a long time...
Shea shifted agitatedly and quickly forced her disquieting reflections out of her mind. She made herself make pleasant conversation to distract herself from her unsettling thoughts. ‘So, what do you think will be on tonight’s agenda at the meeting?’
‘We had a few points to discuss that were carried over from last month,’ David said earnestly as he turned the car onto the road into the town centre. ‘I believe I heard someone suggested picketing the council offices about the new sewerage pipes. I can’t say I find that acceptable behaviour.’
Shea raised her eyebrows. ‘So you’re not into passive resistance?’
‘Of course not. I can’t see any point in making an exhibition of one’s self. There are other more, well, urbane ways of doing things.’
‘Mature discussion?’ Shea suggested, and David brushed a hand over his dark hair.
‘Of course. People do associate picketing and rallying with the, well, the unsavoury hippie element. Don’t you think, Shea?’
Shea bit her lip reflectively. There were a number of alternative lifestyle groups in and around Byron Bay but Shea didn’t consider them to be unsavoury. She glanced sideways at David and saw his lips were pursed in disapproval. ‘I think most people would stand up and be counted if a point was to be made,’ she said carefully.
‘But there are proper channels. So distasteful to see all those long-haired, untidy-looking people standing about.’
Shea sighed. She really didn’t have the energy or the inclination to argue with David.
‘I know I’m a relative newcomer, I’ve only been here a year or so,’ David was continuing, ‘but I chose to come here because it was a quiet, beautiful little town with none of the so-called bright light attractions.’
‘Well, Byron Bay certainly is that.’ Shea glanced at the row of modest houses in the street as they drove past. She loved the place, with the laid-back lifestyle that was usually associated with Australian beach communities.
‘I saw Niall riding his bicycle down by the beach this afternoon,’ David had changed the subject.
‘Bicycle-riding is one of his passions at the moment,’ Shea replied thoughtfully and recalled her son’s revelations about the big white house. ‘How’s the real estate business at the moment?’ she asked as casually as she could.
‘Can’t complain. I sold the Martin house to Jack Percy’s son. He’s getting married at the end of the year and is going to renovate it in time for the wedding.’
‘That’s nice.’ Shea took a breath. ‘Niall said there were workmen at the big white house. Has that been sold?’ Her voice sounded thin in her ears but David didn’t seem to notice her pseudo-nonchalance.
‘Not that I’ve heard and I’m sure I would have. Unless it was sold privately. But the sale would have had to have been made months ago for work to be legally done on the place.’
Having her suspicions verified caused a sinking feeling to invade the pit of Shea’s stomach. She’d known all along that David would have been aware of any sale. And that he would have mentioned it. Businesses here were like small fraternities and they all knew how the other was fairing. A sale of the magnitude of the big white house would have set the whole town agog. Which meant only one thing—
‘It’s owned by an American, isn’t it?’ David broke into her thoughts and she nodded.
‘Yes. Joe Rosten.’
‘Rosten. That’s him. He’s the head of some big American stock-broking firm.’
‘Something like that,’ Shea replied carefully. ‘A chain of financial advisory services. He also has a lot of other businesses. Mining. Real estate.’
‘Someone told me he even had his own movie company. Is that true?’
‘Yes. A small one. More of a hobby, I think.’ Or a grandiose present for a much-loved only daughter, Shea added to herself, and a long dormant ache began to grow inside her. She firmly pushed her thoughts back into the dark, pain-filled recesses of her mind. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow herself to remember it all. Not now.
‘Some hobby.’ David turned into the parking area behind the meeting venue. ‘How old is this guy? I mean, does he have a family? And how come he never spends any time at the place?’
‘He has a daughter, actually,’ Shea began guardedly. What would David think if she told him the whole story?
‘Lucky daughter. And where can I meet her?’ David laughed as he climbed out of the car and hurried around to open the passenger side door for Shea to alight.
Fortunately, at that moment they were joined by a group of people also heading into the meeting so Shea was saved trying to formulate an answer.
The hall used for the Progress Association meeting was old and draughty and the seating left a lot to be desired. However, a large crowd of people had braved the venue’s shortcomings. As boring as the meetings sometimes were, quite a number of concerned citizens always turned up, Shea reflected as she took a seat beside David a few rows from the front.
Rob, the chairman, banged a glass on the table and the meeting got under way. It wasn’t long before the discussion bogged down and Shea found her attention drifting.
Of course her mind went straight to Niall’s revelations about the activity at the big white house. Joe Rosten, the owner and a friend of Alex’s father, would be nearing seventy years old now so he’d probably be retired. Maybe he intended returning to Byron Bay? This thought of course brought other disturbing considerations. Perhaps his only daughter would be accompanying him.
And his son-in-law.
‘Well, I’m not going to be involved in any protest march.’ David’s lowered voice drew Shea out of her reveries and she shifted in her seat, a little guilty that she had been so inattentive.
‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ she began, not having a clue about the subject of David’s frowning displeasure.
‘Perhaps that might be a little premature,’ suggested a deep voice from the back of the hall.
A tall, fair-haired man was striding towards the front, his long legs easily eating up the distance, trainer-clad feet silent on the dusty bare floorboards. He wore a pair of tight-fitting tailored blue jeans and an unadorned light sweatshirt, the sleeves pushed casually back along his forearms.
The harsh fluorescent light flashed on the gold watch on his left wrist and on the same hand, on his ring finger, he wore a gold signet ring.
All this Shea took in subconsciously. Her numbed body was apparently beyond reaction. If she had been alone and able to respond to the sound of that voice, the sight of that familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar face, she knew she would have dissolved into a shaking heap. Or simply fainted dead away. But she did neither.
Then the crowd seemed to part and their eyes met, steady coffee brown and startled sea green. And Shea’s heartbeats began to race.
CHAPTER TWO
