died,’ she told him. ‘His quality of life was never good. He couldn’t speak, you know, or walk. Therapy didn’t work. The damage to his brain was too great.’
‘I didn’t realise that.’
Well, of course not. He’d never asked. And she’d never told him. Not that she’d had much opportunity after his stormy departure for England. There’d been no contact between them after that till the night Felicity was conceived, where their brief reunion had not exactly been filled with conversation.
Oh, why did I have to start thinking about that night?
Serina’s head began to whirl. What had he just asked her? Something about her mother. Oh, yes…
‘Mum’s fine,’ she said. ‘She sold the old farm and moved into a villa in a new retirement village closer to town. She’s even started working here again at the weekends, which is very good. It gives me more time to spend with Felicity.’ She didn’t add that all this had come about after Greg’s death, when Serina hadn’t felt capable of going to work for a while.
She had loved her husband. Maybe not with the type of grand passion she’d once felt for Nicolas, but it had been a very true affection.
Nevertheless, she had to confess that once she got over her initial shock and grief, Serina had experienced a strange measure of relief, the same kind of relief, no doubt, that she was sure her mother had felt after her husband had died. Her mother had become very depressed over the years, looking after her husband’s needs and having little pleasure in her own life. Serina’s life with Greg hadn’t been as bad as that. But there was no denying her marriage had not been entirely happy. There’d been too much guilt in Serina’s heart. And one very big secret, which sometimes weighed heavily on her conscience.
Now that she was widow, Serina had imagined that that secret was safe.
Till this moment…
What would Nicolas think, she suddenly worried, when he watched Felicity play the piano? And he would tomorrow night, when she performed in the talent quest. Thankfully, Felicity still looked nothing like her real father. But she had developed certain physical mannerisms when she played. Mannerisms that were horribly familiar. The flamboyant way she attacked the keys; the flourish with which she lifted her hands once she’d finished a piece; the way she tossed her hair…
It was a worry, all right.
Just when she was beginning to feel slightly more relaxed over Nicolas’s motives in coming home.
‘Could your mum pop in to work now, do you think?’ Nicolas asked. ‘Give you some time off?’
‘Oh…er…no, she can’t. She had to take Mrs Johnson down to Newcastle. To the John Hunter Hospital to see a heart specialist.’
‘Mrs Johnson’s not well?’
‘Generally speaking she’s very well. But she’s an old lady, Nicolas. When she had a bit of a turn a few weeks back, Mum decided she should have a few tests. After what happened to Dad, she’s become a strong believer in prevention being better than cure. But she won’t be back till late today.’
‘I see. So you’re stuck at work for the rest of the day.’
‘No, no, I can get away for a while,’ she said when Allie and Emma started making exasperated noises. ‘I have very good help here in the office. And business is rather slow at this time of the year. Not much building going on this close to Christmas.’
‘That’s great. I’ll see you in about an hour then.’
‘Fine. You know where to go?’
‘I presume the lumber yard’s in the same place it’s always been. On the left, just past the garage at the far end of the main street.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Serina could not help a wry smile pulling at her mouth. In the ten years since Nicolas’s last visit to Rocky Creek, the town—plus her family’s business—had changed almost as much as Port had. She would rather enjoy seeing the shock in Nicolas’s eyes when he saw the changes for himself.
‘You’ve changed, too,’ she murmured not quite so happily as she inspected herself in the powder room mirror a few minutes later.
On the surface she was still an attractive woman. She hadn’t put on any weight over the years. And her hair hadn’t yet started turning grey. But her skin no longer held the bloom of youth. She had some lines at the corners of her eyes. And now that she looked closely, there was definitely some slackness around her jaw line.
Serina put her palms on her cheeks and her thumbs on her neck and pulled upwards, tightening her skin. That was what successful New York women did when their faces began to sag. They had facelifts and injections.
Serina dropped her hands away from her face with an exasperated sigh. She was being silly. And vain. All because of Nicolas.
Normally, she didn’t wear much makeup to work, just a touch of mascara and lipstick. This morning, however, she’d surrendered to temptation and used a little foundation and some eyeliner. She’d also worn a new outfit, bought at one of the boutiques in Port Macquarie the previous weekend, one of two outfits purchased with Nicolas’s visit in mind.
Feminine pride had demanded she look her best and not like some country bumpkin.
Serina’s hand trembled as she went to retouch her lipstick, her fingers freezing when her eyes met her own in the mirror.
They were bright. Too bright.
‘Oh, Serina, Serina, be careful,’ she whispered.
She’d claimed to Nicolas that time changed everything. But nothing had changed for her where he was concerned. She still wanted him. She would always want him.
But she would not let him know that. She could not let him know that. For if she did, who knew what might happen…
Chapter Five
NICOLAS’S mind wasn’t on his surroundings as he set out for the half-hour drive to Rocky Creek. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know the way. There was only the one road which connected Port Macquarie to Wauchope: the Oxley Highway. His thoughts were on Serina’s attitude on the phone.
She hadn’t seemed too upset by his return, though clearly she hadn’t wanted to be personally involved with it. She’d sounded rather reluctant to go to lunch with him today. But she couldn’t really say no, not without being rude.
Her daughter would not have been pleased with her mother if she’d been less than hospitable, something Nicolas was well aware of when he’d rung.
Nicolas smiled when he thought of the emails he’d exchanged with Felicity. What a delightful and intelligent child she was. But very strong-willed, if he was any judge. A handful for a widowed mother. What Felicity wanted, Felicity would contrive to get.
Nicolas knew first-hand about wilful children: he’d been one.
His own mother, who’d been a widow of sorts, had given up with him entirely by the time he was thirteen. After which he’d run his own race, on the whole, very successfully.
Only
