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‘People have even started a rumour that if the dolphins are removed it will be the end of Dolphin Bay.’
She giggled. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘The rubbish bins go and as punishment we’ll be struck by a tsunami. Or some other calamity.’
He rolled his eyes. Just like he’d used to do. That hidden part of her heart marked ‘first love’ reacted with a painful lurch. She averted her gaze from his mouth and that intriguing, sexy little scar.
She remembered the hours of surfing with him, playing tennis on that old court out at the back of the guesthouse. The fun. The laughter. Those passionate, heartfelt kisses. Oh, those kisses—his mouth hard and warm and exciting on hers, his tongue exploring, teasing. Her body straining to his...
The memories gave her the courage to ask the question. It was now or never. ‘Ben. It was a long time ago. But...but why didn’t you write like you said you would?’
For a long moment he didn’t answer and she tensed. Then he shrugged. ‘I never was much for letters. After you didn’t answer the first two I didn’t bother again.’
An edge to his voice hinted that his words weren’t as carefree as they seemed. She shook her head in disbelief. ‘You wrote me two letters?’
‘The day after you went home. Then the week after that. Like I promised to.’
Her mouth went suddenly dry. ‘I never got a letter. Never. Or a phone call. I always wondered why...’
No way would she admit how, day after day, she’d hung around the letterbox, hoping against hope that he’d write. Her strict upbringing had meant she was very short on dating experience and vulnerable to doubt.
‘Don’t chase after boys,’ her mother had told her, over and over again. ‘Men are hunters. If he’s interested he’ll come after you. If he doesn’t you’ll only make a fool of yourself by throwing yourself at him.’
But in spite of her mother’s advice she’d tried to phone Ben. Three times she’d braved a phone call to the guesthouse but had hung up without identifying herself when his father had answered. On the third time his father had told her not to ring again. Had he thought she was a nuisance caller? Or realised it was her and didn’t want her bothering his son? Her eighteen-year-old self had assumed the latter.
It had been humiliating. Too humiliating to admit it even now to Ben.
‘Your dad probably got to my letters before you could,’ said Ben. ‘He never approved of me.’
‘That’s not true,’ Sandy stated half-heartedly, knowing she wouldn’t put it past her controlling, righteous father to have intercepted any communication from Ben. In fact she and Ben had decided it was best he not phone her because of her father’s disapproval of the relationship.
‘He’s just a small-town Lothario, Alexandra.’ Her father’s long-ago words echoed in her head. Hardly. Ben had treated her with the utmost respect. Unlike the private school sons of his friends her father had tried to foist on her.
‘Your dad wanted more for you than a small-town fisherman.’ Ben’s blue eyes were shrewd and piercing. ‘And you probably came to agree with him.’
Sandy dropped her gaze and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Over and over her father had told her to forget about Ben. He wasn’t suitable. They came from different worlds. Where was the future for a girl who had academic talents like hers with a boy who’d finished high school but had no intention of going any further?
Underneath it all had been the unspoken message: He’s not good enough for you.
She’d never believed that—not for a second. But she had come to believe there was no future for them.
Inconsolable after their summer together, she’d sobbed into her pillow at night when Ben hadn’t written. Scribbled endless notes to him she’d never had the courage to send.
But he hadn’t got in touch and she’d forced herself to forget him. To get over something that obviously hadn’t meant anything to him.
‘Men make promises they never intend to keep, Alexandra.’ How many times had her mother told her that?
Then, once she’d started university in Sydney, Dolphin Bay and Ben Morgan had seemed far away and less and less important. Her father was right—a surfer boyfriend wouldn’t have fitted in with her new crowd anyway, she’d told herself. Then there’d been other boys. Other kisses. And she’d been too grown up for family holidays at Dolphin Bay or anywhere else.
Still, there remained a place in her heart that had always stayed a little raw, that hurt if she pulled out her memories and prodded at them.
But Ben had written to her.
She swirled the ice cubes round and round in her glass, still unable to meet his eyes, not wanting him to guess how disconcerted she felt. How the knowledge he hadn’t abandoned her teenage self took the sting from her memories.
‘It was a long time ago...’ she repeated, her voice tapering away. ‘Things change.’
‘Yep. Twelve years tends to do that.’
She wasn’t sure if he was talking about her, him, or the town. She seized on the more neutral option.
‘Yes.’ She looked around her, waved a hand to encompass the stark fashionable furnishings. ‘Like this hotel.’
‘What about this hotel?’
‘It’s very smart, but not very sympathetic, is it?’
‘I kinda like it myself,’ he said, and took a drink from his beer.
‘You’re not upset at what the developers did on the site of your family’s beautiful guesthouse?’
‘Like you said. Things change. The guesthouse has...has gone forever.’
He paused and she got the impression he had to control his voice.
‘But this hotel and all the new developments around it have brought jobs for a lot of people. Some say it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to the place.’
‘Do you?’
Sandy willed him to say no, wanting Ben to be the same carefree boy who’d lived for the next good wave, the next catch from the fishing boats he’d shared with his father, but knew somehow from the expression on his face that he wouldn’t.
But still his reply came as a surprise. ‘I own this hotel, Sandy.’
‘You...you do?’
‘Yep. Unsympathetic design and all.’
She clapped her hand to her mouth but she couldn’t take back the words. ‘I’m...I’m so sorry I insulted it.’
‘No offence taken on behalf of the award-winning architect.’
‘Really? It’s won awards?’
‘A stack of ’em.’
She noted the convivial atmosphere at the bar, the rapidly filling tables. ‘It’s very smart, of course. And I’m sure it’s very successful. It’s just...the old place was so charming. Your mother was so proud of it.’
‘My parents left the guesthouse long ago. Glad to say goodbye to the erratic plumbing and the creaking floorboards. They built themselves a comfortable new house up on the headland when I took over.’
Whoa. Surprise on surprise. She knew lots must have changed in twelve years, but this? ‘You took over the running of the guesthouse?’ Somehow, she couldn’t see Ben in that role. She thought of him always as outdoors, an action man—not indoors, pandering to the whims of guests.
‘My wife did.’
His wife.
The words stabbed into Sandy’s heart.
His wife.
If she hadn’t already been sitting down she would have had to. Stupidly, she hadn’t considered—not for one minute—that Ben would be married.
She shot a quick glance at his left hand. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but then plenty of married men didn’t. She’d learned that lesson since she’d been single again.
‘Of course. Of course you would have married,’ she babbled, forcing her mouth into the semblance of a smile.
She clutched her glass so tightly she feared it would shatter. Frantically she tried to mould her expression into something normal, show a polite interest in an old friend’s new life.
‘Did you...did you marry someone from around here?’
‘Jodi Hart.’
Immediately Sandy remembered her. Jodi, with her quiet manner and gentle heart-shaped face. ‘She was lovely,’ she said, meaning every word while trying not to let an unwarranted jealousy flame into life.
‘Yes,’ Ben said, and a muscle pulled at the side of his mouth, giving it a weary twist.
His face seemed suddenly drawn under the bronze of his tan. She was aware of lines etched around his features. She hadn’t noticed them in the first flush of surprise at their meeting. Maybe their marriage wasn’t happy.
Ben drummed his fingers on the surface of the table. Again her eyes were drawn to the scars on his hands. Horrible, angry ridges that made her wince at the sight of them.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Did you marry?’
Sandy shook her head. ‘Me? Marry? No. My partner...he...he didn’t believe in marriage.’
Her voice sounded brittle to her own ears. How she’d always hated that ambiguous term partner.
‘“Just a piece of paper,” he used to say.’ She forced a laugh and hoped it concealed any trace of heartbreak. ‘Sure made it easy when we split up. No messy divorce or anything.’
No way would she admit how distraught she’d been. How angry and hurt and humiliated.
His jaw clenched. ‘I’m sorry. Did—?’
She put her hand up to stop his words. ‘Thank you. But there’s no point in talking about it.’ She made herself smile. ‘Water under the bridge, you know.’
It was six months since she’d last seen Jason. And that had only been to pay him for his half of the sofa they’d bought together.
Ben looked at her as if he were searching her face for something. His gaze was so intense she began to feel uncomfortable. When—at last—he spoke, his words were slow and considered.
‘Water under the bridge. You’re right.’
‘Yes,’ she said, not sure what to say next.
After another long, awkward pause, he glanced at his watch. ‘It’s been great to see you, Sandy. But I have a meeting to get to.’ He pushed back his chair and got up.
‘Of course.’ She wanted to put out a hand to stop him. There was more she wanted to ask him. Memories she wanted to share. But there was no reason for him to stay. No reason for him to know it was her birthday and how much she would enjoy his company for lunch.
He was married.
Married men did not share intimate lunches alone with former girlfriends, even if their last kiss had been twelve years ago.
She got up, too, resisting the urge to sigh. ‘It was wonderful to catch up after all these years. Please...please give my regards to Jodi.’
He nodded, not meeting her eyes. Then indicated the menu. ‘Lunch is on the house. I’ll tell the desk you’re my guest.’
‘You really don’t have to, Ben.’
‘Please. I insist. For...for old times’ sake.’
She hesitated. Then smiled tentatively. ‘Okay. Thank you. I’m being nostalgic but they were good old times, weren’t they? I have only happy memories of Dolphin Bay.’ Of the time we spent together.
She couldn’t kiss him goodbye. Instead she offered her hand for him to shake.
He paused for a second, then took it in his warm grip, igniting memories of the feel of his hands on her body, the caresses that had never gone further than she’d wanted. But back then she hadn’t felt the hard ridges of those awful scars. And now she had no right to recall such intimate memories.
Ben was married.
‘I’m sorry I was rude about your hotel,’ she said, very seriously. Then she injected a teasing tone into her voice. ‘But I’ll probably never stop wondering why you destroyed the guesthouse. And those magnificent gum trees—there’s not one left. Remember the swing that—?’
Ben let go her hand. ‘Sandy. It was just a building.’
Too late she realised it wasn’t any of her business to go on about the guesthouse just because she was disappointed it had been demolished.
‘Ben, I—’
He cut across her. ‘It’s fine. That was the past, and it’s where it should be. But it really has been great seeing you again...enjoy your lunch. Goodbye, Sandy.’
‘Good-goodbye, Ben,’ she managed to stutter out, stunned by his abrupt farewell, by the feeling that he wasn’t being completely honest with her.
Without another word he turned from her, strode to the exit, nodded towards the people at the bar, and closed the door behind him. She gripped the edge of the table, swept by a wave of disappointment so intense she felt she was drowning in it.
What had she said? Had she crossed a line without knowing it? And why did she feel emptier than when she’d first arrived back in Dolphin Bay? Because when she’d written her birthday resolutions hadn’t she had Ben Morgan in mind? When she’d described a kind man, free of hang-ups and deadly ambition, hadn’t she been remembering him? Remembering how his straightforward approach to life had helped her grow up that summer? Grow up enough to defy her father and set her own course.
She was forced to admit to herself it wasn’t the pier or the guesthouse she’d wanted to be the same in Dolphin Bay. It was the man who represented the antithesis of the cruel, city-smart man who had hurt her so badly.
In her self-centred fantasy she hadn’t given a thought to Ben being married—just to him always being here, stuck in a time warp.
A waitress appeared to clear her glass away, but then paused and looked at her. Sandy wished she’d put her sunglasses back on. Her hurt, her disappointment, her anger at herself, must be etched on her face.
The waitress was a woman of about her own age, with a pretty freckled face and curly auburn hair pulled back tightly. Her eyes narrowed. ‘I know you,’ she said suddenly. ‘Sandy, right? Years ago you came down from Sydney to stay at Morgan’s Guesthouse.’
‘That’s right,’ Sandy said, taken aback at being recognised.
‘I’m Kate Parker,’ the woman said, ‘but I don’t suppose you remember me.’
Sandy dredged through her memories. ‘Yes, I do.’ She forced a smile. ‘You were the best dancer I’d ever seen. My sister and I desperately tried to copy you, but we could never be as good.’
‘Thanks,’ Kate replied, looking pleased at the compliment. She looked towards the door Ben had exited through. ‘You dated Ben, didn’t you? Poor guy. He’s had it tough.’
‘Tough?’
‘You don’t know?’ The other woman’s voice was almost accusing.
How would she know what had gone on in Ben Morgan’s life in the twelve years since she’d last seen him?
‘Lost his wife and child when the old guesthouse burned down,’ Kate continued. ‘Jodi died trying to rescue their little boy. Ben was devastated. Went away for a long time—did very well for himself. When he came back he built this hotel as modern and as different from the old place as could be. Couldn’t bear the memories...’
Kate Parker chattered on, but Sandy didn’t wait to hear any more. She pushed her chair back so fast it fell over and clattered onto the ground. She didn’t stop to pull it up.
She ran out of the bar, through the door and towards the steps to the shoreline, heart pumping, face flushed, praying frantically to the god of second chances.
Ben.
She just had to find Ben.
CHAPTER TWO
TAKING THE STEPS two at a time, nearly tripping over her feet in her haste, Sandy ran onto the whiter-than-white sand of Dolphin Bay.
Ben was way ahead of her. Tall and broad-shouldered, he strode along towards the rocks, defying the wind that had sprung up while she was in the hotel and was now whipping the water to a frosting of whitecaps.
She had to catch up with him. Explain. Apologise. Tell him how dreadfully sorry she was about Jodi and his son. Tell him... Oh, so much she wanted to tell him. Needed to tell him. But the deep, fine sand was heavy around her feet, slowing her so she felt she was making no progress at all.
‘Ben!’ she shouted, but the wind just snatched the words out of her mouth and he didn’t turn around.
She fumbled with her sandals and yanked them off, the better to run after him.
‘Ben!’ she called again, her voice hoarse, the salt wind whipping her hair around her face and stinging her eyes.
At last he stopped. Slowly, warily, he turned to face her. It seemed an age until she’d struggled through the sand to reach him. He stood unmoving, his face rigid, his eyes guarded. How hadn’t she seen it before?
‘Ben,’ she whispered, scarcely able to get the word out. ‘I’m sorry... I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’
His eyes searched her face. ‘You know?’
She nodded. ‘Kate told me. She thought I already knew. I don’t know what to say.’
* * *
Ben looked down at Sandy’s face, at her cheeks flushed pink, her brown hair all tangled and blown around her face. Her eyes were huge with distress, her mouth oddly stained bright pink in the centre. She didn’t look much older than the girl he’d loved all those years ago.
The girl he’d recognised as soon as she’d come into the hotel restaurant. Recognised and—just for one wild, unguarded second before he pummelled the thought back down to the depths of his wounded heart—let himself exult that she had come back. His first love. The girl he had never forgotten. Had never expected to see again.
For just those few minutes when they’d chatted he’d donned the mask of the carefree boy he’d been when they’d last met.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again, her voice barely audible through the wind.
‘You couldn’t have known,’ he said.
Silence fell between them for a long moment and he found he could not stop himself from searching her face. Looking for change. He wanted there to be no sign of the passing years on her, though he was aware of how much he had changed himself.
Then she spoke. ‘When did...?’
‘Five years ago,’ he said gruffly.
He didn’t want to talk to Sandy about what the locals called ‘his tragedy’. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore full-stop—but particularly not to Sandy, who’d once been so special to him.
Sandy Adams belonged in his past. Firmly in his past. Water under the bridge, as she’d so aptly said.
She bit down on her lower lip. ‘I can’t imagine how you must feel—’
‘No, you can’t,’ he said, more abruptly than he’d intended, and was ashamed at the flash of hurt that tightened her face. ‘No one could. But I’ve put it behind me...’
Her eyes—warm, compassionate—told him she knew he was lying. How could he ever put that terrible day of helpless rage and despair behind him? The empty, guilt-ridden days that had followed it? The years of punishing himself, of not allowing himself to feel again?
‘Your hands,’ she said softly. ‘Is that how you hurt them?’
He nodded, finding words with difficulty. ‘The metal door handles were burning hot when I tried to open them.’
Fearsome images came back—the heat, the smoke, the door that would not give despite his weight behind it, his voice raw from screaming Jodi’s and Liam’s names.
He couldn’t stop the shudder that racked his frame. ‘I don’t talk about it.’
Mutely, she nodded, and her eyes dropped from his face. But not before he read the sorrow for him there.
Once again he felt ashamed of his harshness towards her. But that was him these days. Ben Morgan: thirty-one going on ninety.
His carefree self of that long-ago summer had been forged into someone tougher, harder, colder. Someone who would not allow emotion or softness in his life. Even the memories of a holiday romance. For with love came the agony of loss, and he could never risk that again.
She looked up at him. ‘If...if there’s anything I can do to help, you’ll let me know, won’t you?’
Again he nodded, but knew in his heart it was an empty gesture. Sandy was just passing through, and he was grateful. He didn’t want to revisit times past.
He’d only loved two women—his wife, Jodi, and, before her, Sandy. It was too dangerous to have his first love around, reminding him of what he’d vowed never to feel again. He’d resigned himself to a life alone.
‘You’ve booked in to the hotel?’ he asked.
‘Not yet, but I will.’
‘For how long?’
Visibly, her face relaxed. She was obviously relieved at the change of subject. He remembered she’d never been very good at hiding her emotions.
‘Just tonight,’ she said. ‘I’m on my way to Melbourne for an interview about a franchise opportunity.’
‘Why Melbourne?’ That was a hell of a long way from Dolphin Bay—as he knew from his years at university there.
‘Why not?’ she countered.
He turned and started walking towards the rocks again. Automatically she fell into step behind him. He waited.
Yes. He wasn’t imagining it. It was happening.
After every three of his long strides she had to skip for a bit to keep up with him. Just like she had twelve years ago. And she didn’t even seem to be aware that she was doing it.
‘You’re happy to leave Sydney?’
‘There’s nothing for me in Sydney now,’ she replied.
Her voice was light, matter-of-fact, but he didn’t miss the underlying note of bitterness.
He stopped. Went to halt her with a hand on her arm and thought better of it. No matter. She automatically stopped with him, in tune with the rhythm of his pace.
‘Nothing?’ he asked.
Not meeting his gaze, swinging her sandals by her side, she shrugged. ‘Well, my sister Lizzie and my niece Amy. But...no one else.’
‘Your parents?’
Her mouth twisted in spite of her effort to smile. ‘They’re not together any more. Turns out Dad had been cheating on my mother for years. The first Mum heard about it was when his mistress contacted her, soon after we got home from Dolphin Bay that summer. He and Mum patched it up that time. And the next. Finally he left her for his receptionist. She’s two years older than I am.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
But he was not surprised. He’d never liked the self-righteous Dr Randall Adams. Had hated the way he’d tried to control every aspect of Sandy’s life. He wasn’t surprised the older man had intercepted his long-ago letters. He’d made it very clear he had considered a fisherman not good enough for a doctor’s daughter.
‘That must have been difficult for you,’ he said.
Sandy pushed her windblown hair back from her face in a gesture he remembered. ‘I’m okay about it. Now. And Mum’s remarried to a very nice man and living in Queensland.’
During that summer he’d used to tease her about her optimism. ‘You should be called Sunny, not Sandy,’ he’d say as he kissed the tip of her sunburned nose. ‘You never let anything get you down.’
It seemed she hadn’t changed—in that regard anyway. But when he looked closely at her face he could see a tightness around her mouth, a wariness in her eyes he didn’t recall.
Maybe things weren’t always so sunny for her these days. Perhaps her cup-half-full mentality had been challenged by life’s storm clouds in the twelve years since he’d last seen her.
Suddenly she glanced at her watch. She couldn’t smother her gasp. The colour drained from her face.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked immediately.
‘Nothing,’ she said, tight lipped.
Nothing. Why did women always say that when something was clearly wrong?
‘Then why did you stare at your watch like it was about to explode? Is it connected to a bomb somewhere?’
That brought a twitch to her lips. ‘I wish.’
She lifted her eyes from the watch. Her gaze was steady. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but right at this very moment Jason—my...my former boyfriend, partner, live-in lover or whatever you like to call him—is getting married.’
Sandy with a live-in boyfriend? She’d said she’d had a partner but had it been that serious? The knowledge hit him in the gut. Painfully. Unexpectedly. Stupidly.
What he and Sandy had had together was a teen romance. Kid stuff. They’d both moved on. He’d married Jodi. Of course Sandy would have had another man in her life.
But he had to clear his throat to reply. ‘And that’s bad or good?’
She laughed. But the laugh didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Well, good for him. Good for her, I guess. I’m still not sure how I feel about coming home one day to find his possessions gone and a note telling me he’d moved in with her.’