accept such rudeness meekly—screaming at him that she thought he was the meanest, most horrible boy she’d ever met and she would never ever ask him for help again, even if she were dying. A rather over-dramatic declaration, but she’d meant it at the time.
After graduating, John had gone on to Sydney university to become a geologist. She’d hardly ever seen him after that. He’d gone overseas to work once he had his degree, and only darkened his family’s doorstep around Christmas, when he would stay for a week or two at most. Even then, he spent most of his time surfing by himself.
He did deign to attend the Christmas street-party which they held every year, and where their paths inevitably crossed. And, whilst John wasn’t openly rude to her any more, their conversations were hardly warm or communicative. What she knew about his life was gleaned via his mother who belonged to the same quilting group as Scarlet’s mother. According to Carolyn Mitchell, her son had become extremely wealthy in recent years after finding oil in Argentina and natural gas in some other South American country. He’d also bought a house in Rio, so it seemed likely that he wasn’t coming home to Australia to live any time soon.
And wasn’t getting married any time soon, either, Scarlet warranted. Loners like John didn’t get married.
However, Scarlet had no doubt there was a woman—or women—in his life. Good-looking guys with money to burn didn’t do without sex, even if they were antisocial bastards with about as much personal charm as a rattlesnake!
The bitchiness of this last thought startled Scarlet. It wasn’t like her to be bitchy.
John Mitchell brought out the worst in her. But she really hated the way he didn’t need anybody; hated his self-containment. She couldn’t imagine John Mitchell ever having his heart broken. His heart was as hard as one of his precious rocks.
‘Better get a move on, Scarlet,’ her mother called through the bathroom door. ‘It’s twelve-twenty-five.’
After giving herself a vigorous mental shake, Scarlet hurried back to her bedroom, where she quickly hooked a pair of silver and crystal drops through her earlobes, then bolted back to the living room where her mother was waiting for her, dressed in a tailored cream trouser suit with a caramel-coloured blouse underneath.
‘You know, Mum,’ she said, looking her mother up and down. ‘You don’t look a day over fifty.’ Yet she’d turned sixty-two last birthday.
‘Thank you, darling. And you don’t look a day over twenty.’
‘That’s because I have great genes,’ Scarlet replied.
‘True,’ Janet agreed, though the thought did occur to her that maybe her daughter had inherited one particular gene which wasn’t as desirable as a youthful face, good skin and a slender figure—she herself had found it very difficult to get pregnant, which was why she’d only had the one child. It surprised her that a girl as intelligent as Scarlet hadn’t asked her about that. But she hadn’t, and Janet wasn’t about to mention it. Not today.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ Janet said instead, and picked up the present from the kitchen counter. Inside the rather exquisite red box was a ruby-coloured water jug and matching glasses which she’d found in a local antique shop and which she knew Carolyn would love. Martin probably wouldn’t, but then Martin was one of those men who didn’t enthuse over anything much. Except his grandson. There was no doubting that Melissa’s little boy, Oliver, was the apple of his grandfather’s eye. ‘I won’t need a jacket, will I?’ Scarlet asked her.
‘I shouldn’t think so. Besides, it’s not as though you have far to walk if you do get cold.’
‘You’re right. In that case, I won’t take a handbag, either. Here, let me hold the present whilst you lock up.’
They went out the front way, Scarlet glad to see that the early cloud had lifted, letting the June sun do a decent job of warming up the air. Winter had not long arrived down under, but it had already been one of the coldest in a decade. And the wettest. Fortunately, the rain had stayed away today, which meant they wouldn’t be confined indoors at the party. By the look of the number of cars already parked up and down the street, this was going to be a well-attended affair. There was nothing worse, in Scarlet’s opinion, than having lots of people jammed into a couple of rooms. Admittedly, the Mitchells’ two-storeyed home was very spacious, with large open-planned living areas. But even so …
‘They’ve been lucky with the weather,’ she remarked to her mother as they walked together across the road.
‘Indeed. I …’
Whatever her mother was going to say was cut off by the Mitchells’ house. The front door was reefed open and Carolyn ran out, looking flushed but happy.
‘You’ll never guess what’s happened,’ she said excitedly. ‘I’ve just received a call from John. His plane was able to take off last night after all. Admittedly, a few hours late, but because of favourable winds they made good time and landed at Mascot a couple of hours ago. He tried to ring me earlier but I was on the phone so he hopped on a train. Anyway, he’s going to be arriving at Gosford station in about twenty minutes. The train’s just pulled into Woy Woy station. He said he’d catch a taxi, but you know how scarce they can be on a Sunday. So I told him to wait outside the station on the Mann Street side and I’d get someone to pick him up.
‘Of course, he said that I shouldn’t bother, but I said what tommyrot, that if he could fly here all the way from Brazil we could at least pick him up from the station. But once I hung up, I began thinking who I could ask. I couldn’t very well leave my guests and I didn’t like to ask Martin. Then I saw you two through the front window, and I thought who better than Scarlet? You don’t mind, do you, dear?’
What could Scarlet possibly say?
Scarlet forced a smile and said, ‘It would be my pleasure.’
CHAPTER TWO
THE train trip from Sydney to Gosford was a very pleasant one, once you left the city, especially if the train was half-empty and you were able to get an upstairs window seat on the right side, which John had. After crossing the Hawkesbury River, the track followed the water in long leisurely curves, giving even the weariest traveller a panoramic and relaxing ride.
Not that John was weary. That was the advantage of flying first class; you could sleep on board and arrive at your destination, refreshed and ready for anything.
Which was just as well, given what he would have to endure today.
Parties were not John’s favourite pastime. He wasn’t much of a drinker and didn’t care for empty chit-chat. But it had been impossible not to come to his parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary. He loved his mother dearly and would not hurt her for the world.
His father, however, was another matter entirely. It was difficult to love a parent who’d rejected you when you were only a child.
Nevertheless, John did still love his father, a discovery he’d made when his mother had rung him recently to tell him that his father had had a heart scare. John had actually been relieved that his old man hadn’t died. He’d actually cared.
There was no getting over the fact, however, that what his father had done all those years ago had hurt him terribly. Thank God he’d had Grandpa. If it hadn’t been for his grandfather stepping in, then Lord knew where he would have ended up.
