help wondering if some of them had come to the shop just to spy on her. At least two of the local women hinted—with very unsubtle nudges and winks—that they’d heard from Hilda Bligh about Jo’s special visitor. One of them actually said that she’d heard the Martens were expecting a visit from Ivy’s father.
Jo pretended she had no idea what they were talking about.
Apart from these awkward moments, she was happy to be kept busy. The work kept her mind from straying Hugh-wards.
Brad and Nick, two of her brothers who worked further out west on cattle properties, arrived home around eight. They came into the shop and greeted her with hugs and back slaps and they hung about for ten minutes or so, catching up on her news. Then they went back into the house for the warmed leftover dinner Mum had saved for them.
Jo ate a scratch meal at the counter and she was tired when it was time to close up the shop. She went to lock the front door and looked out into the street and took a few deep breaths. It was a hot, still summer’s night and the air felt dry and dusty, but despite this she caught a hint of frangipani and night-scented jasmine drifting from nearby gardens.
Overhead, the Christmas Eve sky was cloudless and clear and splashed with an extravaganza of silver-bright stars. Grace and Tilly would be watching that sky from their bedroom window, hoping for a glimpse of Santa Claus and his reindeer. And Mum would be warning Eric and Bill not to spoil their little sisters’ fantasies.
What would little Ivy be doing out at Agate Downs? Had she received her present? Had she liked the lavender unicorn? For a moment Jo let her mind play with the mystery of Hugh Strickland and this child. She could picture him very clearly as he climbed out of his vehicle with the toy unicorn clutched in one hand. Goodness, she should have put it in something more attractive than a plastic bag.
Thinking about him and his mysterious errand caused an unwelcome pang around her heart. She shivered and rubbed her arms to chase away goose-bumps. What was the point of thinking over and over about Hugh? Perhaps she was getting man-crazy. It was six months since she’d broken up with Damien.
She locked the doors, pulled down the blinds, locked the till and turned out the lights in the shop. It was time to slip into her bedroom to wrap her presents. Once the children were safely asleep, she would have fun setting the brightly wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree in the lounge room.
The Berrys enjoyed a no-frills Christmas Eve. She’d have a cup of tea with Mum and they’d both put their feet up. The older boys would sit out on the back veranda with Dad, yarning about cattle and drinking their first icy-cold Christmas beer, while she and Mum talked over their final plans for the festive meals tomorrow.
She hadn’t quite completed the gift-wrapping saga when there was a knock on her bedroom door. ‘Who is it?’ she called softly, not wanting to wake her sisters in the next room.
‘It’s Mum.’
‘Just a minute.’ Jo had been wrapping her mother’s presents—French perfume and a CD compilation of her mum’s favourite music from the sixties and seventies—so she slipped these quickly under her pillow. ‘I’m almost finished.’
When she opened the door her mother looked strangely excited. ‘You have a visitor.’
‘Really? Who is it?’
‘An Englishman. He says his name’s Hugh Strickland.’
An arrow-swift jolt shot through Jo. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Margie Berry’s brow wrinkled into a worried frown. ‘Who is he, love? He seems very nice and polite, but do you want me to send him away?’
‘Oh, no,’ Jo answered quickly. ‘He’s just a customer. He—he was in the shop this afternoon.’
‘Yes, he told me that. He said you were very helpful.’ Margie looked expectant, but Jo was reluctant to go into details.
Her mind raced. Why was Hugh here? He was supposed to be at Agate Downs. ‘W-where is he?’
‘I found him on the back veranda, talking to Dad and the boys, but it’s you he wants. He asked for you ever so politely, so I told him to wait in the kitchen.’
‘The kitchen?’ Her bedroom had been bad enough and Jo winced when she tried to picture Hugh Strickland in their big old out-of-date kitchen, cluttered this evening with the aftermath of Mum’s Christmas baking. Somehow the image wouldn’t gel.
Jo was gripping the door handle so hard her hand ached as she let it go. This didn’t make sense. ‘Did you ask him why he wants to see me?’
Margie gave an irritated toss of her head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
Jo wished she had a chance to check her appearance in the mirror, but her mother was waiting with her hands on her hips and a knowing glint in her eyes. Besides, what was the point of titivating? Hugh Strickland had already seen her today and she would look much the same as she had earlier. Her smooth brown hair was cut into a jaw-length bob that never seemed to get very untidy and she wasn’t wearing make-up, and there wasn’t much she could do to improve her plain white T-shirt and blue jeans.
Just the same, she felt nervous as she set off down the passage for the kitchen, as if she were going to an audition for a part in a play but had no idea what role she was trying for.
Hugh was standing near the scrubbed pine table in the middle of the room and the moment she saw him she went all weak-kneed and breathless.
And that was before he smiled.
Oh, heavens, he was good-looking. She’d been beginning to wonder if perhaps her imagination had exaggerated how gorgeous he was.
No way. His dark hair was still spiky, but that was part of his appeal, as was the five o’clock shadow that darkened his strong jaw line. And beyond that there was a subtle air of superiority about him—a matter of breeding perhaps, something unmistakable like the born-to-win lines of a well-bred stallion.
But behind his charming smile she could sense banked-up emotion carefully held in check. What was it? Anger? Impatience? Dismay?
She wondered if she should ask him to sit down, but his tension suggested he’d rather stand. Why had he returned so soon?
He answered that question immediately when he held out the pink plastic bag she’d given him. ‘I came to return this.’
Frowning, Jo accepted it. She could feel the shape of the fluffy unicorn still inside. Her mind raced, trying to work out what this could mean. ‘Couldn’t you find your way to Agate Downs?’
‘I found the place,’ he said. ‘Your directions were spot on.’
‘So what happened? Weren’t the Martens home?’
‘I turned back without seeing them.’ A muscle worked in his jaw and he dropped his gaze. His face seemed to stiffen. ‘I had second thoughts. It’s the wrong time.’
‘Oh.’ What else could she say? This was none of her business. ‘That’s a—a pity.’ A few hours ago it had been vitally important that Hugh made a good impression on the child. And it had seemed important that it happened today. Jo pressed her lips together, fighting the impulse to interrogate him.
