In the middle of winter, it had been the highlight of the cold season. She hadn’t been involved, but Matilda had directed and Ellie had often hung around watching rehearsals. The atmosphere whenever the cast and crew got together had been exhilarating.
“Think that’s us done now,” said Joyce, interrupting Ellie’s memory. “Unless there’s anything else you can think of.”
“No.” Ellie stared ahead at the checkout, trying to remember the name of the girl behind the counter. She knew if she acted friendly and not like the snob they all took her for, she’d stand a better chance of not being stoned. That started with addressing people by their names.
As she stopped the trolley at the front of the store, however, her gaze drifted to the newspapers on a stand next to the checkouts. Across the front page of the West Australian was her face, large and flushed against the pale cement of the service station floor. The headline: Stella’s Soap Opera Past in Rural WA. Flynn’s scowling—but still terribly sexy—face was inset at the bottom of the page.
Her heart plummeted at the publicity she neither needed nor wanted. Ten years ago, one particular hound of a journalist had almost uncovered the whole story when she was first starting to make a name for herself. Luckily a well-known cricket personality had indulged in an affair with a newsreader about the same time, and the story of Ellie and Flynn and their nonwedding had died a quick death.
Her mobile began to shrill from her handbag, the unmistakable tone of Lady Gaga interrupting her thoughts. She ripped the zip open and snatched the phone. Not at all surprised to see the caller was her agent, Dwayne Wright, she pressed Reject and shoved it back inside. There wasn’t time to deal with Dwayne’s fury right now—she had about five hundred newspapers to buy.
“I’ll take the lot,” she told the woman behind the checkout, gesturing to the newspapers. “And if you’ve got any out the back, I’ll take them, too.” Dammit, her name was Simone, she remembered a moment too late.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Simone scoffed, making a derogatory sound between her teeth. “I can’t sell you all the newspapers.”
“Why not?” Ellie’s heart tripped over itself. “My money’s as good as anyone’s.”
Not deeming her comment worthy of a reply, Simone leaned forward and spoke into the PA. “Gavin, can you please come to the checkout? Gavin.”
“Who’s Gavin?” Ellie hissed to Joyce.
“The manager,” Joyce whispered back.
Ah good, thought Ellie, surely he won’t turn down legitimate sales. But of course she was wrong. The manager, whom she recognized as a distant relative of Flynn’s mother, wasn’t even sure he wanted to let her buy one newspaper.
“I don’t want you causing havoc in my shop,” he announced, his pudgy arms folded over an impressive beer gut. “Perhaps you should just leave.”
To hell with being polite, Ellie had just about had it up to here with some of the people in this silly, back-of-beyond town. She thrust her finger at the sign that hung across the entrance. “Last time I checked, this was a co-operative.” She dragged the last word out, showing exactly what she thought of him. “And as I recall, co-operative means owned by the community, whereas you are just its manager. So I’m buying the damn food in this trolley and I’ll buy as many newspapers as I want.”
Upset and sweating, Ellie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the thick pile of papers. She yanked them up and dropped them on the checkout, narrowly missing Simone’s fingers. Her sunglasses tumbled off the top of her head and the newspapers fell off either side of the ancient conveyer belt making a mess on the floor.
“I’ll pick them up,” said Joyce, her voice taking on a warning tone. “You go wait in the car.”
At Joyce’s words Ellie cringed. She looked at the faces now glaring at her from all over the store. She’d totally lost it, confirming what most of the town probably thought—that she was some up-herself celebrity who thought money could buy everything. Truth was, all she wanted was the chance to prove them wrong. That she wasn’t the evil Jezebel they’d pegged her as. What happened to being human? What happened to everyone making mistakes?
Her eyes brimmed with tears she didn’t want to shed in public. Years on the small screen had made her very good at being able to turn the waterworks on when she didn’t really feel like it, and an expert at switching them off when in the public eye. But right now, she was losing the battle.
Opting to accept Joyce’s out, she stooped to pick up her sunglasses, almost poking herself in the eye in an effort to put them back on. She left the store, walking briskly and failing dismally to hold her head high.
AS FLYNN MADE his way out of the sheep yards, where he’d been getting his sheep ready for the big ram sale, he saw Lucy running toward him from the homestead. She was shouting something, her arms waving crazily over her head as she did so. He started in her direction.
“What’s up, little sis?”
Despite almost losing it on the weekend and running into Ellie, he’d woken up in a good mood, optimistic about inhabiting the same town as her. The initial meeting was over and, he had to say, it had been less traumatic than he’d anticipated. He’d handled it a lot better than she had, that’s for sure. Probably because, when push came to shove, she was the one with something to feel guilty about. If she hadn’t loved him enough to settle down with him, she should have been woman enough to say so to his face.
As the gap closed between the siblings, Flynn noticed his mobile in Lucy’s hand. Instinctively, he patted his pocket where the phone usually lived. “Careful with that,” he said, reaching for it when Lucy approached.
“I wasn’t the one who left it on the kitchen table where it’s been ringing incessantly and almost vibrating off the edge.” She puffed a little to catch her breath. “The house phone’s been going crazy since the crack of dawn, too.”
Flynn frowned and glanced at the screen. Twenty-two missed calls. That had to be a record.
“Women’s Weekly has rung, TV Week, the Australian and even Sunrise.” Excitement bounced off every word. “Kochie and Mel want to interview you. And Cara says you’re on the front page of the West. You’re famous.” Two words he didn’t want to hear. Especially not for the reasons he guessed. Why else would the journos come sniffing around?
“Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“School holidays,” Lucy said with a grin.
He sighed as the phone buzzed again. “No point prolonging the inevitable.” He answered. “Good morning, Flynn Quartermaine.”
“And a very good morning to you, too, Flynn,” sang a woman’s voice. “How does it feel to have your first love back in town?”
He gritted his teeth. The audacity of the woman not even bothering to introduce herself, hoping he’d spill some juicy news before realizing she wasn’t an old friend. Yeah, right.
“If you’re referring to Ellie Hughes, that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Please don’t call again.”
“But, Flynn...”
