“Claire,” he croaked.
“You asked me to be honest,” she reminded him. “Deal with it. I don’t want to be Steve’s widow. I don’t want to be a single parent. I don’t want to plan a future without him. But I have to, for Lewis’s sake. And mine. Don’t drag this out. Sign the papers. For God’s sake, let me get on with my life.”
“You might not feel like you were his first priority, but you were. I swear, as soon I’ve assessed the risks—”
“Go to hell.” Pale with anger, she opened the door, and Adam nearly fell in. “Don’t listen to this man,” she instructed. “I’m going to the lawyer’s to get him fired. Then I’m coming back.”
She glared at Nate. “Don’t be here. In fact, I want your stuff out of the bach when I return.”
“I have no transport,” he reminded her, though he suspected she was beyond reasoning with. Her next words confirmed it.
“So walk!”
* * *
C
LAIRE
STORMED
OUT
of the estate agency and into the high street, eighteen months of unexpressed rage boiling through her veins. And God, it felt so good. So good to rip off the mantle of long-suffering widow, meekly accepting her husband’s fate because he’d died for his country. A good cause. Ha!
Well, what about my cause? What about Lewis’s cause? Did you ever think of how your son would suffer if you died, you selfish bastard?
It was freeing to have this anger in the open, anger she’d suppressed for so long because it was wrong to speak ill of the dead, wrong to rail at the man she’d so loved.
But as she stabbed the unlock button on her car-key remote, Claire experienced the righteousness of rage. To hell with acceptance, to hell with stoicism, she wanted to slash and burn. Some tiny part of her brain knew this would wear off, but for now the brutal honesty was liberating, heady.
She got in the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “At least you made it easy,” she yelled in the confines of her car. “I spent half our married life alone while you were on deployment.” It was like having a boil lanced; all the poison releasing in one toxic ooze.
Claire revved the engine, made an illegal U-turn and accelerated in the direction of her lawyer’s office. She would never tie her life to a man’s again. Never. They only let you down. The lights turned red and she slammed on her brakes.
As for Nate…
She couldn’t even articulate her thoughts where Nate was concerned, there was just a welling of murderous impulses. If she saw him again, she’d hit him. Swear to God. When the lights turned green, Claire burned rubber. “Now he has a conscience,” she sneered. “Now he’s concerned about our well-being.”
Ahead, a young woman with a pram waited at a pedestrian crossing. Reluctantly Claire pulled to a stop. Different if Nate had been there for her, after Steve died, when she needed him. Needed his empathy, needing that mutual understanding they’d always shared. Of all the times to resurrect
that
Nate, he had to choose now. “And after helping me get the best price for the house, too. I mean, what the heck was that?” The crossing clear, she accelerated again. Some imagined command from on high from his dead buddy and never mind her wishes. Claire could have screamed.
“I don’t forgive you,” she said aloud to Steve. “You hear me? I don’t forgive you. Live with it.” She registered her words and suffered a pang of loss so sharp that she had to drop one hand from the steering wheel and press it against her breast.
You did say you wanted to feel.
CHAPTER SEVEN
H
ER
LAWYER
TOOK
Claire’s white-hot rage and doused it under dust-dry reality.
“Ideally, a trust deed is a lengthy, precise document—” Jules Browne held up three flimsy pages “—containing detailed provisions on the trustee’s powers and responsibilities with a protector clause that would allow you to hire and fire, or limit what Nate can do.” She paused to tuck a strand of shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear. “As I’ve mentioned previously, honey, yours isn’t one of them.”
“Unfortunately, you weren’t in our circle of friends then,” Claire said bleakly. The curse of accepting the cheapest quote. At the time the deed had been drawn up, Lewis had been a baby, Claire hadn’t been working and money was tight. “To be honest, we probably wouldn’t have included that clause anyway. We trusted Nate.”
“And now you don’t?”
“He shouldn’t have the power to throw his weight around when he’s spent over a year resisting every attempt I made to get him to do his damn job!”
“Having had every single legal letter ignored through that period, I completely agree.” Jules laid the document on her neat desk. “But if Nate refuses to step down, the only way to get rid of him is to take him to court.”
Claire stared at her friend in dismay.
“And scheduling a hearing depends on the backlog.… We could be talking months.”
“Argh!” Claire started pacing the office. “I haven’t got that kind of time.”
“Calm down.” Jules gently pushed her into a leather armchair, then poured a glass of water from the jug on her desk. “Here...let’s talk this through. It’s possible I can pull strings for an early hearing.”
Accepting the glass, Claire noticed Jules’s bare left hand. “Where’s your engagement ring?”
Jules hid her hand behind her back. “At the jeweler’s.… The…ah…stone was loose.”
Claire said carefully, “Okay.”
Jules sighed. “I’m lying,” she admitted. “I’ve stopped wearing it at work. It only draws questions from clients who don’t know about Lee. ‘Oh, what a lovely engagement ring. When’s the big day?’ That kind of thing.” Unlocking her desk drawer, she pulled out a large diamond solitaire, and slid the platinum band onto her finger. Even on an overcast morning, it seized all the room’s ambient light and dazzled, exactly like the man who’d bought it for her.
“It’s not a ring that goes unnoticed,” agreed Claire.
Jules was looking at the diamond. “Do you think it’s awful of me?” she said in a low voice.
“Of course not.” Momentarily, Claire forgot her own troubles. “Look, there’s no standard operating procedures for getting on with your life. We each muddle through as best we can.” Jules and Lee had only a six-week whirlwind romance before he deployed. Some might think that should have made it easier for her to get over him. Having grown closer through their mutual bereavement, Claire knew different.
“You caught me by surprise, coming early.” Jules adjusted the ring on her finger. “I would have been wearing it to see Nate.”
“No one doubts your love for Lee,” Claire said.
Clearing her throat, Jules retreated behind her desk, saying briskly, “Let’s return to business, shall we?”
Claire took the hint. “If legal action’s the only way to keep Nate out—” she steeled herself “—then let’s start that ball rolling.”
“Grounds usually include one of the following. The trustee has acted outside their powers…”
“Strike one.” Her anger began to rise again.
“Or has acted capriciously…”
“Strike two.”
“Or has taken into account irrelevant or improper factors—”
Claire stood up and began pacing again. “He thinks this is a knee-jerk reaction to Steve’s death, which it bloody isn’t.”
Jules continued calmly. “Or has made a decision that no reasonable trustee could make.”
“Strike three and he’s out. How can we not win?”
“Because he’ll claim he’s acting in your best interests and however angry you are, Nate thinks he is, doesn’t he?”
Claire scowled.
“You’re a beneficiary as well as a trustee,” Jules added, “which means your motives for firing him would be questioned.”
“My motives are that he’s been useless.… We have good records for that.”
“He could argue that having witnessed Steve’s death, he’s been incapable of fulfilling his duties until this point. Certainly, prior to the ambush he was exemplary in fulfilling his role as trustee.”
Claire snorted. “All he did was sign an annual account document and a trust tax return. All token stuff to meet minimal legal requirements.”
“The law is what this will be judged on, Claire.”
“And he wasn’t incapable, he was unwilling!” She met her friend’s unwavering gaze and sighed. “Like I’m unwilling to hear what you’re going to say next.”
“Talk to him, try to negotiate a solution that works for both of you. You’ll get a lot further, a lot faster than taking him to court.”
“Argh!”
“You’re welcome.” Jules smiled. “Maybe Nate’s changed into the badass you describe, but sounds like his heart’s still in the right place…at least where you’re concerned. Use that as your starting point.”
“Except I told him to go,” Claire confessed. “Pack his bags and leave.”
What if he had? “Oh, hell.” She fumbled for her cell and rang his. It was switched off. Her next call was to the estate agent, who reported Nate had left shortly after she had. When Adam started talking about the buyers, she cut him short. If Nate was leaving, the sale was dead in the water. “I’ll phone you later…and you, Jules.”
As she cut the connection, she was already halfway out the door.
Claire drove home to Stingray Bay at breakneck speed using a local’s knowledge to cut corners and accelerating on every straight. She scanned the roadside for the sight of Nate’s rangy frame, as well as the drivers of oncoming vehicles in case he’d organized a rental.
He had fifty minutes’ head start, which wasn’t much for a normal person, but was way too much for an ex–Special Services soldier bent on leaving. The station wagon bounced over the grassy knolls that made up the communal yard behind the baches, all empty at this season. As she found the key on its nail under the deck and slotted it into the patio door, she peered inside. “Nate?”
The place looked the same way they’d left it, breakfast dishes stacked in the kitchen sink. Claire swept aside the curtain to the spare room and her heart sank. Bed neatly made, bag gone. Without hope, she searched the bach, but there was no note, no message of farewell. And why would there be? Her husband’s best friend was already struggling emotionally and she’d spewed all her shameful, darkest thoughts onto him.
Still, Claire went onto the deck, staring along the curve of peninsula she’d just driven, desperately searching what she could see of the road through the pohutukawa trees. Empty. Half a kilometer along the estuary a solitary figure walked the strip of beach exposed by an outgoing tide. An overnight bag hung from one shoulder and Claire straightened. “Nate!” He was too far away to hear.
She tore down the wide steps cut into the clay bank, her high heels sinking into the wet sand as she hit the estuary beach. Impatiently she kicked them off and tossed them up the hill. “Nate!” In bare feet, she broke into a run, the broken shells sharp against her winter-soft soles. A shard lodged between her toes and panting, she stopped to dislodge it. When she looked up, Nate was gone. Claire ran faster, but there was no sign of him. “Nate!”
He couldn’t have just disappeared. On the thought, her panic dissipated. She knew where he was heading. Pinching the stitch in her side, she dropped to a walk and caught her breath.
Between the footbridge and the concrete boat ramp three boat sheds sat in varying degrees of dilapidation. Two had been built half on land, half on wooden piles, which were encrusted with generations of oysters. The largest, grounded on a concrete slab was an enormous A-frame constructed entirely of corrugated iron, with roller doors both ends. Age had faded its paint to an oxidized red. The clear sheets of corrugate that acted as skylights were an opaque yellow, and rust had scalloped some of its edges at ground level. But it was sound enough to house a forty-foot vessel with a twelve-foot beam and four-foot draft.
As she’d suspected, the side door was open. Claire stopped to gather composure then stepped inside.
Heaven Sent
was propped on a jerry-rigged hard stand, which Nate was inspecting carefully.
She cleared her throat. “It doesn’t look much, but it’s solid…and cheaper than hiring a boat cradle.” She hated the nervousness in her voice. Nate was the one in the wrong. But she felt as good as naked when his gaze lifted to hers.
She couldn’t help what she felt about Steve. God knows she’d spent months trying to talk herself out of these feelings because they’d had a good marriage, she’d loved her husband with all her heart, and it was crazy to hold him responsible for dying on his last tour.
A better woman would have been able to battle through these unworthy emotions and forgive him. A lesser woman would have been selfish, demanded he honor his promise and kept him alive. Instead, Steve was dead and Claire swung between regret and resentment. And now Nate knew her dirty little secret.
“I’m out of the house,” he said. “I’ll sleep in my half of the boat until I’ve done what I need to.”
She forgot her awkwardness. “Nate, if I lose my sale, I lose my chance at having
Heaven Sent
ready for this season. And if I miss the season I have to wait another year. You’ve already killed the project by default.”
“I bribed your buyers with a week’s holiday on the Gold Coast to wait for an answer.”
“What?”
“And I’ll work on the boat so you don’t lose momentum on the upgrade. Lewis is due home in what, ten days? Let’s make eight our deadline.”
She hadn’t expected such a quick concession, but it wasn’t enough.
“And at the end of that time if you decide this isn’t a good idea…?” Jules had told her to be conciliatory, but she couldn’t be, Claire realized, not on this. “I’d rather pull the plug now than put my fate in someone else’s hands again.”
Some emotion she couldn’t identify crossed his face. “I understand,” he said. “So here’s my offer. I assess your business plan, double-check all your figures on the refit. If I think you’re taking too big a risk I’ll try to talk you out of it. But if I can’t, I sign the deed of sale regardless. This isn’t about a power trip, Claire. It’s about getting you to pause, take a deep breath. That’s all.”
“And I’m supposed to just believe you?”
“If you don’t trust my word anymore, I’ll sign something.”
She looked at him. “I’ll have Jules put something together.”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “I guess I deserve that.”
“You’ve been AWOL for well over a year. I’m not the only person with something to prove here, Nate.”
“Never said you were, Claire,” he replied quietly. Picking up his bag, he slung it up and onto
Heaven Sent
’s
deck, where it kicked up a puff of dust.
“You can’t sleep here,” she said.
“I thought we’d reached an agreement?”
“The cabin’s a mess. Come back to the house.”
“I could rent one of the empty baches.… I’ve seen a couple of signs.”
“Don’t be silly…unless…” She broke eye contact, recalling her earlier confession. “Unless you feel uncomfortable staying now, after what I said about Steve.”
“I’m hardly in a position to judge you.”
There was a lump in her throat. “Still, I shouldn’t have unloaded on you, it wasn’t fair. Steve was your best friend.”
He walked over and put his arms around her in the first hug he’d given freely. “You’re my friend, too,” he said. “You’ll get past this. You’ll love him again.”
Hot tears burned. Claire buried her face in his shoulder, borrowing his warmth. “How can you be so sure?” she said. “All I do is play with the same old puzzle pieces of our life together, over and over. There are no new pieces, Nate.”
She felt him tense, under her cheek his heartbeat picked up. “Yeah, there are,” he said. “You said I spent as much time with Steve as you did. Maybe I can fill in the gaps.”
* * *
N
ATE
COULDN
’
T
BELIEVE
he’d just blurted that. But something in him went crazy at the idea that Steve had lost Claire as well as his life. He’d screwed up, no question, but their marriage had been the bedrock of his mate’s life. And the backdrop of their “tight five” unit. Didn’t matter how much he, Dan, Ross and Lee stuffed up in their personal relationships, Claire and Steve—Steve and Claire—were the constant. The gold standard.
She pulled free of the hug to look at him. “You’ll talk about your deployments? I thought that wasn’t allowed.”
“I’m not giving away troop movements, or strategy, just giving you an idea what was going on with Steve while we were away.” He’d need to think this through carefully. What he told her, what he didn’t. Couldn’t. Nate realized what he’d let himself in for.
She must have seen his sudden reserve. “Nate, I’ve heard censored versions my whole married life, they won’t help me.… But I appreciate the thought.”
A swallow fluttered under the rafters, drawing their attention. “There’s a pair nesting here,” Claire said. “They come back every spring.” But he watched her, the pale line of throat, the curve of her cheek as she lifted her face.
Did he have the guts to try to help? Maybe. His foster childhood hadn’t produced a conversationalist, and a career in the SAS sure as hell hadn’t given him any practice articulating emotions. Though the bonds forged were unbreakable, they were never discussed. Knowing your brother would take a bullet for you reduced the necessity to talk about feelings.
Guilt was a lump permanently located in his chest. Give it attention and it throbbed. It throbbed now. Ah, God, did he have the guts for this? “Steve nearly got us killed once,” he said before he chickened out.
Claire crossed her arms. “What!”
“I’ll tell you tonight. Right now, let’s see what you’ve been doing to our boat.”
“You can’t drop that bombshell and leave it!”