Storms Over Blackpeak (26 page)

Ella woke up to the ring of her phone. Lizzie, at last? She’d gone to sleep with the phone in her hand. Now she scrabbled to find it inside the hopefully roach-proof cocoon she’d made out of the sheets. Ah, there it was. Not Lizzie. Richard. Freeing an arm, Ella pressed the phone to her ear.

‘Are you okay?’

That depended: she scanned the bed for six-legged company. Seeing none, she took stock. She’d slept so badly she felt like she had a nasty hangover, but otherwise, yes, she did seem to be okay. It was light outside, so she’d made it through the night, anyway. That had to be a good start.

‘I’m still trying to raise a friendly face over there,’ Richard admitted apologetically. ‘I’ve got my agent working on it, too.’ He sighed. ‘Somebody in New York has to have stayed home for the summer.’

Listening to his lovely, familiar voice was making her want to cry again.

‘In the meantime, I’ve sent you some cash,’ he went on. ‘It took me most of the morning to convince Western Union I was actually me and not some Nigerian fraudster, but we got there in the end. There’s an agency three blocks west of your hotel, you can pick it up there.’

Oh God, that felt like the best news she’d ever heard. ‘Thank you,’ she managed, tearing up hopelessly, ‘so much — I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’

‘Don’t even think about it. You just need the collection code. I’ll text it to you now.’

Ella nodded, unable to speak.

‘And sweetheart, try not to worry. Someone will be there to help you very soon.’

Having braved the horror of the shared bathroom to do what she could with her hair and her face, Ella slung her bag over her shoulder and raced out of the hotel, looking back at it from the street with a final shudder. God willing, she would never have to set foot in it, or anything like it, ever again.

In daylight, the walk back across town seemed shorter and less scary, the vacant lots less full of danger. The stores were just beginning to roll up their doors on what was, if one were in the mood to notice such things, another beautiful sunny morning. Recognising the man she’d spoken to the night before asleep in his doorway, she slipped one of her last remaining dollars into his paper cup. He didn’t open his eyes.

She arrived to find the Western Union agency still closed. Reading the sign on the grille, Ella checked her watch. She had twelve minutes before it opened. Across the street, New York’s other early-risers — runners and dog-walkers, most of them, by the looks of things — were bustling in and out of a hip-looking bakery. God, she could murder a coffee.

She was hungry, too, Ella realised, as she queued for the counter. Of course — she hadn’t eaten last night. Having worked out what the cash left in her wallet would buy, she ordered a filter coffee and a roll and wedged herself into a space at the crowded table that ran the length of the bakery’s windows. Five minutes to go.

As the coffee began to make her feel vaguely human again, Ella ran over her plan in her head. First, she was going to check herself into a decent hotel. Then, as soon as she had called Richard and let him know where she was, she was going to have a
very
long shower. And then— Ugh. Her eyes fell on
the cover of
Time
. It was one of Damian’s, of course. Then, she was going to have to deal with him. Was there any chance he’d been so drunk last night that he wouldn’t remember what he’d done? That they could work together again? That she could just go to Prague this afternoon as if nothing had happened? Was there the slightest possibility that any of the things Damian had promised her — the flat, the green card, the meeting with his agent — could still happen?

Remembering the look on his face last night, Ella knew there wasn’t. He’d no doubt organised someone else for the Prague job already. There were a hundred photographic assistants who would drop everything to go on a shoot with Damian Priest. Nevertheless, she did have to face him. Apart from anything else, all her stuff was still in his apartment. She needed to get it out before he left. The thought made her lose her appetite again. Pushing away the remains of her roll, Ella reached into her bag for her phone. Best get it over with. He should have finished sleeping it off by now.

Shit! Her phone! It wasn’t — it wasn’t
there
. Fighting against reality, Ella ransacked her bag. It couldn’t be gone. It just couldn’t. Her whole life was on there … what remained of her life, anyway … She stared around the bakery. There was no point, she knew. Whoever had taken it would be long gone.

Across the street, there was a graunch and a rattle as Western Union opened its doors. Slowly, the true horror of her situation started to settle in. The collection code for Richard’s money was on her phone. His number, his email … everyone’s numbers, everyone’s email … they were all on her phone. Richard, Lizzie, Carr. Damian. Even her travel insurance emergency line was … Oh God, oh God. She was alone in New York with no home, no job, no means of contacting anyone she knew — and twenty-five cents in her pocket. Daylight or not, Ella began to be very afraid.

There was nothing to do but go back to the one place Richard knew where to look for her: the hotel. She’d just have to stay there until he sent someone to find her. Or they threw her into the street at checkout time tomorrow morning. Whichever came first.

Clutching her bag to her chest, Ella forced herself to finish her coffee. God knew when she’d get another cup. Carefully, she wrapped her leftover roll in a napkin. She didn’t have the price of a happy meal now. Maybe if she asked nicely, the homeless man would give her the dollar back …

Twenty minutes later, at the end of the walk she was coming to know all too well, she stood at the Hotel Manhattan’s reception desk. In daylight, it looked even worse. Thanking God she’d run off without bothering to actually check out, Ella waited for the man behind the desk to notice her. A new shift had begun, it appeared; there was no sign of the woman who’d taken her money the night before.

‘You want something?’ he asked, looking up at last from his newspaper.

‘Has anyone called for me?’

‘Who are you?’

‘Ella Harrington.’ A horrible thought occurred to her. ‘I’m booked in here for two nights.’

Frowning, he ran his pen down the register. ‘Harrington … no …’

Her heart went cold.

‘Oh yeah, there you are. Three-oh-two.’ He looked her over, his head to one side. ‘What was it you wanted again?’

‘Messages,’ she said, starting to breathe again. ‘Did anyone ring, or — or come looking for me?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure? Could you — could you maybe check?’

‘This look like The Plaza to you? I ain’t a message service, honey.’ He went back to his reading.

Slowly, Ella made her way up to her room. Needless to say, it hadn’t been cleaned. Crawling back into her abandoned nest of sheets, she settled down to wait for Richard. He’d call her soon. Wouldn’t he? And when he couldn’t reach her mobile, he’d ring the hotel. Right? Or he’d send someone. The help he and his agent were trying to find. They were probably on their way right now. She just had to make sure she was there when they arrived.

Nine hours later, Ella watched the filthy brick wall outside her sliver of window dissolve into the dusk. She was way past crying. Past anything much. She’d be spending another night at the Manhattan, there was no denying that now. For the umpteenth time, she unpacked her camera bag, arranging her gear piece by piece on the bed. She picked up her camera body, feeling the familiar weight in her hands. They went back a long way, she and her old digital. Tomorrow morning she’d have to pawn it. Along with everything else. The Leica first, of course. If pawn stores were open on Sunday. Of course they would be, she realised, as a far-off siren began to wail — this was New York City. People’s lives fell apart at all hours.

The knock on the door made her jump. Oh, thank God! Shoving her feet back into her sandals, she hurried to open it, heart thudding.

An old man stood there in a grubby singlet and boxer shorts. He looked like a dishevelled, recently de-institutionalised version of Damian Price.

‘Have you seen my pants?’ he asked, worriedly.

‘No,’ Ella told him. ‘Sorry.’

Re-locking her door, she switched on the light, slipped off her sandals and sat back down on the bed. Again, she went over her gear, adding up its worth. How many more nights would it buy her?

Reluctantly, Ella pulled out the remains of her breakfast roll and unwrapped it. It was the only food she’d had since lunch the day before. Not that she felt even slightly hungry. She’d better eat it, though, before her room-mates the roaches came and got it. Taking a bite, she forced herself to chew, working it down past the lump in her throat. Another twenty-five minutes and she could go down and check for messages again — the guy behind the desk was so sick of her she’d had to cut back to asking once an hour.

She had just got back from her fruitless trip to reception when there was another knock on the door. Flying across the room, Ella threw it open.

‘Have you seen my pants?’

Oh God. ‘No.’

Having locked up once more, she sat down heavily. Outside, another, closer, siren swirled through the streets. It was over twenty-four hours since she’d stormed out of Damian’s apartment. On the other side of the wall, she heard somebody start to snore. Getting out her digital, she turned it on and off, then slipped out the memory card. She couldn’t bear to even think about what was on it.

Unaware of having drifted off to sleep, she was woken by the sound of knocking.

‘Have you seen my—’

Ella shut the door in his face. God, what time was it? And, ugh, had anything crawled on her? Shuddering, she ran her hands through her hair, then checked her watch. It was after midnight. Returning to bed, she put her camera gear away, hid the bag, and wrapped herself up in the sheet. She’d just
arranged it over her head when there was a knock at the door.

‘Go away!’ she yelled, past caring who else she woke up.

‘Ella? It’s me.’

Was she dreaming? Untangling herself, she headed towards the door, not daring to believe what she’d heard was true, and opened it.

Luke stood there. ‘I heard you needed someone,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if I’d do.’

Chapter
TWENTY-ONE

Two weeks earlier, driving home to the vineyard from a snowbound Glencairn, Lizzie tried to talk herself out of the hurt she was feeling. Carr had every right to ask her to take a step back. She was round there every weekend, treating his house as if it were her own, telling Cally what to do, trying to be Ash’s confidante. It was no wonder he’d had enough.

Except that … Well, if she’d rushed in, it was only because he’d held the door so wide open for her. And now to have it suddenly slammed in her face was … bruising. What had changed? Was it something to do with Ash being there? Or was it her? Did Carr feel differently about their relationship now that he had other people around him? Had he just been lonely?

Sometimes, she reminded herself, people simply changed their minds. Feelings came, and they went. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Maybe she and Carr had run their course. Lizzie was shocked at how awful she found the thought. She had never really stopped to consider where their relationship might be going. She’d just trusted that it was going somewhere. If it wasn’t …

Or
maybe
, the more sensible side of her brain kicked in, he really did just want her to slow down. Give him some breathing space. Except that he hadn’t said
slow down.
Or
take a step back
. He’d said
stop
.

Arriving home, Lizzie put the increasing number of clothes that had found their way to Glencairn back where they belonged in her own wardrobe. It looked fuller than it had for a while. She’d been spending so much time at Carr’s lately that her own house had started to take on a half-lived-in look. It hardly even felt like home any more.

She wandered out to the kitchen, opened the fridge door, and stood staring in at the shelves. What was she looking for again? Finding no answer, Lizzie closed the door and stared out the window instead. The rows of dormant vines stretched up the slope, black against the snow.

She picked up the phone. As she had hoped, it was Cally who answered her call.

‘Carr’s still out,’ Cally apologised.

‘Never mind,’ Lizzie said. ‘Could you let him know that I got home okay?’

That evening when the landline rang, Lizzie let it. She didn’t trust herself to talk to Carr — not yet. She wasn’t ready to pretend that everything was normal. She had a feeling she’d end up asking questions she might not like the answers to. That she, or he, would say something that couldn’t be unsaid.

By the time Glencairn’s number came up on her cellphone screen on Tuesday, Lizzie had pulled herself together enough to be able to answer the call in her usual tone.

‘There you are,’ Carr growled. ‘I was getting worried about you.’

‘Sorry,’ she said brightly. ‘I had to go into town yesterday. I didn’t get back until late.’

‘You left early on Sunday.’

‘Yes.’ Lizzie paused. ‘I had some things I needed to do.’

There was a silence.

‘Look,’ Carr said gruffly, ‘I’m sorry I had to work all weekend. This weekend’ll be different. I’ll get things out of the way.’

As a waiting call beeped in Lizzie’s ear, she checked her screen quickly. Ella. Tapping ignore, Lizzie took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I thought I’d stay home this weekend.’ The silence on the other end of the line was so deep she wondered if she’d declined the wrong call. ‘Are you there?’

‘I’m here.’

Lizzie tried to keep her voice light. ‘I have a whole lot of jobs I need to catch up on around the vineyard, and—’ Dammit. Call waiting. Ella again.

‘And?’ said Carr, acidly.

‘And,’ she blurted, ‘anyway, we could probably do with a bit of a break.’

More silence.

‘Look, I have to go,’ Lizzie told him. ‘Ella’s trying to call me. It must be something important. We’ll talk later, okay? I’ll call you next week.’ She ended the call.

‘Mum …’ Ella sobbed.

‘Darling! What on earth’s wrong?’

‘It’s Luke … He — he’s
gone
. We broke up.’

‘Oh, Ella, I’m so sorry.’ Although, Lizzie had to admit, not entirely surprised. ‘When?’

‘This … this
morning
.’

‘Darling.’ God, Ella sounded beside herself. ‘Tell me what happened.’ Lizzie settled herself on the sofa.

As her daughter managed, with some difficulty, to get the whole story out, Lizzie tried to keep her mind on what Ella clearly thought was its most important aspect. She felt awful for Ella. And for Luke. But her daughter was going to move to
New York
?

Outside, she could hear the distant throb of a helicopter high in the sky. She wondered if it was Carr. If there’d been a Mountain Rescue call-out. Unaccountably, a lump rose in her own throat. She hoped nobody was too badly hurt.

‘… he won’t even take my calls,’ Ella concluded, desperately.

Poor Luke. Lizzie knew how he felt. ‘Maybe,’ she suggested cautiously, ‘this is all for the best.’

‘How can it possibly be for the best?’

‘When you see somebody building you into their life …’ Lizzie swallowed hard. ‘Building a life around you … well, if you’re not sure you feel the same way about them, it might be kinder to let them go.’

‘But I love Luke. More than anything.’

‘Do you, Ella?’ The helicopter seemed to be coming closer. Lizzie tried to ignore it. ‘Really? Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ her daughter sniffed, sounding even more wounded. ‘How can you even ask me that?’

‘Well, darling, ever since you started working for Damian it’s been pretty hard to tell.’ Lizzie peered out the windows. The chopper was flying frighteningly low. What the hell was it …?

‘Listen’ — watching the helicopter settle onto the lawn, Lizzie raised her voice above its final clatter — ‘I have to go. I’ll call you later, okay?’

By the time she’d got Ella off the phone and made it to the door, Carr was already standing in it.

‘A break from what?’ he demanded.

Speechless, Lizzie watched him unzip his flight overalls. ‘A break from … from seeing each other,’ she managed, at last.

‘You’re saying you don’t want to see me?’

‘No,’ she stammered, backing away as he made his way inside. ‘I’m not saying that. I’m not saying anything.
You
said—’ Lizzie broke off.

‘What did I say?’ he snapped.

‘That I had to stop trying to be part of your life.’

Carr glared at her. ‘When the hell did I say that?’

‘Last Saturday night.’

His glare deepened.

‘When we were in bed,’ she told him. ‘You said the station was your life, not mine, and you didn’t need my help, and you needed me to stop.’

‘That’s what you heard? Jesus, Lizzie.’ He gave an angry shake of his head. ‘If you’re going to get upset about something I say, at least stay awake for the rest of the sentence.’

He took her by the shoulders. ‘I
said
that I needed you to stop
me
before I fuck up. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. I know you have a life of your own. What happens out there on the hill is my problem, not yours, and it isn’t the only thing that matters to me. You have to help me make sure that neither of us forgets that.’

Lizzie stared up at him. She’d had no idea he was capable of producing so many words at once.

‘I don’t need you to help me work the station,’ he said, his voice lowering. ‘If I need another hand, I’ll hire one. I — I just need you to be there with me’ — his lips brushed hers — ‘when I wake up.’

She rediscovered her voice at last. ‘I can do that.’

He watched her face urgently, a look she’d never seen before in his eyes, the swirl of an old pain. Even as she thought it, his mouth came down on hers again, kissing her harder, his hands pulling her hips to his as if he could erase whatever was in his mind against her body. As he worked her shirt loose, Lizzie’s own thoughts fled.

Some time later, retrieving her clothes from the floor, she stood up to find Carr watching her still, his expression guarded. Lizzie felt a stab of unease. How much damage had she done by running away from him over a stupid misunderstanding? The trust they’d had: was it gone? What had he meant about not making the same mistake twice?

Wrapping herself in her shirt, she settled behind him on the sofa, resting her chin on his shoulder. ‘Are you staying tonight?’

‘Are you asking me to?’

‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘Please.’

‘Then I’ll stay.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll always stay, if you ask me.’

‘I’m asking.’ Putting her arms around him, she ran her hands over his chest. ‘Can I ask you something else?’

‘What?’

Lizzie nestled her cheek against his neck. ‘What happened with you and Elyse?’

To her relief, his back stiffened only momentarily. ‘She walked out.’

‘Just like that?’ she asked gently.

‘In the end.’ Carr sighed again. ‘It was the first day of the autumn muster. I was just about to head out, and Elyse told me she was leaving. She told me she’d met someone else, that she’d been seeing him for months, and that she was moving out to live with him. She said there was nothing
I could say or do to change her mind.’

‘What did you do?’

‘What could I do? I had seven men and a chopper waiting for me outside. I told her we’d talk about it when I got back.’

‘And when you got back?’

He nodded. ‘She’d gone. Ash, too.’

Lizzie was silent.

‘I’d promised him that his first full muster would be that year. He was desperate to get up the hill. But his shoulder was still pretty banged up from the accident, and Elyse wasn’t keen to have him out there, so I had to lay down the hard word and tell him he couldn’t come with me.’ Carr paused. ‘I didn’t see him again for two years.’

‘Two
years
?’ she blurted, completely failing to hide her shock.

‘Elyse didn’t trust me to look after him. She wouldn’t let him come down to the station until he was old enough to be on his own.’

‘And you didn’t go to see him?’

‘Things got pretty rough after Elyse left. I was on my own. I couldn’t leave the station. And the bank was circling. All Glencairn’s land was tied up in trust, Dad had seen to that, but I had to borrow to buy out Elyse’s half of the stock and plant. For a while there, flying was the only thing paying the mortgage. I was struggling to find the cash for a trip to the sale yards, never mind a weekend in Auckland.’

Lizzie held him more tightly. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago.’ Carr stroked her hand.

‘You know, he rang me one night,’ he said, after a while. ‘Ash, I mean. Not long after they’d gone up there. He was crying. He said he wanted to live with me. That he wanted to come home.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘That he couldn’t. That I couldn’t look after him. That he had to stay with his mother.’

Oh God, Lizzie realised: it wasn’t some girl who had broken Ash’s heart — it was his father. Heart aching for them both, she pressed closer to Carr’s neck. ‘That must have been difficult.’

‘Someone had to be the bad guy. Ash had to live with Elyse. It seemed better that he hate me.’

‘Have you ever told him that?’

He shook his head.

‘You should talk to him,’ she said gently.

‘I think it’s a bit late now.’ Carr’s voice was wry. Slipping out of her arms, he pulled on his jeans, crossed the room, and began adding more wood to the fire.

Lizzie decided to let the subject drop. He’d had enough for one day, surely.

‘Ash is talking about going back to the States,’ Carr said, still stirring the fire. ‘I told him he should move into the cottage, but apparently that’s not far away enough. He says his old job’s open in Wyoming.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, again. Gosh. She knew Ash had been unhappy about Cally, but she couldn’t believe he wanted to— Hang on. ‘You told him he should move out of the homestead? Why?’

‘Him and Cally. It’s hell just watching them. One of them has to go.’

‘And you think it should be your son?’ Lizzie stared at him.

Carr looked back at her in surprise. ‘Well, I can’t ask Cally to move into the cottage by herself, can I? She doesn’t even have a car. Anyway, Ash created this mess. It’s up to him to fix it.’

For a second, Lizzie was dumbfounded. How could he
make something so wrong sound as though it was the most logical thing in the world? ‘And did Ash,’ she managed at last, ‘tell you he wanted to go to Wyoming before or after you told him to get out of the house?’

‘I didn’t tell him—’ Carr broke off, appearing to give it some thought. ‘It was after,’ he admitted. ‘But he’d come in to talk to me about something, anyway. It must have been that.’

‘Maybe he just wanted your help with something. Maybe he wanted to talk about Cally.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Ash hasn’t wanted my help since …’ Carr’s brow furrowed.

Since the last time he’d sent him away? Lizzie waited for Carr to make the connection.

‘You think he thought I didn’t want him around?’

Again. Yes! ‘I think,’ she tried not to be too brutal, ‘perhaps he might have got the wrong idea.’

Sitting back down on the sofa, Carr draped an arm around her and settled back thoughtfully, gathering her to his chest. ‘I should talk to him,’ he said.