of weeks ago, had been that he was still waiting to see if the guy in mind was going to take up the position so he could have some much-needed time off. ‘Look, Sergeant Di Angelo, I am not sure what you are suggesting, but I had no idea Gladys had written her will that way. It came as a complete surprise to me. I had not expected her to do anything like that. It was certainly never something we discussed.’
‘How did her family feel about her bequeathing everything to you?’ he asked, still with that cop-like gaze fixed on hers.
‘Gladys and her husband Jim lost their only son forty years ago,’ she said, trying not to fidget under his unnerving scrutiny. ‘There are nieces and nephews and second cousins and so on, but no one who visited or kept in touch regularly.’
‘So you were the lucky one to inherit all of her considerable assets.’ It was neither a statement nor a question but more leaning towards an accusation, Gemma thought.
‘Huntingdon Lodge is like a lot of old properties around here—quite rundown,’ she said. ‘It needs much more money than it produces in order to keep things going.’
‘What have you decided to do with it?’ he asked. ‘Keep it or sell it?’
‘I—I haven’t quite decided,’ she answered, which wasn’t exactly the truth. As much as Gemma loved Jingilly Creek and caring for the locals, Huntingdon Lodge, although beautiful and with masses of potential, really needed someone with a farming background to run it properly. But for the first time since her mother had died she had a place to call home. But selling up and leaving so soon after inheriting the property could easily be misinterpreted by the locals. She had decided to make the best of it until enough time passed to make other plans.
‘No immediate plans to head back to the big smoke?’ he asked.
Gemma pursed her lips before she responded. He was watching her with that steady cop-gaze, quietly reading her every word and movement to see if they were in sync. ‘I am not sure what these questions have to do with your appointment here, Sergeant. I should warn you that if you subject every person you meet in Jingilly Creek to the same inquisition you have given me, you might find your stay here is not as pleasant or productive as you might have wished.’
He gave her his brief version of a smile but it didn’t involve his eyes. ‘I’ll risk it,’ he said as he rose to his feet. ‘Thank you for your time.’
Gemma stood up but her legs didn’t feel as steady as she would have liked. The consulting room seemed to have shrunk considerably as it accommodated the sergeant’s tall, authoritative presence. She could even catch a hint of his lemony aftershave and late-in-the-day honest male sweat. It wasn’t unpleasant, certainly not as unpleasant as that of some of her hard-working, hard-drinking, hard-smoking patients.
Marc Di Angelo smelt of a man in his prime: sexy, virile and dangerously potent. ‘How long are you planning on staying at this post?’ she asked out of a politeness she didn’t really feel.
‘I am not sure at this stage,’ he answered. ‘It depends.’
‘So, you’re like doing a locum or something?’
His eyes gave nothing away. ‘Something like that.’
‘Have you had a chance to meet the other officer?’ she asked. ‘I was out on a call with Ray Grant earlier but he should be back at the station by now. He didn’t mention he was expecting you today.’
‘I spoke to him by phone a short time ago to let him know I was here,’ he said. ‘I’ll head back there now to introduce myself in person.’ He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and handed her a card. ‘My contact details in case I’m not at the station any time.’
Gemma took the card, which was still warm from being so close to his body. She put it on her desk, and faced him again. ‘Where are you staying while you’re here?’ she asked, not just out of forced or fabricated politeness this time. Accommodation was limited in Jingilly Creek and he didn’t seem the type to rough it at the local pub.
‘The department has booked me in at the hotel for the time being,’ he said. ‘I believe it’s called The Drover’s Retreat.’
‘Yes, well, it was a long time since it was anything like a retreat,’ she said with a wry expression. ‘You’ll get a bed, a shared bathroom and a cold beer and bangers and mash, but that’s about it.’
‘Do you have somewhere else you could recommend?’ he asked.
Gemma hesitated. Sharing Huntingdon Lodge with Marc Di Angelo was not something she was going to put her hand up for even if she was keen to get some regular boarders in to meet the cost of the repairs Rob Foster was helping her with. ‘Um … well, there’s not much around here. You’d have to go to Minnigarra for a motel but that’s over a hundred kilometres away.’
He looked at her for an infinitesimal pause. ‘So you’re not currently taking in lodgers?’
Gemma knew her face was pink but there was nothing she could do about it. ‘Um … I’m in the middle of repairs and renovations at present.’ It sounded like the fob-off it was and the look in his dark eyes confirmed he recognised it as such.
‘I’ll give the local place a go before I make other arrangements,’ he said. ‘Thank you again for your time.’
Gemma let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding once he left the clinic building. She had a feeling this was not going to be the last time she was going to be cross-examined by the determined and rather delicious-looking sergeant.
The drive out to Huntingdon Lodge, especially close to sundown, never failed to inspire Gemma. The sky was a brilliant backdrop of orange and yellow against the red dust of the open plains. It hadn’t rained for months but the last showers had been enough to fill the tanks and rivers for the first time in a decade. The pastoral area surrounding Jingilly Creek was still struggling to get back on its feet after such a difficult time but the locals were hopeful of another solid rain before winter arrived.
The long driveway to the stately old Victorian-style mansion was lined by old poplar trees, whose just-starting-to-turn leaves rattled like bottle caps in the evening breeze. A flock of corellas and sulphurcrested cockatoos called shrilly from the red river gums down by the river running through the property. It was a picturesque setting and yet Gemma felt a rush of loneliness when her gaze went to the empty rocking chair on the veranda.
Flossie, Gladys’s old Border collie, came limping down the steps to greet her. Gemma crouched down and hugged the old girl around the neck. ‘Hiya, Floss,’ she said. ‘I miss her too.’
The dog gave her a melting look and followed her into the house. Gemma fed the dog, and then, after a quick refreshing shower, she poured herself a cool drink and went back out to sit on the veranda to enjoy the last of the sunset. A couple of kangaroos were grazing in the house paddock, increasingly brave now that Flossie’s eyesight and sense of smell and speed were not what they had once been.
A thin curl of dust rose from the road in the distance but Gemma couldn’t make out if it was a neighbour or a tourist. Jingilly Creek hadn’t exactly been a tourist destination since a bypass to the town had been built in the eighties, but very occasionally a visitor would find their way to the isolated community if they headed inland off the main highway. Gladys would always give them a warm country welcome, fill them with a good hearty meal and offer them a bed for a night or two. Gemma had enjoyed watching her landlady
