first-rate.’ Gus sent her a slightly less careful smile, but his throat worked, betraying his tension. ‘So, I take it you still live at the Bay?’
‘I do.’ She smiled shyly and gave a careless flick of her long pale hair. ‘Still a beach girl.’
‘It suits you.’
Freya dampened her lips and prepared to launch into what had to be said.
‘How’s your mother?’ Gus asked, jumping in to fill the brief lull.
‘Oh, she’s fine, thanks. Still living in the same crooked little house right on the beachfront. As much of a hippie as ever.’
He let his gaze travel over her and, despite the nervous knots tightening in her stomach, Freya indulged in a little staring too. His eyes were as rich and dark as ever and his hair still had the habit of flopping forward onto his forehead.
She felt an ache in her chest—she couldn’t help it. She’d missed Gus Wilder so much. For a dozen years she’d been out of his life. She knew he’d worked in Africa, and there was so much more she wanted to know. Where exactly had he been? What had he done and seen? Whom had he loved?
‘I know you have something very important to discuss,’ Gus said, ‘but would you like a drink first?’ Without waiting for her answer, he raised a hand to catch the waiter’s attention.
‘What can I get for you?’ The waiter’s manner was noticeably less cordial now that Gus had joined Freya.
‘A lemon, lime and bitters, please,’ she said.
‘And I’ll have a mid-strength beer.’
‘Very well, sir.’
After he’d gone, another awkward silence fell and Freya knew it was up to her to speak. If she didn’t get to the point of this meeting quickly it would become impossibly difficult. Taking a deep breath, she folded her hands carefully in her lap.
‘I really am very grateful that you’ve come here, Gus. I know you must be puzzled, but I’m hoping that you might be able to help me.’
‘You said it was a matter of life and death.’
She nodded.
‘I hoped you were being melodramatic.’
‘Unfortunately, no.’
The last remnants of Gus’s smile vanished. Leaning forward, he reached for her hand. ‘Freya, what is it? What’s happened?’
His touch was so gentle and he looked so worried she had to close her eyes. She hadn’t been able to broach this subject twelve years ago, and it was a thousand times harder now. Just thinking about what she had to tell him made her heart race and her stomach rebel.
‘Gus, before I tell you, I have to ask—are you married?’
It was the worst possible moment for the waiter to return. Wincing, Freya dropped her gaze while the drinks were set on cardboard coasters in front of them.
She reached for her purse, but Gus beat her to the draw.
‘My shout,’ he said.
‘But I owe you. You’ve come all this way.’
He was already handing money to the waiter and she didn’t feel strong enough to argue. Instead, she thanked him and stirred her drink with a slim black straw, making the ice cubes clink and the slices of lemon and lime swirl.
Frowning, Gus touched the tips of two fingers to the frosty outside of his beer glass. ‘I can’t help being curious. What does my marital status have to do with your problem?’
She felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘It…could…complicate everything. If you were married, your wife might not want you to help me.’
Heavens, she was making a mess of this and Gus looked understandably puzzled. She wished she could find a way to simply download everything she needed to tell him without stumbling through explanations, or grasping for the right words, or the right order to put them in. Surely, negotiating world peace would be easier than this.
Clearly bewildered, Gus shot a glance to her left hand. ‘What about you? Are you married?’
‘Still single.’
His eyes widened. ‘That’s a surprise. I thought you’d be snapped up by now.’
I never gave them a chance, Freya thought.
Gus set his glass down and eyed her levelly. ‘I was married three years ago,’ he said.
She had steeled herself, determined not to mind, but this wasn’t just a matter of hurt pride. She did mind. Very much. Now Gus would have to discuss her problem with his wife and how could she be sure another woman would be sympathetic?
Gus swallowed, making the muscles in his throat ripple. ‘My wife died.’
‘Oh.’ A whisper was all Freya could manage. She was swamped by a deluge of emotions—sympathy and sadness for Gus mixed, heaven help her, with jealousy for the woman who’d won his heart. ‘Gus, I’m so sorry. Were you married long?’
‘A little over a year. We met when we were both working in Africa. My wife, Monique, was French—a doctor with Médecins Sans Frontières.’
So his wife had been clever, adventurous and courageous, and filled with high ideals. In other words, she was exactly like Gus. She’d been perfect for him.
‘That’s so sad.’ To her shame, Freya was torn between compassion for Gus’s pain and her relief that one hurdle had been removed.
Gus said grimly, ‘I guess you’d better tell me what this is all about. What’s your problem?’
Her heart took off like a steeplechaser. ‘Actually, it’s my son who’s in trouble.’
‘Your son?’ Gus repeated, clearly shocked.
All the worry and tension of the past weeks rose inside Freya and she felt like a pressure cooker about to blow its lid. Her lips trembled, but she willed herself to hold everything together. She mustn’t break down now.
‘So you’re a single mum?’
She nodded, too choked up to speak.
‘Like your mother.’
She managed another nod, grateful for the lack of condemnation in his voice. Of course, Gus had never been a snob like his father. He’d never looked down his nose at Sugar Bay’s hippies.
Just the same, his observation was accurate. Freya had followed in her mother’s footsteps. In fact, Poppy had actively encouraged her daughter into single motherhood.
We can raise your baby together, darling. Of course we can. Look at the way I raised you. We’ll be fine. We’re alike, you and me. We’re destined to be independent. You don’t need a man, love.
