“What’s going on?”
Grace heard them talking behind her but ignored them as she flung open the door and stood glaring at her bed with hands on hips.
She’d lost the red scarf the week before. It was her favourite, a deep red with a shiny thread running through, and she’d turned her room upside down looking for it. She’d definitely looked under the bed. Hadn’t she?
Getting on her hands and knees, she lifted up the edges of the quilt and peered under the bed. It was dark in the room but she could see the floor was clear. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
And then, right at the back, below the headboard, she saw a small, dark shape.
Freya’s voice came from behind her. “What’s she doing?”
“Turn the light on,” Grace demanded, unwilling to poke the object in case it was a dead mouse and not an item of clothing. The light came on, and she saw immediately it was a coiled length of material. She reached out, grabbed the end and then sat up, bringing it with her. It was the red scarf.
Ash leaned against the doorjamb of his daughter’s workroom and watched as she painted delicate highlights on the bowl of fruit she was capturing on canvas.
He’d originally decorated the room as a traditional office, with a desk, chair, computer and shelves for her books, but it hadn’t taken long before he’d given in and helped her turn it into a studio. The desk was still there in the corner, but he’d moved the computer into his study, and pots and tubes of paint, turps, thinners, mixers and a gazillion other things he didn’t understand now littered the surface of the table. He’d lifted the carpet and left the floor bare, and bought several easels and numerous canvases, most of which he could see she’d already used. He made a mental note to get her some more the next time he passed the art shop.
Sometimes she closed the door, and he’d learned through experience not to interrupt her when she wanted to be alone, although today she’d left it open. Was he too soft on her? He leaned his head against the post and sighed quietly. Being a parent was hard, especially a single father with a daughter. He watched her stand back and admire her painting for a while, her head tipped to one side so her long blonde hair tumbled across her shoulder. It was the only physical characteristic she seemed to have inherited from him. In every other way, she looked like her mother—slim, pretty, with the same sad green eyes that cut him to the core every time they looked his way. It was his curse, to see Angela every day whenever he looked at their daughter. To be reminded constantly of the woman he’d failed.
He must have made a noise, because Jodi turned and looked over her shoulder at him. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, kitten. How’s it going?”
“Pretty good. What do you think?”
He walked into the room and studied the canvas, smiling. “It’s great. You could almost eat those apples.”
“Thanks.” She flashed him a rare smile.
“My little artist.” He watched as she squeezed some cadmium yellow onto her palette and began to add a few more highlights. He walked over to her latest batch of paintings currently drying against the wall.
Most of them were standard depictions of still life and scenes from around their garden. The far wall of the room consisted of sliding glass doors and had a lovely view across the large lawn. She was starting to get the hang of perspective, and there was a particularly nice one of the pond with a heron standing in it that he was tempted to hang in his bedroom.
There were a couple of paintings to one side, however, that were different from the others. They looked more abstract, and she’d used colours darker than her usual bright palette, concentrating on browns, greens and blacks, with the occasional vivid splash of red. He frowned as he studied them, noting the wild swirls, the dark shadows and the heavily drawn black lines. They were, frankly, rather disturbing. If they represented her current state of mind, he definitely had something to worry about.
He stood, tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans and studied her. He wished she’d talk to him. But he knew what would happen if he asked her what was wrong. She’d just clam up, say she was fine and tell him to stop worrying.
It was such a shame, because in many ways they were so close. When Angela had died in the car accident, it had just been him and Jodi. Even though his mother had come to stay for a while and his sister, Liv, was only around the corner, Liv had her hands full with three boys under ten, and he’d known it was only a matter of time before his mother returned to Norway.
He had been left to console Jodi, and to steer her through the difficult years as her body started changing and she struggled to deal with becoming a woman without the guidance of her mother. He thought they’d coped remarkably well. And then all the business with the bullying had started.
And now? Was the problem still bullying, or something else? He frowned and sighed, wishing he could use his psychic talents to help her. Lord knew he’d tried often enough. He’d attempted to contact Angela numerous times over the past few years, to ask for her help with their daughter. But she never came through. Even after her death, their communication had failed.
Jodi looked up at that point and met his gaze. She studied him for a moment. “Don’t look so sad.”
“Sorry.” He forced a smile on his face. “You’d better start tidying up. Miss Fox will be here shortly.”
“Did you finish her birth chart?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t stop himself grinning at the memory of how surprised Grace had looked when he’d asked for her birth details.
“Oh?” She started to wash her brush in the sink he’d had put in. “Go on then, tell me. What’s her sun sign?”
“She’s a Pisces.”
Jodi stared into the distance as she tried to remember the mnemonic he’d taught her. “Peaceful, Impressionable, Sympathetic, Compassionate, Emotional…Sensitive. So that’s what she’s like outwardly, what she projects to people, right?”
“Yep.”
“But her true self is her rising sign, isn’t it? The sign that was on the horizon when she was born. Her… What’s the word?”
“Ascendant.”
“So what’s her ascendant?”
“Scorpio.”
She turned to stare at him. “Secretive, Confident, Over-indulgent, Relentless, Passionate, Intense, Obstinate?”
“That’s right, well done.”
“It doesn’t sound like Miss Fox at all. Are you sure you got it right?”
“Yep. Sun, Moon,
and
Venus in Scorpio. I think she’s like it…underneath.” He didn’t elaborate as to what he meant by that, but he was thinking about her stockings. It explained a lot.
Jodi studied him as she dried her hands, and he shifted self-consciously. “What?”
“She makes you smile.”
He stared at her, and suddenly she came over and put her arms around him.
He hugged her and kissed the top of her head. “What’s up, kitten?”
“It’s nice to see you smile, that’s all. You don’t do it much nowadays.”
“Rubbish. I’m always smiling. I’m a happy medium.”
She sighed at the old joke and pulled back. He turned her around and started untying her apron string for her, but he thought about her words as he did so. Was it true? Did he not smile much anymore? When had he turned into such a miserable old fart? Jodi had looked positively wistful and he hadn’t exactly roared with laughter. He’d only smiled as he thought about the inimitable Miss Fox and her silky underwear.
Jodi looked over her shoulder at him. “You’re thinking about her again.”
“Will you stop it? She’s your teacher.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Venus in Scorpio too? That’s, like, the sexiest sign, isn’t it?”
She was right, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her. “Jodi… She’ll be here any minute. Go and get your books.”
“Are you two going to be having it off on the kitchen table when I go?”
He turned her around firmly and gave her a push. “Books, now. And I don’t want to hear any of that kind of talk when she arrives.”
Jodi rolled her eyes. “All right, don’t, like, freak out. I’m only teasing.” She got to the doorway and turned, hesitating. “Dad?”
“Yes, my little harridan?”
“You know it’s okay, don’t you? Going out with girls, and stuff. I don’t mind.”
He felt an uncharacteristic tightness in his chest. “That’s a nice thing to say. Thank you.”
“It’s just that I know you must have had girlfriends, but I’ve never met any of them.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I…didn’t want to make you feel awkward.”
She looked up at him. “Because of Mum?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
Her green eyes were calm, somewhat emotionless. “She’s gone, Dad. And she’s not coming back. I know that. I don’t expect you to remain halibut forever.”
“Celibate,” he said.
“Whatever. You
are
allowed to love someone else, you know.”
He smiled. “Thank you for that.”
“I’m serious.” She frowned. “I know you blame yourself for what happened to Mum, but it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, Dad. And you were divorced—she wasn’t your responsibility anymore. It’s not your fault she was drunk behind the wheel.”
He looked away, out the window, saying nothing, grief and guilt weighing heavily on him.
“Dad?” She touched his arm. “I want you to meet someone else, fall in love and get married again.”
“Thank you, sweetheart, but that’s not going to happen any time soon. I’m not interested in settling down with anyone. I’m quite happy with you and my job.”
She shrugged. “Well, I just wanted you to know it would be okay by me.”
“Thank you.”
She walked off.
Ash watched her go, walked over to the sliding doors and stepped outside. It was a typical windy Wellington day, but the sun was out and spring warmth filtered through the few clouds scudding across the sky.
It was true, he’d never brought a girl home. He hadn’t exactly been celibate—or halibut for that matter—since he’d been divorced, but he hadn’t quite played the field as much as he could have either. Lord knew he’d had the opportunity. Women positively threw themselves at him, and there’d been ample occasions to invite them backstage after a show, where they would have been more than willing to offer a little of themselves for a piece of him. But he was always exhausted after the shows, and besides, he was a private man. He didn’t want half the city being able to go around saying what he was like in bed.
He’d also consciously kept any women he’d dated away from the house and away from Jodi. She’d been close to her mum and distraught when they divorced, and he hadn’t wanted to throw it in her face that he was interested in other women.
But they’d split up five years ago now. And Angela had been dead three. Maybe Jodi was missing a mother figure in her life. His sister, Liv, was probably the nearest she got to a female role model, but although Liv did her best to help out, she was so busy with her family and job that she didn’t have a lot of spare time to devote to his daughter.
Maybe he should start dating again. Properly. Bringing a woman home. Letting himself believe he was allowed to love again.
The thought made him go cold. It might have been more than five years since he told a woman he loved her, but he still wasn’t ready to do it again. When he’d married Angela, so young at nineteen, he’d thought it was going to last forever. How naïve was that? Her lack of support when he’d changed his job had been the catalyst for the breakdown of their marriage, but even though it had become obvious to him it was over, she’d fought it all the way, refusing to believe he wanted it to end. The fact that she’d turned to drink and eventually it had claimed her life didn’t help the feelings of guilt that consumed him when he thought about the fact that he’d left her. He wasn’t ready to open his heart to someone else yet.
A bit of hot sex would be welcome, though.
His thoughts strayed to Grace Fox. He only had to think her name and it brought a smile to his face. She fascinated him, from her prim-and-proper appearance, to her not-so-very-prim-and-proper underwear, to her obviously firm discipline in the classroom, and finally to her bizarre but interesting tendency to say the first thing that came into her head. He’d never met a woman like her. It was a pity she thought he was a complete fraud.
What had she thought about his revelation regarding her scarf? He wondered whether she was intrigued or if she was angry with him. When it came to his psychic abilities, people either believed him wholeheartedly, were sceptical but willing to be convinced or were completely cynical. Grace quite clearly fell into the third group. Often those people were afraid or angry, scared of being convinced. What had made her so vehemently opposed to the idea? He wanted to know. He wanted to find out more about her, what made her tick—apart from
Star Trek
and silky underwear. To establish what bastard had convinced her she was bad in bed. To kiss her and make love to her until she believed she wasn’t.
He noticed he was smiling again. He was going to have to be careful when she turned up, or Jodi was going to let something slip.