Page 50

‘What do you mean?’

Tom began to tell her about life in the shearing shed and how the gun shearer would create banter at smoko to deliberately make the wool classer feel he would never keep up.

‘Why does he do that?’

He laughed. ‘It’s hard to explain. It’s men, living and working together. Ego, power, status – men in competition with one another. You know, the ape beating his chest.’

Fleur nodded, smiling. ‘Good image. So you think Irma’s beating her chest?’

‘She could be. She wants to be number-one gun in the house and needs you to know that. You are two women under one roof, and it sounds like you’re competing for one man’s attention.’

‘One’s a wife, one’s a daughter; we could have been friends. Instead, we’re enemies.’

‘My mother always said it takes two hands to clap. Sounds like you dislike Irma as much as she does you.’

She nodded readily and that gesture brought relief to Tom that she seemed unoffended by his remark. ‘I do. But she had the chance when I was young to play it all so differently – she was the adult. She could have helped me grieve, and come to terms with the new situation. Instead she chose to belittle me, to ridicule me and pitch me against her for my father’s affections. She did all of this behind his back. Until I became an adult, I felt defenceless. Now I’m pushing back.’

He nodded. ‘If you can keep a clear mind like that, you’ll find it easier to be around Irma. Let her behave however childishly she chooses. You take the high road and keep your conscience clear.’

Fleur blinked away from him to look across the beach to where the moon’s light picked out the horizon. She looked back at him, the same light casting her serious expression into one that was ghostly grave. He loved how she leaned into him at that moment. ‘I’ve never had a real friend. As of this evening you are the closest I have to one . . . so you’re now officially my best friend.’

This time Tom initiated the kiss. He put his arm around her, careful not to presume too much and leaned in. As he hesitated for a second, she reached up to touch his face, and it was the permission he sought. He let his lips find hers – soft, not insistent. They parted but neither leaned back. He could smell her perfume, not at all floral as her name might suggest. Instead it enveloped him in a citrus and spice vapour that was intoxicating. Tom was sure he would hold that fragrance in his mind from now on, yearning for it to lift from her skin in warmth and affection.

He dared another kiss and she returned it; it was longer this time, deeper. They stared at each other in the lamplight coming from above.

‘Best night ever,’ he said, grinning.

Fleur nodded. ‘Started badly, ended brilliantly.’

‘Come on, I promised to walk you home.’ Reluctantly they stood, but they now held hands, confident in each other’s affection. ‘Perhaps you should ask your father to be honest about his health. Maybe he’s deliberately not telling you everything to protect your feelings.’

‘That certainly sounds reasonable, Tom, and perhaps in an ideal world it’s wise, but I don’t really know my father any more. His moods are unreliable, and he doesn’t like me asking too many personal questions. He quickly gets cross with me if I criticise Irma.’

‘So he can’t see the same failings that you do?’

‘I’ve always thought I saw her more clearly, but you’ve made me think tonight. I do look for her flaws, so it is easy to find fault. However, I have a strong impression that Dad has regrets regarding Irma, but he’s too proud – perhaps too far down the road of this marriage – to admit as much to me. I think he feels he’s failed me, failed my mother. But he hasn’t. He married Irma for the right and caring reasons, but she was the wrong choice.’

‘I know it’s unlikely, but perhaps he could divorce her,’ Tom offered, his tone reasonable, deliberately not leaning one way or the other.

‘He would never want to humiliate her in such a way.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to make my own way. I have to.’ She nodded once firmly.

He grinned. ‘Did you become that amazing mortician you promised you would?’

She laughed. ‘You remember.’

‘I remember everything about that meeting. I can even tell you how you were dressed.’

‘Well, I have become a professional mortician . . . the only woman in the state.’

‘That’s brilliant, Fleur. I’m proud of you.’

She smiled with pleasure. ‘You may be surprised to know how much your pride means to me. Most men consider it an imposition. Here, we can walk on a bit further here, and then cut up left in line with St Vincent Street.’ She pointed.

‘Not me.’ He returned to what she’d said. ‘I was raised by a brilliant woman. She was educated, wealthy, full of spirit.’