CHAPTER ONE

WHEN THE TRAIN drew in to Roma Street Station, Emily checked her phone messages one more time. There was still nothing from Alex, so now she was officially worried – not only about Alex’s twenty-four hour silence, but also about her own fate. She had no idea what she’d do if he wasn’t in Brisbane.

She’d rushed to the city in blind despair. She needed to see Alex, to stay with him, and yes, to pour out her heart to him. Of all her family, Alex would understand, and Emily had been so very desperate to get away from Wandabilla that she’d jumped on the train in the vain hope that Alex would return her call before she arrived.

Now, the train came to a stop with a wheezing sigh of brakes, and all around Emily, passengers were rising from their seats, gathering their belongings in a businesslike fashion, pulling on jackets and coats and heading for the carriage doors, eager to be out on the platform and gone.

They, of course, had somewhere to go.

Emily did not.

If Alex was away, she would have to find a hotel. She certainly wasn’t going to turn tail and head home to Wandabilla, to face the music, with everyone in the small country town knowing what had happened to her.

Besides, Emily told herself there was still a slim chance that Alex was home. He might have a problem with his phone, or perhaps he’d let the battery run down, or he’d bought a new phone and changed his number and hadn’t got around to telling her. 

Although her doubts about the wisdom of rushing to Brisbane were mounting fast, she rolled the magazine she’d been trying, unsuccessfully, to read and stowed it in her shoulder bag, then retrieved her suitcase from the luggage rack.

It was an unusually cold August afternoon, and a biting westerly wind whistled callously along the platform. Shivering, Emily buttoned her coat and turned up its collar, then she lugged her suitcase behind her, and headed for the warmth of the pedestrian tunnel.

As luck would have it, she was in the depths of the tunnel, jostling with crowds of shoppers and commuters, when she heard the soft buzz-buzz of a text message’s arrival. She grabbed her phone from her bag. The message was from Alex.

Em, sorry I missed you, and very sorry to hear about that @#$%$# of a boyfriend. Wish I could be with you now, but I’m in Frankfurt at a Book Fair. Please use the apartment tho. Stay as long as you like and use my room. I’ve checked with Jude and he’s cool, so he’s expecting you.

Hugs,

Alex xxx

Emily had to read this twice, standing rock still in the tunnel while commuters steered somewhat irritably around her. She needed a moment to take the message in, to deal with her see-sawing emotions of relief that Alex was OK, and her disappointment that he was so far away.

Very quickly, overriding these initial reactions, rushed a flurry of questions. Who was this Jude person? When had he arrived in Alex’s life? And… would he really be as cool as her cousin suggested about her sudden appearance on his doorstep?

She felt awkward about imposing on a stranger, and she wondered, briefly, if she should continue up the coast to her grandmother’s instead. Granny Silver was as understanding and welcoming as Alex, but she preferred to see the world through rose coloured glasses, so Emily rarely burdened her with her problems.

Also, if this Jude fellow was expecting her, and if he was anything like Alex – which he probably was, remembering Alex’s former housemates – he’d probably already jumped into host mode.

Jude could well be whipping up something delicious for their dinner right now, so it would be rude to simply not turn up. Emily headed to a nearby bottle shop, bought a good quality red, as well as a white, because she didn’t know Jude’s tastes, then went to the taxi rank. But as the taxi sped towards West End, crossing a bridge over the wide Brisbane River, her impulsive dash to the city began to feel more foolish than ever.

She’d been so self-absorbed, so totally desperate to get away from prying eyes, that she’d seen her cousin Alex as her one safe haven. She’d had visions of crying on his shoulder, of sitting with him on his balcony, looking out over the river and the city skyline, drinking wine together while she told him all about the whole sorry mess with Michael.

Alex was such a wonderful listener, way better than her mum. He never trotted out I told you so, or kindly but firmly pointed out her mistakes. Best of all, once he’d sympathised and mopped her tears, he always made her laugh.

Man, she could do with a laugh right now, but she couldn’t expect sympathy, wine and cheering up from Alex’s new flatmate. As the taxi drew up outside the apartment block, she told herself that the best she could hope for was friendly tolerance from this perfect stranger, and a little privacy in which to nurse her wounded feelings.

At any rate, it was reassuring to know that she wouldn’t have to negotiate any of the bothersome boy-meets-girl nonsense. She’d had enough trouble with men to last her a lifetime, but she could rely on the fact that any man living with Alex would be gay and totally safe to live with.

Jude Marlowe was still typing at his laptop when the doorbell rang. He was in the midst of a thought, a decent thought, one of the few he’d come up with that day. He was trying to get it onto the page, so he continued typing, despite the doorbell, knowing that if he stopped, the precious words would be lost, never to be recalled.

The bell rang again, with a slight air of desperation. Fortunately, the last sentence was captured and Jude saved his work and pushed away from the desk. Taking off his reading glasses, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, then stood unhurriedly and stretched, rolling his shoulders in a bid to ease the tension that always locked in when he became too absorbed in his writing.

The caller would be Alex’s young cousin. Jude had received a garbled message that she needed a bed for a few nights and so he’d manfully hidden his reluctance to socialise and assured Alex that he’d oblige. Apparently, she’d had boyfriend trouble and was suffering from a broken heart.

Another of Alex’s lame ducks, Jude thought wryly, knowing he was one, too.

He was in the hallway, blinking at the darkness (was it really that late?) before he gave a thought to his appearance. Still in the clothes he’d dragged on in the morning, he was wearing old, badly ripped jeans and a baggy, ancient football jersey, stained at the neck and worn at the elbows. Not exactly suitable for receiving Alex’s houseguest, but it was too late to do anything about it. The girl at the door would be getting impatient.

Jude turned on the light as he pulled the door open and a yellow glow spilled, golden and honey warm, over the chilled figure outside. At first sight of her, he felt deprived of oxygen.

Later, he asked himself what he’d been expecting, and he realised that if he’d given Alex’s lovelorn country cousin any thought at all, he’d mentally classified her as frumpy and miserable. An unfashionable, possibly plain country mouse.

How wrong he was.

The girl standing before Jude in a fashionable white wool coat and knee high brown leather boots was a stunner. Her red-gold hair flowed softly over her white lapels, making him think of fire on snow. Her face was delicate yet full of character.

And while there was a hint of sadness about her blue eyes, her skin showed no sign of country mouse freckles. Her complexion was fair and smooth, her chin neat, her mouth curving and smiley.

She looked, at first glance, like all Jude’s female fantasies rolled into one hot package.

He found himself silenced to the point of stupidity.

Copyright Barbara Hannay 2024