The name reminded him of Ellie, which brought back memories of Saturday night. He’d thought he had it made. Until she’d pulled her disappearing act. He’d spent the rest of the night in acute discomfort and his body still hadn’t quite recovered. A week or so of mutual enjoyment would have filled the evenings here very nicely. He dismissed the fact that he could have enjoyed a few hours with Belinda the busty blonde and frowned as he reached the top of the stairs. It had been Ellie he’d wanted.
He knew the interest had been reciprocated. The eternal question would always be why she’d changed her mind. Obviously she had some hang-up that she hadn’t deemed fit to enlighten him about.
Still, for a few moments there in the shadows, gazing into those captivating amethyst eyes, he’d been completely charmed.
He shook the memory away. Right now he had a more immediate concern. Until Belle had phoned last week, he’d never heard her mention anyone by the name of Eloise. And seeing that look in Belle’s eyes today when he’d waved her off on this impulsive trip—visiting Miriam, some woman she’d not seen in fifty-odd years in North Queensland—was a real concern.
‘Miriam’s the sister of a man I once knew,’ she’d told him when she’d rung to see if he could house-sit while she was away—something else she’d never done.
‘After all these years, why now, Belle?’ he’d asked.
‘Because something’s happened and I need to make a decision and she’s the only one who can help me make it. I’m sorry, Matthew, I can’t tell you more. Not yet.
‘There’s something else,’ she’d continued. ‘A new employee you haven’t met will be working there while I’m away. Her name’s Eloise and I want you to look out for her.’
He’d agreed. Of course he’d agreed.
Then this morning…‘Don’t forget, I need you to be nice to Eloise,’ she’d reminded him as he’d escorted her to the departure gate.
‘I’m always nice.’
For once, Belle didn’t smile. ‘Matthew, this is not a frivolous matter.’
Belle was the closest person to a mother that he had, and he’d known her for more than twenty-five years, but he’d never seen this particular expression in her eyes before. Fear? Desperation? Hope?
He frowned. ‘If you’re worried about leaving her unsupervised, why can’t you just tell her to come back when you return?’
‘She needs the work. Moreover, I’m afraid she might leave.’
‘If she needs the work, she won’t leave.’
‘I don’t want to take that chance. She—’ Biting off her words, she smoothed a finger over his furrowed brow. ‘And don’t scare her off with that stern all-business facade.’
‘I am in business, remember?’ Which always made him wary of others’ motivations. ‘What’s so special about this particular employee?’
Her short caramel-coloured hair was permanently tamed to within an inch of its life but Belle ran a restless hand through it. ‘It’s complicated. That’s why I need to take this trip. To talk to Miriam, to consider and then to make a decision. And I need you here to keep an eye on…everything.’ She wrapped her fingers around his forearm. ‘Promise me, Matthew.’
‘Of course, Belle, you know I will.’
She presented her boarding pass to the attendant. ‘I know you have questions and I appreciate you not pushing me for answers.’ She reached up, kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you for coming. I think you’ll like Eloise—you might even become friends. She’ll be there tomorrow. You might take her out,’ she suggested. ‘Get to know her better…’
He felt his eyebrows lift. Friends? Take her out and get to know her better? Was that hope in Belle’s voice? She’d never been a matchmaker, so there was something else she wasn’t telling him. He returned the kiss absently. ‘Why the urgency, Belle? Come back with me, let’s meet this Eloise person together and we can discuss whatever it is that’s worrying you.’
But she shook her head again and moved into the stream of passengers heading for the air bridge. ‘A few days, Matthew. I’ll explain everything when I come back…’
She’d told him that she’d phone him when she was ready. At least he’d made her promise to text him that she’d arrived safely. Still pondering his concerns and whether he should intervene in some way, he pushed open the door to the familiar bedroom.
Cartons he’d never got around to sorting were crammed against one wall. Age had faded the once-bright carpet square. Grime from storms past dulled the mullioned windows.
But nothing could dull the memories of waking up in this room to sunlight streaming through the glass and spilling rainbows across his Star Wars quilt. To the aroma of hot toast and bacon. Belle had always insisted on a good breakfast.
Unlike his biological mother, who’d not even bothered to stick around, nicking off in the middle of the night and leaving no more than a note saying she was sorry. Sorry?
Zena Johnson, single mum—and pole-dancer on her evenings off, it had turned out—had been Belle’s housekeeper until she’d skipped town, leaving her only son with her employer. The best decision Zena had ever made, for all concerned, Matt reminded himself, without a lick of regret for the woman who’d given him life.
Belle had taken that scared, lonely, introverted kid, who’d never formed attachments since they’d never been in one place long enough, and treated him as her own. Loved him as her own. To Matt, Belle was family, and fourteen years ago at the age of eighteen he’d taken her surname to prove it.
He hefted the first carton, overloaded with his old school books. Time for the recycling bin. But the box was flimsy and slid out of his grip, spilling the contents over his feet. Dust billowed over his sneakers and jeans, then rose to clog his nostrils. He swiped a dust-coated forearm over his brow. Okay, the job might take longer than he’d anticipated—
A flash of movement somewhere beyond the window caught his eye. He saw a female figure walking up the leaf-littered path. Frowning, he moved nearer, rubbing a circle on the glass with the hem of his T-shirt for a better look. Not walking, he noted now—more like bouncing, as if she had springs attached to the soles of her worn sneakers. Or a song running through her head.
Young—late teens, early twenties? Hard to tell. He couldn’t see her face, shadowed by a battered black baseball cap, nor her hair, which she’d tucked out of sight. She wore a baby-pink T-shirt under baggy khaki overalls with stains at the knees. What looked like an old army surplus backpack covered with multicoloured daisy graffiti swung from one slender shoulder.
She slowed and, with her face in shadow, uncapped the bottled water in her free hand and stood a moment, staring at the old unicorn statue in the middle of the lawn. Something about her tugged at the edges of his mind.
He tracked her progress along the carefully tended topiary and gnome garden statues. How had she slipped past the gate’s security code? She wasn’t the first trespasser on Belle’s property—the reason he’d had the damn thing installed for her in the first place.
Only
