thought of an innocent baby being born with a wrongly wired brain like hers triggered a strongly negative recoil inside Lucy. She would not risk that happening. Which meant, of course, she would probably never marry—no real point to it if having a family was out of the question.
There was, however, always the hope of meeting a prince who didn’t care about having children, or perhaps one who had a genetic fault of his own and would be happy to simply settle with having each other to love. She hadn’t ruled out these possibilities. They bolstered her resolve to keep moving on, making the most of her journey through life.
The cemetery on the outskirts of Cairns came into view. It was aptly named Greenlands—everything being so very green as it usually was up here in far north tropical Queensland, especially after the big wet and before the oppressive heat of summer. August was always a pleasant month and Lucy was glad she wasn’t stuck in the office, closed off from the lovely sunshine.
As she drove the van into the parking lot, she spotted a man wielding a shovel beside one of the graves. He looked elderly and Lucy instantly decided he wouldn’t be dangerous to approach, not that she was frightened of doing so anyway. Her appearance invariably disarmed people.
She loved putting herself together in a fun outfit. The Sunday Markets at Port Douglas were always great for crafty stuff. The wooden bead necklaces and bangles she’d bought yesterday, along with the tan leather belt, and sandals that strapped in criss-crosses up her lower legs, looked fabulous with the white broderie anglaise miniskirt and peasant blouse she was wearing today. Her long blond hair was piled up on top of her head to show off the cute dangly wooden earrings, as well. She didn’t look like officialdom and that was half the battle in getting people to confide in her.
The elderly man caught sight of her walking towards him, and stopped digging, leaning on the long handle of his shovel as he watched her approach, looking her up and down as most men did, regardless of age. She could now see two large plastic bags of potting soil lying on the ground beside him, and behind them was the top of a rose bush.
‘Well, you’re a pretty sight for sore eyes, girlie,’ he greeted her, his mouth slowly curving into a wistful little smile. ‘Visiting a loved one?’
‘Yes, I always visit my mother when I come out here,’ Lucy said with her own wistful smile. The man’s face was so lined and dotted with age spots she guessed he was about eighty, but his body had a spry wiriness that undoubtedly came from keeping himself active.
‘Your mother, eh? Must have died young,’ he remarked.
Lucy nodded. ‘She was only thirty-eight.’ Ten years older than Lucy was now—a fact that lay constantly in the back of her mind, urging her to pack as much into her life as she could.
‘What took her?’ the man asked sympathetically.
‘Cancer.’
‘Ah, that’s a hard death.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Guess I should be grateful my wife went quickly. Heart gave out. Coming up seventy-five she was. Almost made it to our diamond wedding anniversary.’
‘You must have had a happy marriage,’ Lucy commented, wondering if it was really true. She had observed that some couples stayed together because they didn’t want to face the turmoil of breaking up.
‘My Gracie was a wonderful woman.’ There was love and longing in his voice. ‘Wouldn’t have swapped her for anyone. She was the best, the only one for me. I miss her so much....’ Tears welled into his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lucy said softly, waiting until he’d recovered his composure before asking, ‘Are you planting that rose for her?’
‘Yes,’ he answered huskily. ‘Gracie loved roses. Especially this one—Pal Joey—because it has such a beautiful scent. Not like those hothouse roses they sell in shops. Here...’ he bent down and picked up the bagged rose bush, pointing out the one yellow rose in full bloom ‘...come and smell it.’
She did. The scent was stunningly strong and beautiful. ‘Oh, that’s lovely!’
‘I brought it from our garden. I couldn’t let my Gracie lie here without some part of our garden, and this was her favourite rose.’
‘Well, Mr...?’ Lucy raised her eyebrows quizzically, needing his name.
‘Robson. Ian Robson.’
‘Lucy Flippence,’ she responded. ‘I have to tell you I’m from cemetery administration, Mr Robson. Someone reported you digging at a grave and I was sent out to investigate, but I can see there’s no harm being done.’
He frowned over any possible interference to his plan. ‘Only want to plant the rose.’
‘I know,’ Lucy soothed. ‘What you’re doing is fine with me. You’ll tidy up afterwards, won’t you? Leave your wife’s grave looking much nicer than it was before, take the empty bags away?’
‘Don’t you worry, Miss Flippence. I’ll not only do that, but you can count on me tending to this rose bush, feeding it and pruning it so it will bloom beautifully for my Gracie.’
Lucy gave him a warm smile. ‘I’m sure you will, Mr Robson. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I’ll go visit my mother now.’
‘God bless,’ he said in parting.
‘You, too.’
As she walked on Lucy had no doubt that Ian Robson had been a prince to his Gracie. That kind of devotion could only come out of a true love which lasted a lifetime. However rare that was, it was comforting to know it did happen—could happen for her if she was super, super lucky.
She stopped at her mother’s grave, sighing heavily at what Ellie had insisted be printed on the headstone:
Veronica Anne Flippence
Beloved Mother of Elizabeth and Lucy
No ‘Beloved Wife of George,’ because that would have been a huge lie. As soon as their mother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer their father had deserted them. Not that he would have been any help during those long months of suffering. Every time he’d come home on leave from his mining job in Mount Isa he’d ended up getting drunk and abusive. Better that he had left his daughters to look after their mother, but the desertion certainly demonstrated there was not even common decency in his character—a frog of the worst order.
Ellie had found out he’d had another woman in Mount Isa and was leading a double life—a cheat on top of everything else. Lucy was glad he had dropped out of their lives. She still hated him for not giving her mother the love she had deserved. There’d been no roses in their marriage—none that Lucy could remember.
‘It’s Ellie’s birthday today, Mum,’ she said out loud. ‘I’m sure you know that. I bought her a gorgeous butterfly blouse and a lovely green skirt to go with it. She’s fallen into a dowdy rut and I want to break her out of it. You said for us to always look out for each other, and Ellie does more than her fair share of that, helping me over hurdles I can’t leap like everyone else because of my dyslexia. I’m trying to help her to meet a prince. Guys notice colourful people. She has to give herself a chance, don’t you think?’
Lucy smiled at what Ellie had told her over the phone this morning—that her long brown hair
