international monetary negotiations. No one messed with her. No one questioned her sanity.
So why was she lying in bed hoping for ghosts?
She lay completely still, listening to the small sounds of the night. The scratching of a possum in the tree outside the window. A night owl calling.
This house had never been quiet. She found herself aching for noise, for voices, for...something.
She got something. She heard a car pull into the driveway. She saw the glimmer of headlights through the window.
The front door opened, and she knew part of her past had just returned. The ghost she was most afraid of.
* * *
‘Julie?’ He’d guessed it must be her before he even opened the door. Firstly the car. It was a single woman’s car, expensive, a display of status.
Rob normally drove a Land Rover. Okay, maybe that was a status thing as well, he conceded. He liked the idea that he might spend a lot of time on rural properties but in truth most of his clients were city based. But still, he couldn’t drive a car like the one in the driveway. No one here could. No one who commuted from here to the city. No one who taxied kids.
Every light was on in the house. Warning off ghosts?
It had to be Julie.
If she was here the last thing he wanted was to scare her, so the moment he opened the door he called, ‘Julie, are you here? It’s Rob.’
And she emerged from their bedroom.
Julie.
The sight of her made him feel... No. He couldn’t begin to define how he felt seeing her.
It had been nearly four years. She’d refused to see him since.
‘I slept while they died and I can’t forgive myself. Ever. I can’t even think about what I’ve lost. If I hadn’t slept...’
She’d thrown it at him the day he’d brought her home from hospital. He’d spent weeks sick with self-blame, sick with emptiness, not knowing how to cope with his own grief, much less hers. The thought that she blamed herself hadn’t even occurred to him. It should have, but in those crucial seconds after she’d said it he hadn’t had a response. He’d stared at her, numb with shock and grief, as she’d limped into the bedroom on her crutches, thrown things into a suitcase and demanded he take her to a hotel.
And that had pretty much been that. One marriage, one family, finished.
He’d written to her. Of course he had, and he’d tried to phone. ‘Jules, it was no one’s fault. That you were asleep didn’t make any difference. I was awake and alert. The landslip came from nowhere. There’s nothing anyone can do when the road gives way.’ Did he believe it himself? He tried to. Sometimes he had flashes when he almost did.
And apparently, Julie had shared his doubts. She’d written back, brief and harsh.
I was asleep when my babies died. I wasn’t there for them, or for you. I can barely live with myself, much less face you every day for the rest of my life. I’m sorry, Rob, but however we manage to face the future, we need to do it alone.
And he couldn’t help her to forgive herself. He was too busy living with his own guilt. The mountain road to the house had been eroded by heavy spring rains and the collapse was catastrophic. They’d spent the weeks before Christmas in the city apartment because there’d been so much on it had just been too hard to commute. They were exhausted but Julie had been desperate to get up to the mountains for the weekend before Christmas, to make everything perfect for the next week. To let the twins set up their Christmas tree. So Santa wouldn’t find one speck of dust, one thing out of place.
He’d gone along with it. Maybe he’d also agreed. Perfection was in both their blood; they were driven personalities. They’d given their nanny the weekend off and they’d driven up here late.
But if they’d just relaxed... If they’d simply said there wasn’t time, they could have spent that last weekend playing with the boys in the city, just stopping. But stopping wasn’t in their vocabulary and the boys were dead because of it.
Enough. The past needed to be put aside. Julie was standing in their bedroom door.
She looked...beautiful.
He’d thought this woman was gorgeous the moment he’d met her. Tall, willow-slim, blonde hair with just a touch of curl, brown eyes a man could drown in, lips a man wanted to taste...
It was four years since he’d last seen her, and she was just the same but...tighter. It was like her skin was stretched to fit. She was thinner. Paler. She was wearing a simple cotton nightgown, her hair was tousled and her eyes were wide with...wariness.
Why should she be wary of him?
* * *
‘Julie.’ He repeated her name and she stopped dead.
She might have known he’d come.
Dear heaven, he was beautiful. He was tall—she’d forgotten how tall—and still boyish, even though he must be—what, thirty-six?—by now.
He had the same blond-brown hair that looked perpetually like he spent too much time in the sun. He had the same flop of cowlick that hung a bit too long—no hairdresser believed it wouldn’t stay where it was put. He was wearing his casual clothes, clothes he might have worn four years ago: moleskins with a soft linen shirt, rolled up at the sleeves and open at the throat.
He was wearing the same smile, a smile which reached the caramel-brown eyes she remembered. He was smiling at her now. A bit hesitant. Not sure of his reception.
She hadn’t seen him for four years and he was wary. What did he think she’d do, throw him out?
But she didn’t know where to start. Where to begin after all this time.
Why not say it like it was?
‘I don’t think I am Julie,’ she said slowly, feeling lost. ‘At least, I’m not sure I’m the Julie you know.’
There was a moment’s pause. He’d figure it out, or she hoped he would. She couldn’t go straight back to the point where they’d left off. How are you, Rob? How have you coped with the last four years?
The void of four long years made her feel ill.
But he got it. There was a moment’s silence and then his smile changed a little. She knew that smile. It reflected his intelligence, his appreciation of a problem. If there was a puzzle, Rob dived straight in. Somehow she’d set him one and he had it sorted.
‘Then I’m probably not the guy you know, either,’ he told her. ‘So can we start from the beginning? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Rob McDowell, architect, based in Adelaide. I have an interest in this house, ma’am, and the contents. I’m here to put the most...put a few things of special value in a secure place. And you?’
She
