Two nights before she was due back at work they lay together on her wide bed, their bodies gleaming in the silvery light of the moon that shone through a high arched window, listening to one of Ally’s favourite Brahms sonatas. Rolling onto his side so that, propped on one elbow, he could look into her eyes, Fletcher smiled tenderly. ‘I shall never, ever forget you, Ally.’ With a long finger, he traced the silvery outline of her body. ‘This neat silhouette will be my most precious memory,’ he told her, his voice husky.
‘I’ve never been so happy.’ She laughed, kissing him. ‘I’ve quite shocked myself.’
Fletcher’s blue eyes widened. ‘Shocked as in horrified, or shocked as in surprised?’
‘Oh, surprised. Very pleasantly surprised.’ She bent over him, enjoying the hungry glint in his eyes as her breasts grazed his chest. She nibbled gently at the stubble on his chin. ‘I’ve never been like this before. Wanting to make love over and over. Never having enough.’
‘Some people might find that shocking,’ Fletcher agreed with a happy chuckle, ‘but I don’t have a problem with it.’
‘So, you’re not sleepy yet?’ she asked, her voice sultry with desire.
‘How could I sleep with your tempting little body draped all over me. Watch out, Ally, you’re about to be shocked some more, but I promise you’ll love it.’ And Fletcher was as good as his word.
The happy bubble burst with a phone call at breakfast.
Ally was making fruit salad, scooping out the fleshy pulp of a passionfruit and laughingly claiming that she bore absolutely no resemblance to the round purple fruit Fletcher had coined as her nickname.
The shrill summons of the telephone came from the lounge room.
‘I’ll get it,’ said Fletcher, helping himself to a cube of mango before he swung his long legs off the pine kitchen stool.
With a contented smile, Ally watched him stride across the room, then she continued to chop banana and squeeze lemon juice over it before adding it to the bowl. She was stirring all the fruits together, delighting in the fresh colour combinations of the different melons—the pale green of honeydew, combined with the deep pink of watermelon and the delicate orange of rockmelon—when she sensed Fletcher standing very still and quiet in the kitchen doorway. She looked up and was startled by his stunned, sad expression.
‘Fletcher, what’s the matter?’
‘There’s been an accident,’ he said quietly.
Ally felt her stomach lurch with a sudden horrible fear. She watched him walk towards her slowly, awkwardly, his mouth twisted with the effort to hold his emotions in check. ‘My best friend, Jock Lawrence and his wife, Lisa—killed in a car accident in Sydney.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
‘Yeah.’ Fletcher let out a weary sigh and sank back onto the kitchen stool, his shoulders slumped. Ally quickly moved to the other side of the bench and slipped her arms around him. She rested her cheek gently against his and he turned and kissed her in a brief acknowledgment of her offer of comfort. ‘I just can’t believe it. He was such a great guy. We went to school, to university...’
There was nothing she could say or do except stay there, holding him, letting him talk slowly, haltingly.
‘I’ll have to go, Ally. I mean I’d go to the fune-ftmeral anyway. But there’s his son—little Connor. He was the only—only survivor, strapped in one of those little seats in the back. I’m his godfather and, according to old Mr. Lawrence, I’ve also been named as his guardian.’
‘Guardian? Does that mean he’ll live with you?’
‘Perhaps. I’m not sure yet. He’s with his grandparents in Sydney at the moment, but they’re pretty old and frail. Jock’s father sounded very shaken.’ He stood up quickly, so quickly that her hands, as they fell away from his shoulders, slapped against her sides. ‘I’ll have to ring the airlines and make a booking. Oh, God, I can’t believe it.’
Ally followed him into her lounge room and sat some distance away watching as he dialled and waited for a connection, before speaking to the airline. She felt cold and lonely, knowing with a sudden certainty that this time when Fletcher left Melbourne he would be walking out of her life. Going back to his own people—where he belonged.
Eventually he hung up and told her softly. ‘I got a cancellation on the 9:00 a.m. flight.’
‘This morning?’ cried Ally in panic. ‘That’s only two hours away.’
‘I’m sorry, Ally, but Jock’s parents—I don’t know that they have anyone to help them deal with this.’
‘Of course, I understand,’ replied Ally, ashamed of her selfish outburst. ‘I’ll make us a pot of coffee.’
Fletcher was still sitting in the lounge chair, staring
