A Kirribilli Christmas Page 3

  He nodded, keeping his eyes on the tree. Better that way when she told him what he didn’t want to hear.

  ‘My boyfriend bought it for me.’ Her voice twisted around the word ‘boyfriend’, giving it a weight he didn’t understand.

  The dull thud of inevitability hit him. ‘Nice,’ he said slowly, without really meaning it. Of course she had a boyfriend. She was beautiful. A man would have to be an idiot not to see that.

  She gave a rueful laugh. ‘Not really. If you want to know, I was stood up for Christmas.’

  Surprised, he turned to face her. ‘What do you mean, stood up?’ What sort of jerk did something like that? Not just to Shelby but to any woman?

  She was silent for a moment, her eyes roving over the tree. Finally she glanced at him, the glimmer of moisture returning in her eyes. ‘It seems I’m not good enough for his family.’

  Dan’s blood pressure spiked. Shelby, not good enough? That was just plain ridiculous. He didn’t want to point out that it all started and ended with the jerk. What her boyfriend was telling her was that she wasn’t good enough for him. Yet he was using her. Hot anger surged through Dan and he bunched his hands. In his mind he sent the jerk a silent message, telling him he was damn lucky he was so far away.

  Dan focussed on Shelby’s face, trying to rein in his anger, when he noticed the wobble of her bottom lip and the single tear that escaped to run down her cheek.

  ‘I think it’s over,’ she said softly. And then she began to cry.

  Dan stood there, a helpless expression on his face and, through her tears, Shelby saw him raise his arms, reach out slightly then drop them to his sides. And still the tears fell. The problem was, she had no idea what she was crying for. It was a wild hot mess, fed by images of Nelson, Kate and her childhood.

  And somewhere in there, inexplicably, was Dan. Because trimming the tree with him had made her feel more right than she’d felt in years. The simple act of doing something so rooted in the past had reminded her of who she was and where she came from. Which, in turn, had highlighted the problems in her relationship with Nelson. But this wasn’t her life now. This was temporary, a handful of days that would be over in no time. She’d go back to LA, to her tiny apartment and possibly, in a moment of weakness, even back to Nelson.

  The thought made her tears flow harder. Even if she didn’t go back to Nelson, who was to say that the next man wouldn’t be some version of him? She’d go on spinning her wheels, seeking love in all the wrong places with the wrong people. Just like she’d done for the last six years.

  Her life was a mess.

  With a resigned groan, Dan stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. It felt good to be held by someone you’d known nearly your whole life, and as she turned her head and let it drop to his chest, she let out a huge sigh. His heart beat steadily under the hard, muscled wall of his chest. He was protective, in a way Nelson had never been. And sexy. Both refuge and temptation. When her body flamed with heat his responded, his arm tightening around her and pulling her closer as he leaned forward, his lips buffing her forehead.

  He made a low, frustrated growl in his throat then lifted his hand and smoothed her hair with long, gentle strokes. ‘It’s okay, Shelby. I’m here.’

  They’d drawn apart and Shelby had gone upstairs and washed her face, desperate to put a stop to where her feelings were heading. It was almost dark when she came back down, and Dan was in the kitchen fiddling with the oven knobs, trying to pretend that everything was normal. ‘I hate to say it in this heat but I’ve got to cook the ham now.’

  He pulled a leg of ham from the fridge, the skin scored in a diamond pattern with each diamond studded with a clove.

  ‘You did that?’ Incredulous, Shelby peered over his shoulder.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding. I got it from that butcher shop on Military Road. Let’s go outside. When the oven gets up to temperature I’ll come back and throw the ham in.’

  They wandered out onto the large deck that ran the length of the rear of the house. It was a little cooler here, shaded by the large trees that lined the side fence. The garden was almost exactly as Shelby remembered. Most of their neighbours had neatly trimmed box hedges, camellias and standard roses surrounding a pool or tennis court, sometimes both. But Kate had favoured a real backyard with plenty of room for kids to run around. She’d have had chooks if the council had let her.

  Dan had brought out a bottle of white wine and glasses and told Shelby to sit and relax while he swept the deck. She closed her eyes, happy to obey. Jetlag was just around the corner but for now, this was perfect. The scent of mint and sage drifted from the pots clustered near the chairs. And pungent rosemary, from the stalky hedge at one end of the deck, reminded her of lamb roasts and crispy potatoes. The sort of food she hadn’t eaten in years.

  She must have nodded off for a moment because when she opened her eyes, the deck was clean and Dan was standing by the table, pouring wine into a glass.

  ‘You okay?’ He handed her the glass and started to pour another.

  She nodded. ‘Thanks. For everything.’

  He eased down into the other chair and stretched out his legs. ‘Look, you might tell me to mind my own business, but is everything all right? I mean, apart from your . . .’ He hesitated, his lips thinning.

  ‘Nelson,’ she supplied.

  He gave a splutter of laughter, almost choking on a mouthful of wine. ‘Serious?’

  ‘‘Fraid so.’

  She tried to maintain a serious face but when Dan hooted with laughter again she joined him.

  ‘Jeez, Shel, that’s hilarious.’

  She waited until his laughter subsided. ‘Anyway, I’m doing okay, I guess. I’ll live. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.’ It was bad enough that she’d cried all over him earlier, but to unravel the details of her relationship with Nelson and lay it out for Dan was unthinkable. She shuddered a little at the thought.

  He was quiet for a moment as his fingers worked at the coarse fabric of his shorts, and he took another sip of wine. ‘I have to ask. You didn’t mind about the house? About Kate leaving it to me?’ He jerked his head towards it.

  Shelby blew out a breath that caught and lifted her fringe. ‘You want the truth? Of course I minded. But Grandma did leave me Greystanes. Just my bad luck that there was nothing left.’

  ‘What, it’s all gone?’ His eyes widened. ‘I didn’t know that. I thought you’d be fine.’

  ‘Grandma was up to her neck in debt. I’ve never seen anything like it. She had a reverse mortgage on the house and it was pretty high. She’d been living on it forever. And she hadn’t paid council rates in years. Add several loaded-up credit cards, funeral expenses and that was it. Amazing really.’

  He shifted uncomfortably, a small frown line between his eyes. ‘So, let me get this right. There was nothing left?’

  ‘Let’s just say what little there was was gone very quickly.’

  ‘Hell.’ He swore softly. ‘How did Kate not know this?’

  Shelby shrugged. ‘Well, you know what she was like.’ She almost added that Kate was more concerned with people who weren’t related to her than those who were. It was the truth as far as Shelby was concerned. Her mother had been so busy saving the world, one child at a time, that she hadn’t even seen what was going on in her own family.

  He dragged a hand through his hair, seemingly lost in thought, then murmured, ‘That changes things a little.’

  ‘It’s okay. I guess, Mum being Mum, she wouldn’t have considered it fair for me to be left two houses. And I was always saying I hated this place.’ She glanced at the house now, seeing it through the lens of distance. It was a beautiful house but she’d hated it back then. Now she could admire its Federation lines, the warmth of the sandstone and the intricate detailing.

  ‘Anyway, Mum knew that Grandma had left her house to me but obviously didn’t bother to check further.’

  He seemed to pick his words slowly. ‘I never thought I’d sa
y this but I’m angry with Kate.’

  Shelby snorted with laughter. ‘You? The favourite?’

  He gave her an odd look, as though she were slightly crazy. ‘You were her favourite. We all knew that and accepted it. You were her own child.’

  He still didn’t understand what it had been like. She nudged a small terracotta herb pot at the side of her chair with her toe, rocking it back and forth, trying to find the right words. ‘I never felt I was any different to all of you. I felt . . . like I’d been pushed into a corner, run over in all the activity and all the bloody kids the place was crawling with.’ She paused then took a deep breath. ‘I felt I could barely get Mum’s attention, let alone hold it.’

  He reached across and refilled her glass. ‘I suppose that’s why you ran away.’

  Shock made her rigid and the pot of sage rocked back onto its base with a thud. ‘I did not run away. I went to LA to pursue a dream.’ Her words faltered a little as she realised that her dream had been as elusive as the wind. She’d wanted to be Nicole Kidman and Naomi Watts, all rolled into one.

  ‘What I regret the most is that I didn’t come back that last Christmas. The time she begged me to.’ Shelby glanced at the kitchen window, remembering how Kate used to stand there at the sink, watching the children play. If she closed her eyes, it wouldn’t take much to summon an image of her mother. But it would be like scratching an unhealed wound just to prolong the pain.

  ‘She rang me in LA and said it was important that I come home,’ she continued. ‘I’d been away too long and she just wanted to see her baby, she said. It was the only time I ever felt that I was special or different. It was the only time I ever felt that she thought of just me.’

  Dan didn’t move, his face half shadowed, but his eyes remained fixed on her and glittered in the dim light.

  Despite the heat she was suddenly cold. ‘I never intended to stay away forever,’ she whispered. ‘I just didn’t know it would be the last Christmas.’ The words spilled out and she bit her lip. She’d never seen her mother again.

  He sat forward then and reached for Shelby’s hand. ‘I don’t know about it being the last. Christmas didn’t stop because Kate died, you know.’

  After Thai takeout, Dan switched off the oven and left the ham to cool, then headed down to the marina. He clambered down the steps into the cabin of the boat, pulled a beer from the fridge and went back on deck. Lights pierced the black of the night, peppering the cove with golden pinpricks that ran like fairy lights between Kurraba Point and Kirribilli Point on either side.

  He could only just see the top storey of Frangipani House from here but he waited, beer in hand, until he saw the light in his bedroom go off.

  She’d be sliding into his bed right now, lying with the soft breeze blowing over her. Dan let out a low groan and eased himself onto the seat, swinging his legs up and leaning back.

  He still wanted her with the same insistent urge he’d had as a teenager. Then it had been driven by pure lust but now it was grounded in something deeper. To possess, certainly, that idea made him almost dizzy with desire. But now there was also the primal need to protect, to look after her just as his parents had failed so miserably to do with each other or their son.

  He’d be better at all that than they’d been, when he got married. He’d sworn that all his life. He tipped back his head and gazed at the stars. If he had any chance at all with Shelby, he’d give her everything.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  She woke at 6 am, eyes wide, just as she’d known they would be when her body snapped awake and decided it was midday.

  There should have been noise in the house, excited squeals and running feet, the sound of new toys and the inevitable fights. But then she remembered that she was alone in the big old house. She turned and stretched starfish-style across the bed and her thoughts drifted back to Dan. What it would be like to wake up every morning beside him . . .

  This was totally ridiculous. She was going home in two days, back to LA. She rolled out of bed and, still stretching, strolled through the open French windows and onto the veranda. The sight of the harbour stole her breath. Glittering in the early morning sunlight, it was already alive with movement.

  She’d missed the heat, the majestic sweep of the harbour and the patriotic green and gold of the ferries that plied it. The streets that ran down to the harbour edge, crammed with buildings – mansions and apartment blocks tumbling amongst each other down the slopes. The whole glorious sweep of it, riddled with little coves and bays, took her breath away. The Opera House wasn’t visible from here, but if you walked to Kirribilli Point, you’d see it, the huge tiled sails of its roof gleaming in the sun. Turn a little to the left and the massive sweep of the Harbour Bridge awed you. These were images burned on her psyche, national icons that marked her as Australian. She hadn’t realised until now how much she’d missed them.

  She stepped back into the bedroom, pulled her hair back in a ponytail, dragged on some shorts and a T-shirt and padded barefoot down the stairs.

  Dan hadn’t come up from the boat yet so maybe he was having his coffee down there. She set about boiling the kettle and checking out the kitchen to see what needed to be done, opening the fridge and checking the crisper drawers. They were stocked with tropical fruit and Shelby smiled. The ingredients for Kate’s tropical fruit salad, just like every Christmas. She remembered the sharp tang of the kiwifruit, the dripping sweetness of the pineapple, and the crunch of passionfruit seeds between her teeth. She hadn’t particularly liked it, but it was as much a part of Christmas at Frangipani House as that dodgy, old, aluminium Christmas tree.

  Pleased that this was something she could help with, she pulled the fruit from the fridge and grabbed a chopping board from the drainer.

  Something in the simple act of slicing the fruit, standing in the kitchen of her childhood, felt right. Surrounded by the familiar old tiles, the ancient fittings, and with everything unchanged she could almost imagine the last six years hadn’t happened. Across the other side of the world, Nelson was no doubt drinking eggnog and wearing tartan trousers, she thought with a snigger. But here she was, barefoot and in shorts on a hot Christmas morning, making a family favourite.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  The deep voice held a thread of amusement and when she swung around, Dan stood in the doorway, checking her out.

  ‘You’re not wearing tartan,’ she said and grinned when he frowned. ‘Never mind. It’s an American thing.’

  ‘You look about sixteen,’ he said, still lounging against the doorframe. ‘Seems like old times.’

  Like old times but so different. There was a tangible snap of tension as he said softly, ‘Merry Christmas, Shelby.’ After a moment he moved towards her and leaned down to kiss her cheek. His clean, uncomplicated scent assailed her: soap, salt and man. His lips lingered several seconds more than she expected, as though savouring the moment, and Shelby wished she could turn her head and capture his lips with her own.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said, his breath hot and soft on her cheek. Intoxicated by the nearness of him, heat flooded her body, and the achingly sweet tug of desire wrapped in nostalgia, so totally different to what she’d felt with Nelson, shocked her.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said. ‘I’m glad I’m here too.’ She wanted to say more, but he was staring at her so before she said something she’d regret, she turned away and grabbed two kiwifruits from the counter. ‘I’ve started the fruit salad. Hope you don’t mind.’

  Dan willed his pulse to return to normal, anything but the hammering speed that had blindsided him as he’d leaned in for that kiss. Surely she could see that? He’d almost blown it by moving the kiss to those luscious lips, the ultimate in his adolescent fantasies. But he wasn’t a teenager any more and he didn’t need to find out the hard way that she wasn’t interested.

  She had a large kitchen knife in one hand and a pair of kiwifruits in the other and he didn’t have the heart to tell her that they did
n’t make Kate’s fruit salad any more. After she’d died, there was a general consensus that nobody had ever liked it much, but such was their level of love for her that they had eaten it year after year. These days, the fruit was cut into slices instead and served as a fruit platter.

  He watched as Shelby cut the fruit into small cubes and dropped them into a bowl, then grabbed the pineapple, humming a little tune as she sliced off the spiky peel in long strips.

  She was happy. He flicked on the iPod and music filled the kitchen, a dedicated Christmas shuffle of all the corny Mariah stuff, Lennon and the Pogues.

  Shelby’s foot was tapping, and before long there was a little swing in her hips as she chopped and squeezed and grated. He pretended to be busy around the kitchen as an excuse to stay with her, and they worked together, setting the two long tables on the deck, chopping salad, mixing dressing and peeling prawns. Finally, as they were cleaning up the kitchen, Dan glanced at her. She had a glob of oil on her shirt and wisps of hair had escaped her ponytail. ‘They’ll start arriving at about eleven, so you might want to get changed.’

  He was mildly worried about how the day would pan out and he called out as she headed to the door into the hall. ‘Shelby.’

  She turned and gave him a cheerful smile. He’d remember that moment forever. The careless rumple of bed hair in a tangled ponytail, the pure curve of her cheek, the quick, happy grin.

  ‘It may get a little rough today. But it will be okay.’

  The smile faltered slightly until the old Shelby reasserted herself, tilting her head and nodding before she disappeared.

  He’d kill anyone who made her cry.

  When she came downstairs again, Shelby found Dan on the deck pouring ice into a huge tin tub. She’d put on a pair of white designer cut-offs with an indigo ombré shirt and strappy sandals. The last of the ice fell into the tub with a rattle and he turned and stared at her, slowly taking in every detail.