Once a Rebel... (3 page)

Then right behind her, a voice spoke, cold and curious. And male.

‘Why exactly are you so determined to make me start this list?’

I would have preferred to do this with you, instead of—

Him.

If there was any doubt in his mind as to what she meant, it evaporated the moment Shirley spun her horrified face to his. It was more ashen than usual.

‘I thought you’d gone in.’ Flummoxed. Discomposed. The only sign he’d had of the real person beneath the make-up since the barest eyelid flinch yesterday.

‘I bet you did.’

But she didn’t answer his question. She just started pushing towards shore, hurrying ahead of him. He gave her a few moments, mostly enjoying the view as the sea floor rose to become the shore and first revealed the curve of her sodden wraparound skirt and then those ridiculous stockings. Except they weren’t entirely ridiculous; they were also one part intriguing. The way they clung just above her knee. It made the narrow strip of skin above the stocking but below the wrap into something really tantalising. Even though there was much more gratuitous flesh on show higher up.

This was forbidden.

This was private.

And, from the back, it was insanely hot, because even
she
didn’t get to see that angle.

He took his time following her as his cells blazed.

Onshore, she retrieved her towel and turned back
to him, clutching it to her body. It did a reasonable job of helping him focus.

Down the sand, the teenage girl who’d gushed earlier called out, ‘Bye, Shiloh!’, as if they were now best friends. Shirley threw her a dazzling smile in return and waved, making her day.

Gracious.

He should have expected that of a Marr.

The brilliant smile looked out of place with lips coloured like black blood, but he realised that somewhere between yesterday and today he’d forgotten his first impression of her, standing over him with those forever boots, and she’d just become Shirley. Quirky and courageous and fast with a comeback.

She spun back to him and the dazzling smile died.

‘Was she that easy to forget, Hayden?’ Hurt blazed in her pale eyes. ‘Or was it just some kind of dramatic, absinthe-fuelled gesture for an audience? And you expected everyone else to do the hard yards?’

He
had
pledged. He
had
vowed.

Then he had done nothing. Not one thing.

But he wasn’t about to cop to it. ‘Why are you so concerned about what I do? How do my choices mean anything at all to you?’

‘Because she gave you her life. She gave you all her days teaching and her nights assessing your work and her Saturday afternoons giving her star pupils extra credit.’

‘Instead of being with you? Is that what you mean?’

She shook her head. But she also flushed. ‘She gave you everything, Hayden. But when she died you just … shrugged and moved on?’

He hadn’t worked at the top of his field without learning a thing or two about subtext. This wasn’t really about him … He just wasn’t sure yet exactly what it was about.

‘Every square next to your name is empty. Others have made progress, or at least a start. They’ve made an effort.’

She was going to ride the denial train right to the end of the line.

‘Shouldn’t you have let it go by now?’ he asked.

She blew air out from between dark lips. ‘Yes, I should have.’

The moment of honesty took them both by surprise. She frowned. ‘If you told me that you’d been busy building orphanages in Cambodia for the last decade I think I could accept that. But you haven’t. You have no excuse.’

He swallowed back what he really wanted to say. ‘I don’t need an excuse, Shirley. I’m not answerable to you.’

She clutched the towel closer to her pale skin. Her eyes flicked away and back again. ‘I just thought you might …’

She didn’t want him to do it because she’d make him feel guilty. She wanted him to do it because he was an all-round great guy deep inside. Secretly. ‘Hate to disappoint you further, Shirley.’

Her shoulders rose and fell just once as she filled her lungs and moderated her exhalation. Just like her mother used to do before starting a tutorial. Her piled-up hair swung around her face in surf-dampened strands like Medusa’s serpentine locks. ‘At least take your name off the list. If you’re not going to do any.’

So that the world didn’t have to look at his disinterest? ‘Why don’t you add yours? To balance out my lousy effort. Show everyone how it should be done.’

‘Maybe I will.’ She turned to go, disappointment at his sarcasm patent in the drop of her shoulders.

Honey, I’ve done a lot worse in my life than let down someone who’s been dead for a decade. Your silent judgement can just get in line.

Then she spun back around. ‘Molon Labe.’

That threw him. ‘What?’

‘Your business name. Your tattoo. Why Molon Labe?’

He shrugged. ‘Military defiance. When the outnumbered Spartans were called to surrender arms they said Molon labe— “Come and take them”.’

‘I know. I saw the movie. But
why
that phrase?’

His entire body tightened. ‘Because I have a thing for the Spartans. Their courage.’ Their defiance in the face of death.

‘You don’t find the irony exquisite?’

The breath thickened in his lungs. ‘What irony?’

‘You named your business after it. You branded your body with the Greek letters. Yet, in life, you
laid down arms at the first hurdle. You dropped totally off the radar.’

She turned and walked towards the changing rooms. Away from him. Away from the disappointment. Away from the crater her verbal detonation had caused.

He forced his lungs to suck in air and his fingers to open and close again. Forced himself to remember she had absolutely no idea what she was dismissing.

How could she?

But he had enough fight left in him not to let that go unchallenged.

‘Shirley,’ he called.

She stopped. She turned. She looked ridiculously natural standing there, dripping wet and defiant. But also so very young.

‘I understand deflection better than most,’ he said without raising his voice across the space between them. Knowing she heard him. ‘Attacking me takes the focus off you. But given there’s only the two of us here and you clearly don’t give a rat’s what I think or feel—’

Her extraordinary eyes flickered.

‘—you might want to ask yourself what you’re trying to take the focus off. And for whose benefit.’

‘
Cos it sure as hell wasn’t his.

Her gaze widened and then dropped to the sand. He turned away from her to climb the dunes up to the road, to find his own way home. He wasn’t stupid. No way she was letting him back in her car. No way he’d get in there, even if she did.

Today had been a huge error on his part.

He’d been stupid to think that he could make good on any of his past failings. That just didn’t happen.

And something else he knew.

Her stupid purple and black stockings pressing through the beach sand … That was the last of Carol-Anne Marr’s crazy, high maintenance daughter that he’d be seeing.

‘Y
OU
went to Antarctica.’

Not
Hello?
Not
Is Shirley there?
Not
Sorry I was such an exceptional ass.
Shirley took a long slow breath and released it away from the mouthpiece of the phone.

‘Hello, Hayden.’ She’d know that deep, disparaging voice anywhere.

Instantly.

She’d flown back in yesterday evening and initialled the website just before collapsing exhausted into bed.

Commune with penguins.

Tick.

‘That was a big one,’ he opened.

‘Certainly was,’ she closed.

He didn’t miss the frost in her tone. ‘Listen, about the other day—’

Three months ago.

‘—I’d like to apologise.’

Too late
. She leaned back in her writing chair. ‘No need. I had no right to judge you.’

A long pause from him. Was he trying to decide
if she was genuine? ‘I could have been more … diplomatic that day. I’m sorry if it hurt you.’

It had hurt but not because he’d slapped her down. Dredging it all up again had hurt. Sifting through her reasons had been hard.

She shrugged. ‘The truth does sometimes hurt.’

A long, empty pause. Then, ‘I climbed the bridge.’

Shirley’s hand froze on the phone. The Sydney Harbour Bridge was on the list. The tiniest of flames puffed into existence deep inside her.

He’d started the list.

‘I was there for a stockholder meeting. Thought I might as well.’ The flame snuffed out again. Did he add that especially so she’d know how little effort he’d made?

‘You didn’t tick it off.’

‘No, I …’ Another pause. But she could hear his breathing. He cleared his throat. ‘I thought I’d get a few under my belt before updating the site.’

A few
? Did that mean he was going to honour his promise? But she wasn’t ready to trust him yet. ‘What are you going to do, work your way down the list?’

‘The top is as good a place to start as any.’

Sorrow welled up inside, from somewhere deep and dark. ‘Well, that should take you about a fortnight, then.’

This time the pause was laden with confusion. His. That was fair enough; she herself barely understood the bitterness creeping through her voice.
‘I thought that we could team up for a few of them,’ he persevered. ‘Two birds, one stone kind of thing.’

Because this was such a massive inconvenience? ‘The list is not really a team sport …’

‘I enjoyed the dolphins.’ A single strand of pleasure twisted through the darkness at his admission. ‘The experience I would have had on my own was different to the one I had with you there.’

That was certainly true. ‘You would have ended up in a fist-fight with the volunteer.’

‘He was smug. And showing off for your benefit.’

‘He was passionate. And proud of the work they do. You belittled him.’

‘I tested him. Big difference.’

Why did that surprise her? He’d always been interested in breaking people down to see what made them tick. ‘Not to the person on the receiving end.’

That shut him up. For almost half a minute.

‘So, is that a no to partnering up? I already have reservations.’

She hated doing this by phone. It was all too easy to imagine vulnerability in his tone. If she was looking him in the eye he’d never get away with that. But his tone changed hers. She sighed. ‘Tickets to what?’

‘The symphony.’

‘The Australian Symphony doesn’t have Beethoven on their line-up for this year.’ She’d already checked.

‘Not the ASO. The Berlin Philharmonic.
They’re in town for a limited season. Three concerts.’

‘Those tickets were expensive.’ She’d checked that, too.

‘So?’

‘So throwing money at it is a fast way to get the list out of the way.’ And off your conscience.

‘Really? I suppose you walked to Antarctica, then?’

‘No. I took a work opportunity. There was a media call to promote the hundredth anniversary of the end of Scott’s expedition and I qualified. The only thing I paid for was my thermals.’

‘Nice junket,’ he snorted.

‘Sure. If you don’t count all the freezing-your-butt-off and hauling yourself up rope nets on and off an ice-breaker.’ That had nearly killed her. Although it had helped her get fit preparing for it.

‘So how were you planning on getting to Everest without money?’

She tossed back her hair. Maybe it would translate in her voice. ‘I don’t know. Work on a cruise ship to earn passage. Then make my way to Kathmandu by bike.’

She was nothing if not an idealist.

‘It would take a lifetime to do the list that way.’

She stared at the wall. Suddenly something important clicked into place for her. Something she’d been missing.

‘“
Full effort is full victory
”,’ she murmured. Satisfaction lay in the effort, not the attainment. Gandhi knew it. It was just a pity Hayden—the
student of human nature—had forgotten what that felt like.

‘What?’

She refocused. ‘The list was supposed to be about honouring my mother’s memory. Buying your way down the list does the opposite.’ Almost worse than doing nothing at all.

His pause grew dangerous. ‘So, now you
don’t
want me doing the list?’

I want you to care.
And she had no idea why that was so important to her. ‘Not if it means you put in the minimal amount of effort or outsource it to someone to make you up an itinerary.’

Silence descended as he considered that.

‘What if I didn’t pay for the tickets?’

She blinked. ‘Then I assume you’ll be arraigned for theft when the curtain rises.’

‘Ha ha. I meant that I contra’d them. Does that change how you feel?’

Did it? Last week, if someone had given her a month off work and a cashed-up credit card she would have zoomed through the list knocking things off, too. But she felt sure that there’d be no sense of achievement. Not like the year of preparation for the marathon, or learning to horse-ride well enough to tackle the Snowy Mountains, or working for months on the Antarctica proposal and her ice fitness.

Could she even enjoy the victory if it came so easily?

‘Using your influence is like using your money—’

‘It wasn’t influence. I bartered a friend for the tickets. Good old fashioned labour.’

Labour? Those hands?
‘What for?’

‘I give you my word it’s nothing that wouldn’t honour the intent of Carol’s list.’

She turned it over in her mind. And over. And then looked under it and really tried very hard to find something reasonable to object to. But her curiosity was piqued, too. What exactly did one trade for tickets to a performance that exclusive?

‘Front row?’ Okay, now she was just picking a fight.

‘Centre.’

‘When?’ Did he just assume she’d be available?

‘Tuesday night.’

Damn.
She was.

Somehow it being an evening thing made it feel more like a date than a business arrangement. Which was ridiculous. Two birds, one stone, he’d said. The deal was made. The tickets arranged. Why shouldn’t she benefit from whatever hard manual labour he was going to have to undertake to pay them off?

She sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll see you then.’

‘Really?’

Lucky he couldn’t see her, because she completely failed to hide the tiny smile that broke at the surprise in his voice.
Too cool for school
was kind of his thing back when she used to watch him from the stairs. It was nice to know that someone who had been that jaded at nineteen was still capable of surprise at thirty.

‘Really.’

‘Great.’
Awkward.
‘See you Tuesday, then.’

Her chest squeezed tighter at his parting words. But nineteen year old Hayden would never have been a good choice for her and she suspected thirty year old Hayden was even less so.

Lucky this wasn’t a date, then.

‘Is that a cape?’

Hayden stepped around her in the concert-hall foyer to check out the back of the indigo cloak that Shirley had put on over her simple black dress. The shoulders formed a reverse V that left her décolletage bare and met at an ornate black clasp that closed like fingers around her throat.

‘Cape
let,
according to the label,’ she informed him.

Whatever it was, it did amazing things to her eyes. And the dress for the rest of her, too.

‘You’re early,’ she announced.

‘I wanted to pick up the tickets. You’re earlier.’

‘I wanted to people-watch.’

At least
Shiloh
did.

He should have twigged when she’d first told him her new name, except that he’d been out of action for so long his connection to the living world had dwindled to what he read in the newspaper and saw on television the few times he turned the thing on.

The fawning of the girl on the beach that day was his biggest clue. That had sent him hunting
on the Internet and it took no time at all to realise that
his
Shiloh was
that
Shiloh.

The people’s princess.

Blogger extraordinaire.

Queen of snark and acute social awareness.

Possessor of a two-million-plus social network and a list of subscribers that contained every major news journalist, politician’s aide and celebrity in the country. No one wanted to be the one
not
following Shiloh’s eloquent posts, even if they didn’t always like them. Or understand them.

He found the dolphin story—beautifully researched and filled with example after example of people whose lives had been changed following an encounter with a cetacean. Hundreds more in the reader comments. The dolphin that sensed the tumour. Or a pregnancy. A whale that monstered a swarm of sharks away from a flipped catamaran long enough for its passengers to scramble onto the upturned hull. Even a shy manatee that nudged an unconscious boy repeatedly to the surface until help arrived. She’d given the many people who volunteered with wildlife a nod through the voice of that man they’d stood with in the shallows. Yet she’d taken care not to identify the beach location or the animals, protecting them, too.

She knew her boundaries. And her power.

So he’d followed her blogs these past weeks to get a feel for the woman he’d only ever known as a child. She didn’t disappoint. Astute. Acerbic. Fearless.

‘The symphony’s not really the sort of place you’d expect to encounter intriguing story leads.’

‘You might be surprised at what people will talk about under cover of a crowd.’

She didn’t even blink that he knew who she was. She tossed her hair and a waft of amberwood hit him, provocative and sensual. His breath thinned.

‘Are you a regular at the Concert Hall?’

Not really the place he’d bring most of the women he’d dated. ‘I’ve been a few times, but I usually sit up the back.’ Right up the back, in the control box with Luc, generally. ‘This will be my first front row.’

Her carefully shaped brows folded.

He stepped closer as someone squeezed past them, then looked down on her. ‘That surprises you?’

She did her best to step back. ‘You don’t really strike me as an up the back kind of guy. I thought you’d want to be seen.’

‘But you don’t know me at all.’ Despite what she thought. ‘Come on, this way …’

He set off in the direction of the bar, not waiting for her to follow. Ordinarily he’d have found some way by now to touch a woman he’d invited on a date, multiple times if possible while shepherding her through the assembling crowd. But not only was this very much
not
ordinary, and
not
a date and
not
leading to anything further after the instruments were all back in their cases, but he thought Shirley might bite his hand off if he
touched her. And he knew for sure she’d object to being corralled like some fragile thing.

She was anything but.

They passed the handful of patrons who’d turned up earlier than they had and crossed to the back area of the bar that served the exclusive members’ lounge, past the shelves of expensive drinks. All his old friends lifted their hands in salute, trying to catch his eye. Johnny. Jack. Remy. MacCallan.

He pressed on past them all.

‘Luc?’

It took a moment before anyone responded, but then his oldest friend appeared from a pair of doors behind the bar, carrying a sheaf of papers. He clapped forearms with Hayden and did a credible job of not looking at Shirley for more than the time it took to smile politely. Though he knew he’d get hammered for details later.

‘Mate, good to see you,’ Luc said.

‘Is it all arranged?’ Hayden asked. Keeping things businesslike.

‘Good to go.’ Luc reached into his pocket and produced two tickets. He held them aloft. ‘These weren’t easy to come by. There’ll be no reneging?’

Please …
‘When have you ever known me not to be as good as my word?’

‘I’ve never asked something like this of you, though.’

Shirley
and
Shiloh both grew interested in that.

He handed over the tickets and Hayden pumped his hand. ‘Cheers, mate. I owe you one.’

Luc laughed. ‘You know what you owe me.’ Then he disappeared back into the bowels of the Concert Hall. Hayden could feel Shirley’s gaze branding the back of his head, so he took his time turning around. When he did, her immaculately made-up eyes were narrowed.

‘What did you trade?’

He let a cautious nothing wash over his face. ‘Oh, just a favour for a mutual friend.’

‘What kind of favour? If I’m going to be party to a fraud, I’d like to know exactly what I’m buying into.’

‘You’re not buying into anything. This was my trade.’

‘What was?’ Her hands balled on her hips. ‘I’m not moving until you tell me the truth.’

Air hissed from between his drawn lips. ‘I’m helping out with a party Luc’s sister is throwing in a few weeks.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You mean you’re paying for it?’

‘No. I told you this wasn’t a financial transaction.’

‘I didn’t realise event coordination was your bag.’

‘I’m not organising it, either.’

‘Catering?’

He glared at her.