Love or Money Page 5

  All through the night, Erin struggled through nightmarish dramas. Hamish and her on a yacht that was taking in water — he laughing it off, she bailing in panic with an old bucket full of holes. Hamish climbing a high cliff of crumbling rock while she stood on a beach below dodging falling stones. She begging him to come down, he smiling as he headed on up, higher and higher…

  After the long night, Erin woke to a quiet, cloudy morning, relieved to escape her nightmares. She’d hop right back into Katyland. It had worked the day before. Maybe it would work again.

  It was dark before she stopped to think about dinner. Her chocolate-fuelled afternoon had delivered the two Katies to their first happy ending, but her body, from stiff neck to groaning back, begged for exercise. She flopped into the faded blue-and-white-striped canvas of the ancient veranda deckchair. The sound of the waves against the cliffs tinkled like whispering music in the night air. The salty smell of the spray was downright seductive. Okay, a swim. In her real life back in Sydney, she swam at the local council pool at least once a week.

  Luna Bay offered a much better opportunity. She loved the beach, knew it well. The soft sigh of the breakers told her that tonight’s surf would be gentle, safe. Not that she wouldn’t feel a frisson or two as she swam in the dark. But that was a plus. She’d drive there now, before common sense took over. There’d be towels in the bottom of the bathroom cabinet. She searched for a costume, regretting she hadn’t had the foresight to throw one into her overnight bag. Nothing. Well then, it would have to be undies. It was after nine on Monday night. Luna Bay would be dead to the world, or glued to the late night TV movie. No problem.

  She parked in the lot near the surf club. There were no other cars there, proof that no addicted boardrider would be out in the surf. She walked in the dark to the sand. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she stripped to her undies, dropped her clothes in a pile high up on the beach, and draped her towel over them. The sounds and smells of the surf enveloped her. The night air wrapped her in its shawl of warm darkness, coaxing her down towards the water.

  What the hell? She knew from the skinny dipping days of her childhood that swimming in the altogether gave you a special feeling — a sort of ecstasy. The beach was deserted. She could be on a desert island in the middle of the Pacific. She stepped out of her undies and tossed them onto the pile. She was a water sprite, stranded on land, desperate to return to her element. Maybe there was a children’s story tucked away in there.

  Loving the top-to-toe caress of the breeze on her skin, she sprinted to the water and dived in. The sea was warm, welcoming. The surf was the gentlest she remembered — half-metre waves at most. She lay on her back, letting the wavelets break over her, enjoying her sensuality. The waning moon peeped above the horizon. By midnight it would be overhead. For maybe half an hour, she spoiled herself in the warm surf, a love-hungry woman back in the arms of a long-absent lover.

  As she rolled over and swam a few lazy strokes towards the shore, a movement caught her eye. Fifty metres to the north, a man stepped out of the water carrying a surfboard. Halfway up the beach, he dropped his board and sat. Curses! She floated, motionless, sculling gently with her hands, treading water. Any movement would catch his attention. Minutes passed. The man sat as still as a statue. He must be in deep meditation. Maybe he was a surf junkie, meditating, drinking in the same magical chemistry she’d tasted. She thought of swimming up the beach to get away from him. Not much point. He’d parked himself pretty close to her clothes. She needed those clothes. Her car keys were in her shorts pocket. The man sat, motionless. What on earth could she do?

  ‘Excuse me.’ She waved, then sank back in the water up to her chin. The man looked up, scanned the beach, and lapsed back into his space. ‘Excuse me,’ she called again, louder. This time the man spotted her in the pale light of the half-moon. He waved, then stood and walked towards her as she backstroked away from the beach.

  ‘Need help?’ he called. There was a tinge of urgency in his voice — Hamish Bourke’s voice.

  ‘No. I just need…my clothes.’ She pointed, glad the moon was hidden behind a cloud for the moment.

  ‘Hey. Isn’t that Erin Spenser?’

  ‘Um — yes. Sorry.’

  She waited while he took in the situation. He laughed quietly. ‘I’ll take a little walk,’ he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Give you time to get decent.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She watched him retreat down the beach. When he was a hundred metres away, she dashed through waist-deep water towards the pile of clothes. Ouch! Her shin hacked against a submerged log. She picked herself up and limped on. Her leg was cut and bleeding, stinging as the salt water washed over it. She made it up the beach and slipped into her clothes. In seconds she was what Hamish would call decent. She towelled her hair, her legs, then wrapped the towel round her waist. A couple of minutes later, Hamish returned to the spot where his surfboard lay in the sand.

  ‘Well we met by moonlight, Erin,’ he said. ‘We seem to be seeing a bit of each other lately. No pun intended.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry I disturbed your — meditation,’ she said. ‘I’ll be on my — ouch!’ As she stepped towards her car, the pain had bitten hard.

  ‘What on earth —’

  ‘My shin.’ She pointed. ‘There was a log in the water. I —’

  ‘Yeah. That’s been there a while. You can see it at low tide. We should move it. I’ll get the surf club guys to see to it.’

  She took another step, squealed with pain.

  ‘Here. Wrap an arm round my shoulder.’ He moved close, slid a wet arm round her waist. She did as she was told. They took a tentative step. She gasped with pain again. ‘Better carry you,’ he said. ‘Excuse me while I…’ He slid a hand round her bottom and heaved. She wrapped both arms round his neck. As he walked, she felt steel-hard shoulder muscles flexing under her hands. Boardriding must do that to a guy.

  Hazily, she sensed her pain melting under a tidal wave of hormones. She was hugging a hunky half-naked man, skin to skin — a man she had to admit she’d liked from first glance. With every step, the raft of muscles across his chest rippled against her shoulders, her breast. She heard his breathing deepen as he walked, felt the sweat wet his warm skin. It was a long way to the car park. As they reached it, he eased her carefully to the ground, leaned her against her car.

  ‘Thank you sooo much,’ she breathed. ‘I’d have…’ The moon brightened as it cleared a cloud. She looked up into his face as his eyes locked onto hers. His lips were…too close. Neither of them moved. His warmth, his closeness melted her, melted her willpower. She stood on tiptoe and kissed those hovering lips. The kiss exploded into a shower of fireworks for both of them. She tightened her arms round his neck, gave her lips again. Never, in all the times she’d kissed a man, had she ever felt swept to such sublime heights. She felt his lips answer back, giving as good as they got — and more. His arms locked her tight. Then he broke the kiss, staying close as they leaned against the car, arms and legs still tangled.

  ‘That was…’ his voice died to a croaking whisper as he eased away, still enfolding her in his arms. ‘Aaah — good. Too good.’ He pulled his arms away. ‘You know I have a partner. This can’t go anywhere.’ His whisper faded to nothing.

  ‘No, it can’t,’ she heard herself say. ‘I — I’m…sorry.’

  ‘And you’d have a steady man in your life too?’ Just as she struggled to come up with a truthful answer, he continued. ‘A very lucky man, I’d say.’

  ‘I — we just broke up. After six years. Way too-long years.’

  She heard him sigh, draw breath. He took a step back.

  ‘Better get my board,’ he said.

  She watched, paralysed, as he headed down to the beach, disappearing into the dark. Her moist skin shivered where his warmth had crushed against her. Groping in her shorts pocket, she found her key and climbed into her car. For a second she sat, key in ignition, imagining his return. Her lips still tingled, firing
rogue electric currents through her body. For that moment, only one thing on this earth mattered — to have him back in her arms, his lips on hers, his arms tight round her, his body hot, close — and that couldn’t, mustn’t happen. She must get away before he climbed back up to the car park, surfboard under arm. She turned the key before the wakening genie inside her could pop out and take over, and drove home in the moonlight, shivery with unsatisfied yearning. What might, could, lie ahead for her and Hamish Bourke?

  Chapter 4

  Erin was pleasantly surprised at her leg’s recovery. Marvellous what a dab of antiseptic and a bandage could do. Four days later, almost healed, and after winning daily battles against the urge to drop by his office, Erin listened to a message from Hamish on her cell phone.

  ‘Hi, Erin. This is Hamish. I told you that Lovers’ Lookout needs a lot of work — the garden, the hillsides, whatever. Soon would be best — we always have to keep the weeds under control. So I’ve put you down for Saturday the thirteenth — two weekends away. Give me a call if that doesn’t suit. Oh, and remember, it’s the host’s job to feed the gang — around twelve of us. That includes the morning coffee break, as well as lunch. Of course. Thanks, Erin. Look forward to catching up on the thirteenth. Bye.’

  She put down the phone, drew a long breath. The past few days had given her some space to get over him. It was sad that the sound of his recorded voice sent tingles through her sensitive parts again. Next time they met, he’d be just one person in a crowd of happy helpers. Planning a menu for that big day would deliver a healthy distraction.

  For her morning coffee breaks, she’d taken to driving, rather than walking, to Sarah’s Super Sandwiches, the only café in town serving decent coffee. That way, she didn’t have to walk past Hamish’s office. As she drove, she allowed herself sideways looks through the office window, but Hamish hadn’t appeared. A trip to Sydney, to her mother, and her literary agent, was overdue. On Wednesday evening, she phoned.

  ‘It’s wonderful to hear from you, darling,’ her mother almost sang. ‘We’ve been missing you sooo much.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Well, me, and Mr Whiskers.’ Trust her mother to drag her ancient cat into the act.

  ‘Would it be okay to arrive tomorrow?’ Erin offered, knowing the answer. ‘Round lunchtime? We could eat out somewhere.’

  ‘Any time, darling. And lunch — I’d love it. I…haven’t been getting out much lately.’

  Erin found herself packing for the Sydney trip with mixed feelings. In her time at the cottage, she’d been seduced into The Adventures of Katy and Katytoo. Funny how living close to nature made it easy to create a fantasy animal. She didn’t like to admit it, but maybe she couldn’t have written that story anywhere else but Luna Bay.

  Erin arrived at her mother’s place around noon. The sick woman hugged her as soon as she opened the door. The hug felt sincere, perhaps even needy. As Erin followed her down the hall of the modest suburban cottage, she was surprised to see her mother carrying a walking stick. As they moved to the lounge, the stick drew attention to itself when it slipped off the sofa and clunked onto the wooden floor.

  ‘Lovely to see you again, darling. It’s been far too long.’ Helen Spenser beamed up at her daughter as she flopped back onto the sofa, apparently out of breath. ‘I’ve missed you so, Erin. Could you make us some tea? Then we can sit and talk.’ The moment she looked into her mother’s face, Erin recognised despair. Was it something that showed in the older woman’s hesitant voice, or the way she lay on the sofa, pale, breathless? Her mother grinned and bent to salvage the stick.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a stick,’ Erin said, wanting to get to the bottom of things.

  ‘It’s the latest bother I have to put up with. Doctor Evans. He said to take the stick with me whenever I walk anywhere. In case I have a turn. It could make me dizzy for a moment and I might fall, he said.

  ‘But Mum. Turns? You’re too young for that sort of thing. You’re barely fifty. I thought sticks were for geriatrics.’

  ‘So did I, darling. But…my heart. It’s not getting any better.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My latest tests. I could tell that Doctor Evans was trying to be nice about it. He gave me another lot of pills. Fed me the usual, “None of us are getting any younger, Helen.” And so on. He asked if you could touch base with him on your next visit.’

  ‘Oh. I’ll call him before I leave.’ Erin fought to contain her own heart’s pounding. Her mother had been precious to her all her life. They’d been a twosome, supporting and caring for each other as life without husband and father closed in on them. Helen Spenser had held down her secretary’s job through it all. Erin had handled the life of latchkey kid without complaint. Any grumbling would have merely added to her mother’s pain.

  ‘Glad you told me the truth, Mum,’ Erin said. ‘But let me help with a few things around the house while I’m here. Heavy lifting. Laundry.’

  ‘Thanks, darling. I knew you’d want to help. There’s a basket of washing in the laundry. Perhaps you could run it through the machine. But tell me about Luna Bay first.’

  ‘Not a lot to tell. I’m going to sell it as soon as I can. Give it a quick lick and promise, then put it on the market.’

  ‘A pity. You loved your trips to Luna Bay as a child. You’ll have a soft spot for the old place, I know.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Couldn’t you keep it? Spend lovely relaxing weekends there sometimes?’

  ‘I’d love to, but I have to get real. My job, my life…they’re in Sydney.’ There was no need to mention her mother’s new neediness. ‘But I’ll spruce up the place before I sell,’ Erin continued brightly. ‘That’ll mean a few more weeks at Luna Bay.’

  ‘Too bad. It must be awful for you, having to live in the old place before it’s fixed. It’ll be falling down around your ears. And that God-forsaken little village — not a soul for you to talk to. An absolute Hicksville.’

  ‘Er…yes.’

  An hour later, Erin called Doctor Evans, making sure she closed the door on the lounge where her mother sat with a book.

  ‘Glad you called, Erin,’ the friendly cardiologist answered. She’d accompanied her mother on visits for years, come to trust the easygoing but always professional medico.

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ he said. ‘Your mother’s heart. It’s running like a car that’s done a million kilometres too many. She needs a new one.’

  ‘You mean a transplant?’ Erin shuddered. She knew a transplant was a risky operation. Not everyone survived it. What if her mother never woke up after her surgery? The shock that Helen Spenser might have only months to live paralysed Erin. Her mind lurched. She fought sobs. She faced losing the person she loved most in the world. For the moment, she must get hold of her reeling emotions, concentrate on the doctor’s message.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Sorry, but at the end of the day, that’s the only thing that can help her.’

  ‘But — but — you mean she might die if she doesn’t have a transplant?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘How long can she…I mean how much time have we got?’

  ‘Her heart could fail tomorrow, or it could clunk on for another year. And, of course, her quality of life could deteriorate. As it has already.’

  ‘You mean the walking stick.’

  ‘Yes. There’ll be other things. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘But — what other things?’

  ‘Mobility. She’ll need long spells of bed rest. Possibly oxygen.’

  ‘But the transplant. How do we…what do I…’

  ‘She can wait, like a lot of other public patients have to.’

  ‘How — how long?’

  ‘To be honest, it usually takes years. It’s in the lap of the gods. Many patients in the queue die before a donor heart becomes available.’

  ‘Doctor Evans.’ Erin needed the facts, however stark they might be. ‘Wh
at on earth can we do to speed things up?’

  ‘Anything like that takes money,’ he said. ‘Big money.’

  ‘Well, for starters,’ Erin said, fighting to control the wavering in her voice, ‘if she were a private patient, would that help?’

  ‘Yes, it would.’ The pause lengthened. ‘And of course there’s the option of going overseas. Some of the world’s top transplant hospitals are outside Australia. In places like the US, the UK.’ Erin drew a long, slow breath. Her own heart sounded like an out-of-control jackhammer. She fought to pitch a businesslike sound into her voice.

  ‘The big question, doctor. What would it cost?’

  ‘A lot, I’m afraid. And I happen to know Helen doesn’t have comprehensive medical insurance. One of those things single mums don’t seem to get round to.’ He stopped, hesitant. ‘Let’s say well into six figures for starters…I can’t be more accurate than that without a bit of checking.’

  Erin’s mind cleared. Suddenly she saw the big picture. ‘I can afford that. I just inherited a property. From my grandmother. I intended to sell it. I’ll just have to pull the pin a bit sooner than I planned.’

  ‘I think you’re very wise, Erin. I know you love your mother. Should I take the next step, then? Start firming up some definite arrangements?’

  ‘Yes, please. Immediately.’

  ‘I will. But you’ll appreciate, even with all the money in the world, we’ll still have to wait for a suitable donor.’

  ‘I understand. But at least we can get to first base. I’ll pay a visit to my bank today.’

  ‘Okay Erin.’ His voice clicked into the kindly, practical bedside manner she’d heard so many times before. She put down the phone and headed back to her mother.

  ‘Let’s do lunch right now, Mum. I have a few calls to make this afternoon.’

  ‘Fine, darling. I’m starving.’ Helen eased herself out of her armchair, clutched her walking stick. ‘Will you be back in time for dinner?’

  ‘Of course,’ Erin bubbled. ‘I wouldn’t miss one of my Mum’s home-cooked dinners for the world.’ She caught her mother hiding a sneaky smile.