He had a son. A boy.

His mind flashed back to their past, to the last magical summer he’d spent at the bay—three halcyon months between the end of high school and the start of university. Twelve years had passed since then, and in many ways it had felt like a lifetime. Now, for Gus, it felt like a lifetime in exile.

Shoulders back, chin lifted, Freya met his angry gaze. “Yes, Gus, you’re Nick’s father.”

A terrible ache bloomed in his throat, swiftly followed by a tumult of emotions—alienation and loneliness, frustration and anger. He fought for composure. The sea breeze buffeted his face and he gulped in deep, needy breaths.

“Let’s hope I can help him, then.”

Freya’s mouth trembled. She wanted to shower Gus with gratitude—but her instincts told her that he wouldn’t welcome such effusiveness from her. He was still shocked and angry. Just the same, she had to say something.

“I—I’m so sorry to land this on you. I know it’s a terrible shock and a huge imposition, and I—”

He held up a hand, silencing her. “I’m the boy’s father. I’ll do everything in my power to help him.”

A Miracle for His Secret Son

By

Barbara Hannay
Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle

By

Donna Alward

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Miracle for His Secret Son

By

Barbara Hannay

BARBARA HANNAY was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane, and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy.

Visit www.barbarahannay.com

For my daughters Emma and Victoria, always ready with bright ideas.

PROLOGUE

TELLING Gus about the baby was never going to be easy. Freya knew that.

Gus was ambitious and, in the long hours they’d spent talking about the future, he’d actually told her that he didn’t want children till he was at least thirty. Just the same, all the way from Sugar Bay to Brisbane she tried to reassure herself that once she’d shared her news with Gus, he’d change his mind. How could he not want their baby? Surely everything would be fine.

Sitting on the train for five hours, nibbling dry crackers to ward off morning sickness, Freya had plenty of time to picture their reunion.

Details of the setting were hazy, but she knew exactly how Gus would look. His summer tan would have started to fade, but that was to be expected now that he was a city-based university student, attending lectures all day and poring over books at night. On the weekends too, apparently, as he’d been too busy to travel to the bay to see her.

At least his dark hair would be as soft and silky as ever, and it would still have that adorable habit of flopping forward onto his forehead. Best of all, Freya could picture the special way his dark eyes would light up when he saw her.

He would probably call her Floss, the funny nickname he’d given her within days of his arrival at Sugar Bay High. He’d look at her with one of his heartbreakingly beautiful smiles and he’d gather her in so close she could feel his heart pumping. She’d breathe in the scent of his skin, and her off-kilter world would settle back into place.

Later, when they were quite alone, she would find the courage to tell him.

Then, it would be OK.

She was silly to worry. Once Gus got used to the idea of the baby, they would work out something together and her future would no longer be a scary black hole. She would have Gus and their baby. Everything would be fine.

Deep in her heart, Freya knew that she might be nervous now, but by the end of the day, she and Gus would have a plan. Really, there was no need to worry.

Chapter One

LATE on a Friday afternoon, Gus Wilder was only half paying attention when he lifted the receiver.

‘A long-distance call for you, boss,’ Charlie from the front office told him. ‘A Freya Jones from Sugar Bay in Queensland.’

Freya Jones.

Just like that, Gus was zapped from his demountable office in the remotest corner of the Northern Territory to a little beach town on the coast of Queensland. He was eighteen again and standing at the edge of rolling surf, gazing into a lovely girl’s laughing sea-green eyes.

It was twelve years since he’d left the Bay and he hadn’t seen Freya in all that time, but of course he remembered her. Perfectly.

Didn’t every man remember the sweet, fragile magic of his first love?

So much water had flowed under the bridge since then. He’d finished his studies and worked in foreign continents, and he’d traversed joyous and difficult journeys of the heart. Freya would have changed a lot too. No doubt she was married. Some lucky guy was sure to have snapped her up by now.

He couldn’t think why she would be ringing him after all this time. Was there a high school reunion? Bad news about an old schoolmate?

Charlie spoke again. ‘Boss, you going to take the call?’

‘Yes, sure.’ Gus swallowed to ease the unexpected tension in his throat. ‘Put Freya on.’

He heard her voice. ‘Gus?’

Amazing. She could still infuse a single syllable with music. Her voice had always been like that—light, lyrical and sensuous.

‘Hello, Freya.’

‘You must be surprised to hear from me. Quite a blast from the past.’

Now she sounded nervous, totally unlike the laughing, confident girl Gus remembered. A thousand questions clamoured to be asked, but instinctively, he skipped the usual how are you? preliminaries…‘How can I help you, Freya?’

There was an almost inaudible sigh. ‘I’m afraid it’s really hard to explain over the phone. But it’s important, Gus. Really important. I…I was hoping I could meet with you.’

Stunned, he took too long to respond. ‘Sure,’ he said at last. ‘But I’m tied up right now. When do you want to meet?’

‘As soon as possible?’

This obviously wasn’t about a high school reunion. Gus shot a quick glance through the window of his makeshift office to the untamed bushland that stretched endlessly to ancient red cliffs on the distant horizon. ‘You know I’m way up in Arnhem Land, don’t you?’

‘Yes, they told me you’re managing a remote housing project for an Aboriginal community.’

‘That’s right.’ The project was important and challenging, requiring a great deal of diplomacy from Gus as its manager. ‘It’s almost impossible for me to get away from here just now. What’s this all about?’

‘I could come to you.’

Gus swallowed his shock. Why would Freya come to him here? After all this time? What on earth could be so suddenly important?

His mind raced, trying to dredge up possibilities, but each time he drew a blank.

He pictured Freya as he remembered her, with long sunstreaked hair and golden tanned limbs, more often than not in a bikini with a faded sarong loosely tied around her graceful hips. Even if she’d cast aside her sea nymph persona, she was bound to cause an impossible stir if she arrived on the all-male construction site.

‘It would be too difficult here,’ he said. ‘This place is too…remote.’

‘Don’t planes fly into your site?’

‘We don’t have regular commercial flights.’

‘Oh.’

Another eloquent syllable—and there was no mistaking her disappointment.

Grimacing, Gus scratched at his jaw. ‘You said this was very important.’

‘Yes, it is.’ After a beat, Freya said in a small frightened voice, ‘It’s a matter of life and death.’

They agreed to meet in Darwin, the Northern Territory’s capital, which was, in many ways, an idyllic spot for a reunion, especially at sunset on a Saturday evening at the end of a balmy tropical winter. The sky above the harbour glowed bright blushing pink shot with gold. The palm trees were graceful dancing silhouettes on the shorefront and the colours of the sky were reflected in the still tropical waters.

Not that Freya could appreciate the view.

She arrived too early on the hotel balcony. It wasn’t very crowded and she saw immediately that Gus wasn’t there, so she sat at the nearest free table, with her legs crossed and one foot swinging impatiently, while her fingers anxiously twisted the straps of her shoulder bag.

These nervous habits were new to her and she hated them. Having grown up in a free and easy beachside community, she’d prided herself on her relaxed personality and as an adult she’d added meditation and yoga to her daily practice.

Her serenity had deserted her, however, on the day she’d needed it most—when the doctor delivered his prognosis. Since then she’d been living with sickening fear, barely holding herself together with a string and a paper clip.

Freya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then concentrated on imagining her son at home with Poppy, her mother. If Nick wasn’t taking his dog, Urchin, for a twilight run on the beach, he’d be sprawled on the living room carpet, playing with his solar-powered robot grasshopper. Poppy would be preparing dinner in the nearby kitchen, slipping in as many healthy vegetables as she dared.

Already Freya missed her boy. She’d never been so far away from him before and, thinking of him now, and the task that lay ahead of her, she felt distinctly weepy. She dashed tears away with the heel of her hand. Heavens, she couldn’t weaken now. She had to stay super-strong.

You can do this. You must do this. For Nick.

She’d do anything for Nick, even tell Gus Wilder the truth after all this time.

That thought caused another explosion of fear. The process of tracking Gus down and making the first telephone contact had been the easy part. The worst was yet to come. Gus still didn’t know why she needed him.

A tall, flashily handsome waiter passed Freya, carrying a tray laden with drinks. The smile he gave her was flirtatious to the point of predation. ‘Would you like something from the bar, madam?’

‘Not just now, thanks. I’m waiting for…’ The rest of Freya’s sentence died as her throat closed over.

Beyond the waiter, she saw a man coming through the wide open doorway onto the balcony.

Gus.

Tall. Dark-haired. White shirt gleaming against tanned skin. Perhaps a little leaner than she remembered, but handsome and athletic enough to make heads turn.

Angus Wilder had aged very nicely, thank you.

But what kind of man was he now? How many gulfs had widened between them, and how would he react to her news?

As he made his way towards her, weaving between tables, memories, like scenes in a movie, played in Freya’s head. Gus at sixteen on his first day at Sugar Bay High, desperate to throw off the taint of his posh city high school. Gus, triumphant on the footie field after he’d scored a match-winning try. Herself, floating with happiness as she danced in his arms at the senior formal.

The two of them walking together, holding hands beside a moonlit sea. The sheer romance of their first kiss…

Suddenly Gus was beside her, leaning down to drop a polite kiss on her cheek. ‘Freya, it’s good to see you.’

He smelled clean, as if he’d just showered and splashed on aftershave. His lips were warm on her skin.

Without warning, Freya’s eyes and throat stung. ‘It’s great to see you, Gus.’ She blinked hard. This was no time for nostalgia. She had to stay cool and focused. ‘Thanks for coming.’

He pulled out a chair and sat, then slowly crossed his long legs and leaned back, as if he were deliberately trying to appear relaxed. His smile was cautious, the expression in his dark eyes warm, but puzzled. ‘How are you?’ Quickly, he countered his question. ‘You look fabulous.’

Deep down she couldn’t help being pleased by the compliment, but she said simply, ‘I’m well, thanks. How about you? How’s business?’

‘Both first-rate.’ Gus sent her a slightly less careful smile, but his throat worked, betraying his tension. ‘So, I take it you still live at the Bay?’

‘I do.’ She smiled shyly and gave a careless flick of her long pale hair. ‘Still a beach girl.’

‘It suits you.’

Freya dampened her lips and prepared to launch into what had to be said.

‘How’s your mother?’ Gus asked, jumping in to fill the brief lull.

‘Oh, she’s fine, thanks. Still living in the same crooked little house right on the beachfront. As much of a hippie as ever.’

He let his gaze travel over her and, despite the nervous knots tightening in her stomach, Freya indulged in a little staring too. His eyes were as rich and dark as ever and his hair still had the habit of flopping forward onto his forehead.

She felt an ache in her chest—she couldn’t help it. She’d missed Gus Wilder so much. For a dozen years she’d been out of his life. She knew he’d worked in Africa, and there was so much more she wanted to know. Where exactly had he been? What had he done and seen? Whom had he loved?

‘I know you have something very important to discuss,’ Gus said, ‘but would you like a drink first?’ Without waiting for her answer, he raised a hand to catch the waiter’s attention.

‘What can I get for you?’ The waiter’s manner was noticeably less cordial now that Gus had joined Freya.

‘A lemon, lime and bitters, please,’ she said.

‘And I’ll have a mid-strength beer.’

‘Very well, sir.’

After he’d gone, another awkward silence fell and Freya knew it was up to her to speak. If she didn’t get to the point of this meeting quickly it would become impossibly difficult. Taking a deep breath, she folded her hands carefully in her lap.

‘I really am very grateful that you’ve come here, Gus. I know you must be puzzled, but I’m hoping that you might be able to help me.’

‘You said it was a matter of life and death.’

She nodded.

‘I hoped you were being melodramatic.’

‘Unfortunately, no.’

The last remnants of Gus’s smile vanished. Leaning forward, he reached for her hand. ‘Freya, what is it? What’s happened?’

His touch was so gentle and he looked so worried she had to close her eyes. She hadn’t been able to broach this subject twelve years ago, and it was a thousand times harder now. Just thinking about what she had to tell him made her heart race and her stomach rebel.

‘Gus, before I tell you, I have to ask—are you married?’

It was the worst possible moment for the waiter to return. Wincing, Freya dropped her gaze while the drinks were set on cardboard coasters in front of them.

She reached for her purse, but Gus beat her to the draw.

‘My shout,’ he said.

‘But I owe you. You’ve come all this way.’

He was already handing money to the waiter and she didn’t feel strong enough to argue. Instead, she thanked him and stirred her drink with a slim black straw, making the ice cubes clink and the slices of lemon and lime swirl.

Frowning, Gus touched the tips of two fingers to the frosty outside of his beer glass. ‘I can’t help being curious. What does my marital status have to do with your problem?’

She felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘It…could…complicate everything. If you were married, your wife might not want you to help me.’

Heavens, she was making a mess of this and Gus looked understandably puzzled. She wished she could find a way to simply download everything she needed to tell him without stumbling through explanations, or grasping for the right words, or the right order to put them in. Surely, negotiating world peace would be easier than this.

Clearly bewildered, Gus shot a glance to her left hand. ‘What about you? Are you married?’

‘Still single.’

His eyes widened. ‘That’s a surprise. I thought you’d be snapped up by now.’

I never gave them a chance, Freya thought.

Gus set his glass down and eyed her levelly. ‘I was married three years ago,’ he said.

She had steeled herself, determined not to mind, but this wasn’t just a matter of hurt pride. She did mind. Very much. Now Gus would have to discuss her problem with his wife and how could she be sure another woman would be sympathetic?

Gus swallowed, making the muscles in his throat ripple. ‘My wife died.’

‘Oh.’ A whisper was all Freya could manage. She was swamped by a deluge of emotions—sympathy and sadness for Gus mixed, heaven help her, with jealousy for the woman who’d won his heart. ‘Gus, I’m so sorry. Were you married long?’

‘A little over a year. We met when we were both working in Africa. My wife, Monique, was French—a doctor with Médecins Sans Frontières.’

So his wife had been clever, adventurous and courageous, and filled with high ideals. In other words, she was exactly like Gus. She’d been perfect for him.

‘That’s so sad.’ To her shame, Freya was torn between compassion for Gus’s pain and her relief that one hurdle had been removed.

Gus said grimly, ‘I guess you’d better tell me what this is all about. What’s your problem?’

Her heart took off like a steeplechaser. ‘Actually, it’s my son who’s in trouble.’

‘Your son?’ Gus repeated, clearly shocked.

All the worry and tension of the past weeks rose inside Freya and she felt like a pressure cooker about to blow its lid. Her lips trembled, but she willed herself to hold everything together. She mustn’t break down now.

‘So you’re a single mum?’

She nodded, too choked up to speak.

‘Like your mother.’

She managed another nod, grateful for the lack of condemnation in his voice. Of course, Gus had never been a snob like his father. He’d never looked down his nose at Sugar Bay’s hippies.

Just the same, his observation was accurate. Freya had followed in her mother’s footsteps. In fact, Poppy had actively encouraged her daughter into single motherhood.

We can raise your baby together, darling. Of course we can. Look at the way I raised you. We’ll be fine. We’re alike, you and me. We’re destined to be independent. You don’t need a man, love.

Unfortunately, Poppy had been wrong. The terrible day had arrived when neither of them was able to help Nick—and Freya had no choice but to seek help from this man, his father.

Gus was watching her closely, his expression a mixture of frowning puzzlement and tender concern. ‘Are you still in contact with the boy’s father?’

It was too much. Her eyes filled with tears. She’d waited too long to tell him this—twelve years too long—and now she had to deliver a terrible blow. It was so, so difficult. She didn’t want to hurt him.

She had no choice.

Clinging to the last shreds of composure, she looked away from him to the flat sea stained with the spectacular colours of the sunset. She blinked hard and her throat felt as if she’d swallowed broken glass.

Beside them, a party of young people arrived on the balcony, laughing and carefree, carrying their drinks and calling to each other as they dragged tables together and sat in a large happy circle. It was a scenario Freya had seen many, many times at the pub on the Sugar Bay waterfront. Once, she and Gus had been part of a crowd just like that.

Terrified that she might cry in public and cause Gus all kinds of embarrassment, she said, ‘I’m sorry. Would you mind if we went somewhere else to talk about this? We could go for a walk, perhaps?’

‘Of course.’

Gallantly, he rose immediately and they took the short flight of steps down to The Esplanade that skirted Darwin Harbour.

Offshore, yachts were racing, bright spinnakers billowing, leaning into a light breeze. The same breeze brought the salty-sharp smell of coral mingled with the scent of frangipani blossoms. The breeze played with Freya’s hair and she didn’t try to hold it in place. Instead, she wrapped her arms protectively over her front as Gus walked beside her, his hands sunk in the pockets of his light-coloured chinos.

‘Are you OK, Freya?’

‘Sort of.’ She took a deep breath, knowing that she couldn’t put this revelation off a second longer. ‘You asked if I’ve been in touch with my son’s father.’

‘Yes.’

‘I haven’t, Gus.’

She slid a wary sideways glance his way and she saw the exact moment when he realised. Saw his eyes widen with dawning knowledge, and then a flash of horror.

He stopped walking.

The colour drained from his face as he stared at her. ‘How old is this boy?’

His voice was cold and quiet, and Freya’s heart pounded so loudly it drummed in her ears.

‘He’s eleven—almost eleven and a half.’

Gus shook his head. ‘No way.’

He glared at her, his eyes angry—disbelieving—already rejecting what she had to tell him next.

Chapter Two

GUS struggled to breathe, struggled to think, to believe, to understand…but, all the while, gut-level awareness was shouting the truth that Freya still hadn’t told him.

He had a son. A boy. Now eleven years old.

‘Gus, I’m so sorry.’ Freya stood on the path in front of him, wringing her hands, her face a blurred wash of tears.

His mind flashed back to their past, to the last magical summer he’d spent at the Bay—three halcyon months between the end of high school and the start of university—when he and Freya had been almost inseparable.

Twelve years had passed since then and in many ways it had felt like a lifetime. Now, for Gus, it felt like a lifetime in exile.

He rounded on her. ‘Say it, Freya. Spit it out. This boy is my son, isn’t he?’

Shoulders back, chin lifted, she met his angry gaze. ‘Yes, Gus, you’re Nick’s father.’

‘Nick?’

‘He’s Nicholas Angus.’

A terrible ache bloomed in his throat, swiftly followed by a tumult of emotions—alienation and loneliness, frustration and anger. He spun away from her, fighting for composure. The sea breeze buffeted his face and he gulped in deep needy breaths.

He tried to picture his son, this boy he’d never seen. His flesh and blood. Damn it, he had no idea what the kid might look like.

How crazy was that?

His thoughts flew haphazardly. He had a son. Every boy needed a dad. What right had Freya to keep such a secret?

Had it worked both ways? Did the boy know anything about him?

Unlikely.

Gus whirled back to challenge Freya. ‘Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’ He knew he sounded bitter but he didn’t care. He was bitter. ‘Did you keep this to yourself because you didn’t know who your father was? Is it some kind of warped tradition in your family?’

‘No, of course not.’

Her protest wasn’t convincing but he didn’t stop to investigate. ‘Why then? Why didn’t you tell me that I had a son?’

‘I thought—’ Freya’s hands flailed with a wild kind of helplessness, then fell to her sides and she gave a groan of frustration. ‘I tried, Gus. I did try to tell you.’

‘When?’ he shouted, not trying to hide his disbelief.

‘The day I came to the university to see you.’

His mouth sagged open as memories of that day arrived in a sickening rush. His skin flashed hot and cold and a feeling suspiciously like guilt curdled unpleasantly in his stomach.

Over the years, he’d blotted out Freya’s sudden appearance on the St Lucia campus, but he couldn’t deny that he’d never felt comfortable about the last time they’d met.

Now, she was walking away from him, leaving the walking track and hurrying across the velvety lawn to the rocks that bordered the foreshore. By the time Gus reached her, she’d pulled tissues from a woven shoulder bag and was blowing her nose.

‘We have to talk about this,’ he said.

‘Of course. That’s why we’re here.’ She spoke with quiet resignation.

They found a flat rock to sit on—side by side, looking out to sea—and it was uncannily like old times, except that, unlike the pounding surf in Sugar Bay, this sea was flat and calm. And they were facing west now, rather than east, so the setting sun was suspended inches above the horizon like a giant glowing balloon.

Freya shoved the tissues back into her bag, then drew an elaborately deep breath and let it out very slowly.

Despite his rage and frustration, Gus couldn’t help thinking how lovely she looked, sitting on the rock beside the sea.

She directed her steady gaze his way, giving him the full effect of her darkly lashed aquamarine eyes. ‘Do you remember that day I came to see you at university?’

‘Of course.’

‘I was, honestly, planning to tell you that I was pregnant.’

‘But you didn’t say a thing about it. Not a word.’ He fought to speak calmly. ‘Why?’

She dropped her gaze. ‘It’s hard to explain now, after such a long time. I know I was very young and immature back then. I was totally freaked by the whole university scene.’

The wind plucked at her hair and she caught a strand and tucked it behind her ear. To his dismay, Gus found himself noticing the delicate shape of her ear and the small hole pierced in the middle of her neat pale lobe.

‘The whole journey to Brisbane was such a big deal for me,’ she said. ‘I had to travel such a long way from the Bay on the train, and I had to get up at something like four o’clock in the morning. And I had morning sickness, so I was pretty fragile. Then, when I got to Brisbane, I had to catch the bus out to St Lucia. When I arrived there, and the university was so—’

She waved her hands, searching for the word.

‘Intimidating?’

‘Yes. So huge and important-looking. All those sandstone buildings and columns and courtyards.’

Gus nodded. It was incredibly easy, now, to imagine how a girl from a sleepy beach village had felt, but he’d been young, too. Looking back, he suspected that he had, quite possibly, been insensitive.

Freya pouted. ‘I’d told you I was coming, so I thought you’d skip a lecture to see me. But I had to wait around for ages for you to come out of the lecture hall and then, when you did, you were surrounded by a tribe of adoring women.’

Gus felt his neck redden as he remembered. ‘Hardly a tribe. And there were other guys in the group.’

She dismissed this with a sharp laugh. ‘I was naïve, I guess, but I got such a shock to see how you’d changed so quickly. After all, it was only about six weeks since I’d seen you.’

‘I couldn’t have been too different, surely?’

She lifted her hands, palms up. ‘Believe me, Gus, you were different in every way. You had this scholarly air. And you were so full of how awesome university was. You couldn’t stop talking about your college and your lecturers, your career plans. After six weeks at uni, you were going to single-handedly save the Third World.’

Gus swallowed uncomfortably, knowing she was right.

‘And those girls were such snobs,’ Freya said. ‘Designer jeans, masses of jewellery, perfect hair and make-up. I hated the way they looked down their noses at me.’

‘I’m sure they didn’t.’

Freya rolled her eyes as if he hadn’t a clue. ‘They made it clear that I had no right to be there, chasing after you.’

Gus remembered how Freya had looked that day, dressed in her hippie, beach girl get-up like something out of the seventies, in a batik wrap-around skirt, a silver anklet complete with bells and brown leather sandals.

He’d thought she’d looked fine. She was Freya, after all. But he could guess how those city girls might have made her feel. No doubt they’d used that particularly sinister feminine radar that sent out signals undetected by males.

Why hadn’t he been more perceptive? More protective of his girlfriend?

Even to him, it no longer made sense.

But hang on. He might not have shown exemplary sensitivity, but Freya still should have told him she was pregnant.

Gus turned to her. ‘How could you have been pregnant? We took precautions.’

She lifted an eyebrow and the look she sent him was decidedly arch. ‘If you remember, you weren’t exactly an expert at using a condom.’

He groaned, muttered “Idiot” under his breath.

Face aflame, he looked out to sea where the last of the sun’s crimson light was melting into the darkening water. ‘If you’d told me, Freya, if you’d given me a chance, I would have faced up to my responsibilities.’

‘I suppose you would have.’ Her fingers began to twist the woven straps of her shoulder bag. ‘But you’d told me you didn’t want children for ages.’

‘That didn’t mean—’ Gus grimaced and shook his head.

‘I didn’t want you to see me as a responsibility. I wanted to be so much more to you, Gus, but when I saw you that day I lost all my confidence. I knew what becoming a father would have cost you. Your father had such high hopes for you. And you had big dreams too. A baby would have wrecked everything you had planned.’

‘I’d have found a way.’

Her steady gaze challenged him. ‘Be honest. Your father organised a transfer back to Brisbane, just so he and your mother could support you through uni. You were their eldest son, the jewel in their crowns. They’d never have forgiven you. And how would you have felt if you’d had to leave your studies to earn enough money to maintain a family?’

‘I don’t know,’ Gus said glumly. ‘I wasn’t given the opportunity to find out.’

It was ages before Freya said softly, ‘Well, OK, I think we’ve established that I made a bad call.’ She dropped her gaze, but not before he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. But sometimes mistakes are made with the best of intentions.’

Gus let out a heavy sigh and wondered to what degree his overbearing parents had swayed Freya’s decision. The irony was that as soon as he’d graduated he hadn’t gone into the kind of high profile executive position his father had planned for him. He’d quietly rebelled and gone off to Africa instead. Bursting with high ideals, he’d dived into aid work.

For the next nine years he’d been committed to doing good work for strangers and, sure, they’d really needed help. But, all that time, there’d been a son who’d needed him back in Australia.

The thought of that boy made him want to cry out with rage. Despair. Self-pity. Where was the morality in trying to save the world when he’d contributed absolutely zilch to his own son’s welfare?

The worst of it was that Freya had tried to tell him.

She’d turned to him in trouble and, instead of becoming the prince who rescued her, he’d let her down. Very badly, it seemed.

Oh, he’d gone through the motions that day. Resisting the crass option to sneak her back to his college room for a quick tumble between the sheets, he’d taken Freya back into the city on the bus and splashed out on an expensive supper at a posh café overlooking the Brisbane River. But throughout the meal she’d been strained.

Looking back, he could see that he’d been far too impressed with himself as a student. Too caught up in his new and exciting world. He probably hadn’t given Freya a chance to get a word in edgeways.

Guiltily, he remembered that he’d been rather relieved to put her back on the train to Sugar Bay. It was only when he’d walked along the railway platform, keeping up with her carriage as the train lumbered off, that he’d seen the tears streaming down her face.

Too late, he’d understood that he’d disappointed her. And now, way too late, he realised that he’d been so self-absorbed he’d left no room for her to offload her dilemma. He’d been a complete ass.

The big question was—if he had known about the baby, would he have made room in his life for Freya? Happily? Without resentment?

He’d loved her, sure. That summer with her was his sweetest, most poignant memory. But, in that first term at university, he’d loved the idea of Freya waiting back in Sugar Bay far more than the reality of her intruding into his busy new life.

Gus sat in silence, mustering his thoughts while he listened to the soft lapping of the sea. After a bit, he said, ‘You stopped answering my letters.’

‘We decided it was better to make a clean break.’

‘We?’ For a moment he imagined she was talking about another boyfriend. Then he remembered Poppy. Freya’s mother had always been more like her sister or her best friend than her mother. ‘I suppose Poppy was in on this too. She very effectively blocked my phone calls.’

‘She was a tower of strength.’

Oh, yeah, she would have been, Gus thought grimly. Poppy would have been in her element. She’d never been able to hang on to a man for long, but she would have clung for dear life to Freya and the promise of a grandchild. She would have aided and abetted Freya’s decision to end it with him and raise the baby alone.

So it boiled down to the fact that his relationship with Freya had just faded away. She hadn’t answered him and he, distracted by his bright new world, had simply let her go.

In other words, he, Freya and Poppy had made separate choices twelve years ago, and now they were paying the price.

Rather, the boy, Nick, was paying the price.

Gus looked up at the darkening sky—navy-blue, almost black—and he saw the evening star, already shining and sitting alone in the heavens like a bright solitaire diamond.

Staring at it, he felt shock like a fist slamming into his solar plexus. Hell. He still didn’t know why Freya had contacted him so urgently. He’d been hung up about what happened in the past, but hadn’t she said that her son had a problem right here and now?

A matter of life and death?

He bit back a horrified groan. ‘There’s more, isn’t there? You still haven’t told me why you need my help.’

To Gus’s dismay, Freya seemed to slump beside him as if her strength had suddenly deserted her. He reached out, wanting to draw her against him, to rest her head against his shoulder, but his hand hovered inches from her. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

A sob tore from her throat and she covered her face with her hands.

A hot knife of fear sliced through Gus. For an instant he felt an urge to flee, to refuse to listen to her bad news. He couldn’t bear the tension.

He forced himself to speak. ‘Is…is the boy sick?’

Freya nodded and the knife in his guts twisted sharper, deeper. Life and death. Terror chilled his blood. Was his son dying?

His throat tightened painfully. He hadn’t known it was possible to care so instantly and painfully for a boy he’d never met.

Freya, sensing Gus’s distress, lifted her head. Hands clenched in her lap, she sat very still, willing herself to be strong. This was the point of no return, the worst part of her mission. She couldn’t fail her boy now.

So many times she’d thought about what she would say to Gus at this moment, and she’d searched for the wisest and kindest starting point. Each time she’d come up with one answer. She had to tell him the hard news straight up.

This wasn’t a time for breaking things gently. To pussyfoot around would be both cruel and unhelpful.

But…oh, God. She felt as if she were plunging from the highest possible diving board into the tiniest thimble of safety.

She thought of Nick again—her gorgeous, talented rascal of a boy—and she knew she had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she said, quietly but clearly, so there could be no mistake. ‘Nick’s kidneys are failing and he needs a transplant.’

It was almost dark but Freya didn’t miss Gus’s reaction. It was like watching a man in agony turn to stone.

Horrified, she began to shake and she closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of his distress. I’m sorry, Gus. I wouldn’t have done this to you if I’d had a choice. But I had no choice. I’m so, so sorry.

The awful silence seemed to stretch for ever. Somewhere overhead fruit bats screeched and chased each other, tattered black wings flapping noisily as they raced on their nightly raid of local gardens.

It was a full minute before Gus spoke and, when he did, his voice was dull and lifeless, dropping into the tropical night like a handful of pebbles thudding onto sand.

‘I guess you’re on the hunt for a donor. That’s why you need me.’

Freya tried to answer but when she opened her mouth a noisy sob broke from her. Blindly, she groped in her bag for her tissues.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she spluttered. ‘I know this is the worst possible way to find out.’

‘You’re not wrong.’ His tone was disturbingly unreadable.

She bit down on her bottom lip to stifle another sob. She couldn’t imagine how Gus felt, but she knew it would be beyond heartbreaking to be told one minute that he had an eleven-year-old son and then…Oh, by the way, we’re hoping you can give the boy your kidney.

Gus couldn’t help but be shocked and angry but, when he spoke, his tone was almost expressionless. ‘I assume you’re not a suitable donor.’

Freya shook her head. ‘Poppy and I both wanted to help, but we’re the wrong blood type.’ The breeze blowing across the water turned chilly and she shivered.

‘We’re both type B and Nick is O, so we knew that you must be O as well. Apparently, type B people can receive type O kidneys, but people who have O blood can only receive a kidney from another type O donor.’

Beside her, Gus was moving, lurching to his feet. In a heartbeat he’d shifted from the rock onto the grass. When Freya tried to follow, he held up his hands, warning her to stay put.

‘Give me a moment,’ he said stiffly. ‘I just need to…to get my head around this.’

‘Of course.’

He began to pace back and forth, jaw tight, hands thrust deep in his pockets, his dark hair lifted by the wind. Abruptly, he stopped pacing and stood glaring out to sea.

Freya opened her mouth to say something—anything that might serve as a peace offering—but she had no idea what to say. She knew Gus was battling a storm of emotions and he needed space. Head space. Emotional space.

She could only pray that, somewhere within that turmoil, he could find it in his heart to help Nick.

Suddenly, he whirled on her, his face pale, eyes wild, arms stiff by his sides, fists clenched.

‘Gus,’ she said hesitantly, ‘are you OK?’

Oh, God, what a stupid, stupid question.

His cold laugh mocked her. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ He prowled closer, his body taut as a hunter’s, his expression dark and menacing. ‘Of course I’m not OK. I’m mad, Freya. I’m mad with you. With Poppy. With a crazy universe that lets this happen to my kid. To anybody’s kid.’

She hadn’t moved from the rock but she realised now that she’d drawn her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, turning her body into a defensive ball.

She’d never seen Gus like this. ‘I don’t blame you for being mad with me.’

‘Hell. If this hadn’t happened, you’d never have told me about the boy, would you? You only made contact with me now as a last resort.’

What could Freya say? It was the awful truth. Things might have been different if Gus hadn’t been away in the depths of Africa for nine years…or if her own father hadn’t turned up, out of the blue, proving that family reunions could be disastrous…

‘Damn it, Freya, if you or Poppy had been able to help Nick, you’d have let me go my entire lifetime without ever knowing my son existed.’

She shook her head, but Gus had already spun away again. He’d had too many shocks at once and he was hurt, deeply hurt.

She wished she hadn’t had to do this to him. Wished she’d made wiser choices earlier. But, even if she had been braver, even if everything had turned out miraculously and she and Gus had been married and raised Nick in a perfect fairy tale family, she couldn’t have stopped Nick getting sick.

Gus still would have faced this challenge.

But of course he had every right to be angry. She half-expected him to grab a rock and hurl it into the sea.

Instead, he slammed a balled fist into his palm, then stood, hands on hips, breathing deeply, dragging in lungfuls of fresh sea air.

Watching him, Freya felt a band of pain encircle her heart, squeezing painfully. Her vision blurred.

She reached for the tissues again. She’d been tense for weeks and now she felt stretched to breaking point. She still didn’t know if Gus would help her.

Was she asking too much of him?

Poor man. He’d had such a lot to deal with—the death of his wife and the demands of Africa and, more recently, managing big remote area projects. And they were just the few things she knew about—heaven knew what else he had on his plate. And now, her news about Nick must have hit him like a bombshell exploding in his face.

She remembered how she’d felt a couple of months ago on the day the doctor had given her the bad news. Heartsick and desperate, she’d paced along the beach and she’d soon found that she couldn’t stop. She’d forgotten to take a hat but she didn’t care. She’d walked the entire length of Sugar Bay and then she’d climbed over the headland and onto the next bay and the bay after that.

She’d come home sunburnt and exhausted but she still hadn’t been able to sleep that night. Actually, she hadn’t slept properly since that day, and even when she had slept she’d either had nightmares about losing Nick or dreams in which Nick was cured and well, only to wake to cruel reality. She’d lived with gnawing fear as her constant companion.

Now, Gus was turning back to her once more, his expression grave yet purposeful. Freya wondered if this meant he’d reached a decision and nervous chills chased each other down her arms.

Her stomach bunched into terrified knots but she forced her facial muscles to relax. She didn’t want to let Gus see how frightened she was.

As he approached her, she scrambled stiffly to her feet and, to her surprise, he held out his hand to help her down from the rock.

Freya held her breath.

‘Relax, Freya. I’m more than willing to help Nick, if I can.’

A massive wave of relief washed over her.

She knew that at some point in the very near future she’d be ecstatic and dancing with gratitude, but right now she couldn’t manage words of more than one syllable. ‘Thanks.’

‘Hey, you’re shaking,’ Gus said.

He was still holding her hand and, for a moment, she thought he was going to put his arms around her. Her mind took a ridiculous leap, instantly imagining his embrace and her head cradled against his broad shoulder.

Oh, heavens, how she longed to be there, in the protective shelter of Gus Wilder’s arms, whispering her thanks while she drew strength and comfort from him. She could almost imagine the remembered scent of his skin mingled with the fragrance of the tropical night.

But of course Gus had no intention of hugging her. How silly to have even thought of it. She’d surrendered that privilege a very long time ago.

‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘Your fingers are practically frozen.’ In a purely practical gesture, he rubbed her fingers between his warm palms and she loved it, even though she shouldn’t. ‘You should go inside, Freya. You’re dressed for summer.’

‘I didn’t think it ever got cold in Darwin.’

‘Sure it does. Every year there are at least three days when Darwinians have to put their jackets on.’

He’d almost cracked a joke. Surely that was a good sign.

Gus let her hand go and they walked side by side across the grass to the well-lit concrete path that led back to the hotel.

‘So,’ he said briskly, ‘I guess you’d better tell me what you know about Nick’s condition. I’d like to be fully in the picture.’

He deserved no less, and she’d almost learned to talk about Nick’s illness dispassionately, the way the doctors did, hiding the personal terror that lurked behind every word.

‘It started with a bad case of stomach flu. Vomiting and a high fever. I realised Nick was getting dehydrated, so I took him to the doctor, to our local GP. He took one look at him and rushed him to hospital, to emergency.’

She couldn’t help shuddering, reliving the horror. ‘Nick seemed to make a good recovery from that, but there were follow-up blood tests, and that’s when possible problems showed up.’ A sigh escaped her. ‘So we were sent to Brisbane then, to see a specialist, and they discovered that Nick had a disease called global glomerulosclerosis.’

‘That’s a mouthful.’

‘Yes. I’m afraid I’ve had plenty of practice at saying it. Nick calls it his global warning.’

‘What a champ.’ Gus’s smile was tinged with sadness. ‘It takes courage to make a joke about something so personally threatening.’

‘He’s been incredibly brave.’ Freya blinked back tears. ‘I’ve been a mess. So scared. I used to burst into tears without warning. Day and night. But then I saw how strong Nick was and I realised I had to toughen up for his sake.’

Gus remembered young mothers in Africa, broken-hearted, watching their children grow weaker while they covered their fear behind a mask of stoicism. He hated to think of Freya bearing the same kind of pain for her son—their son.

‘Basically,’ Freya continued, ‘this disease means that Nick’s kidneys are filling up with scar tissue. Eventually it leads to complete kidney failure.’

She stopped walking. They were almost back at the hotel and the carefree sounds of laughter and music from a jukebox spilled into the night.

‘He’s been on medication for the past couple of months,’ she said. ‘And it’s working really well. He feels fine but, unfortunately, the medication will only work for a limited time.’ She looked up and met Gus’s stern gaze. ‘That’s why he needs a transplant.’

‘Poor kid.’ Gus’s throat worked furiously. ‘Does he understand?’

Freya nodded and, despite her tension, she smiled. ‘On the surface, he doesn’t seem too worried. He feels fine and he doesn’t need dialysis. That’s a huge plus. The drugs have allowed him to carry on as usual. He can still swim and play sport, take his dog for a run.’

‘He has a dog?’

‘Yes. An ugly little mix of terrier and heaven knows what from the Animal Shelter. Nick adores him. Calls him Urchin. They share every spare minute Nick isn’t at school. They’re the best of mates.’

Gus’s eyes took on a misty faraway look and Freya was almost certain that he was picturing the boy and the dog, running on the beach at Sugar Bay. The fond warmth in his eyes made her throat ache.

Next moment, Gus blinked and the soft light was gone. His expression was sober again. ‘So he understands about needing a transplant?’

‘Yes.’ She gave an imitation of Nick’s typical shrug. ‘But he doesn’t dwell on it.’

‘The benefits of being young, I guess.’ Gus dropped his gaze and sighed.

‘We don’t talk about the alternative,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve promised him I’ll find a donor.’

‘Have you tried elsewhere?’

Freya looked away. ‘We’re on a waiting list, but the doctor said that you were our best chance, Gus.’

He nodded grimly. ‘And the time frame?’

‘The sooner he has the transplant, the better.’

‘Let’s hope I can help then.’

‘It would be—’ Freya’s mouth trembled. She wanted to shower Gus with gratitude. This was such a huge thing he was offering—to submit to an operation, to hand over a vital organ.

But her instincts told her that he wouldn’t welcome such effusiveness from her. He was still shocked and angry. Just the same, she had to say something. ‘I…I’m so sorry to land this on you. I know it’s a terrible shock and a huge imposition, and I—’

He held up a hand, silencing her. ‘It’s not an imposition.’ Harsh anger simmered beneath the quiet surface of his voice. ‘I’m the boy’s father.’

Chastened, Freya nodded. Gus’s reaction was just as she’d expected. He was prepared to help his son, and that was the best she could hope for. It would be too much to expect him to forgive her secrecy.

‘You never know,’ Gus said less harshly. ‘This might be Nick’s lucky day.’

To her surprise, he smiled. Admittedly, it was a crooked, rather sad smile, but it encouraged an answering smile from her. ‘I certainly hope so.’

‘But it’s not just a matter of matching blood types, is it?’

‘Blood type is the major hurdle, but there are other tests they need to do. I know there’s a chest X-ray, but I’m not totally sure about everything else. I was ruled unsuitable before I got past first base.’

It was then Freya realised that she’d been so stressed and worried about Nick that she hadn’t actually planned anything for this meeting beyond asking Gus for his help. Now, she wondered if she should ask him to join her for dinner. ‘Are you staying in this hotel?’

‘Yes.’

Unexpected heat flamed in her cheeks. ‘Do you have plans for this evening?’

‘Nothing special beyond meeting you.’

‘I wasn’t sure…if you’d…like to have dinner.’

Looking mildly surprised, he said dryly, ‘I certainly need to eat.’

Had he deliberately missed her point? Freya felt confused but she also felt compelled to hold out an olive branch. She was so enormously indebted to him, and so very much in the wrong.

Running her tongue over parched lips, she tried again. ‘Please, let me take you to dinner. After all, it’s the least I can do.’

His wary eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she held her breath, knowing she would enjoy dining with him very much. There was so much to talk about, and they could possibly begin to build bridges.

‘Thank you, but not tonight,’ Gus said quietly and he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his door key, checking its number. ‘I’m in Room 607,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you could ring me in the morning to give me the doctors’ contact details.’

‘Yes, sure.’

‘For now I’ll say goodnight, then.’

Freya swallowed her disappointment. ‘Goodnight, Gus.’

Just like that, their meeting was over. No peck on the cheek. Not even a handshake. Clearly, no bridges would be built tonight.

Maybe never.

With a polite nod, Gus turned and, without hurrying, he moved decisively and with a distinct sense of purpose, away from her, up the stairs and into the hotel.

Chapter Three

GUS downed a Scotch from the minibar, then ordered a room service meal. Promptly, a box of Singapore noodles arrived and he ate lounging on the bed, watching National Rugby League live on TV. The Roosters were playing the Dragons and normally he’d be riveted, not wanting to miss one tackle or pass.

Tonight he was too restless to pay attention. The best he could hope was that the charging footballers and the voices of the commentators would provide a familiar and reassuring background to his rioting thoughts.

He was out of luck.

Before the game reached half-time, he set his meal aside, grabbed the remote and switched the TV off. Pushing the sliding glass doors open, he went out onto the balcony and looked out at the shimmering stretch of dark water.

Breathing deeply, he told himself that he had to let go of his anger. Anger wasn’t going to help Nick. The only way he could help the boy was to give him his kidney, although at this stage even that wasn’t guaranteed.

The boy might die.

Despair threatened to overwhelm him. He fought it off by concentrating on the positives of this situation. He was in a position to volunteer his help. He was fit and healthy and in the right blood group and he would donate the organ gladly. From what he’d heard about these transplants, there was every chance they’d have a good result.

He just wished he could let go of the hurt he felt whenever he thought about the eleven and a half years that Nick had been on this earth.

In many ways he felt as if he’d been living a lie. Not only had he married another woman, but he’d spent those years working hard to help people in Africa, to give them better lives. He’d even managed to feel noble at times, but all the while, here in Australia, he’d had a son he’d done nothing for.

There could be no doubt that the boy was his. Freya wouldn’t have come looking for him otherwise.

But it was so hard to accept that he’d made his girlfriend pregnant and then she’d chosen not to tell him.

It was even harder to accept the reasons Freya had given him for keeping her pregnancy secret—that she’d felt unworthy, or a nuisance, or just plain unsuitable for him.

Looking at it another way, he’d been deemed unworthy for a role most men expected as their right.

Thoughts churning, Gus stared at the harbour. In total contrast to his turmoil, the water was still and calm, reflecting the smooth silvery path of the moon. His thoughts zapped back to Africa, to the many nights he’d sat on the veranda of his Eritrean hut with Monique, his wife, eating traditional flatbread and spicy beef or chicken, while looking out at this very same moon.

He wondered what Monique would have thought about his situation.

Actually, he knew exactly how she’d have reacted. As a doctor with a fierce social conscience, she would have expected him to donate a kidney without question. She would have supported the transplant, if she’d still been alive and married to him. Monique was a pragmatist and his illegitimate son from a previous girlfriend wouldn’t have fazed her. She’d had a realistic, unromantic attitude to relationships.

Once, he would have said that Monique and Freya were polar opposites. His wife had been a practical scientist and aid worker, while his first girlfriend was a romantic and dreamy artist. After tonight, he wasn’t so sure. Freya, the romantic artist, had made a very hard-headed decision twelve years ago.

A heavy sigh escaped Gus as he looked at the rocks where he’d sat earlier tonight with her.

Freya, the siren.

There’d always been an element of enchantment in his attraction to her, and it seemed she still had the power to cast a spell over him. This evening, sitting on those rocks, listening to her explanations in her soft, musical voice, he’d almost fallen under her spell again.

He’d become enchanted by visual details he’d almost forgotten—the way she held her head, the neat curl of her ear, the way she smiled without showing her slightly crooked front tooth. Hers was a natural beauty that no amount of fashion sense or make-up could achieve, and she’d always had a kind of fantasy mermaid aura.

There were no salon-induced streaks or highlights in her long silky hair and her clothing was utterly simple—a slimfitting plain sleeveless shift in a hue that matched her eyes—somewhere between misty-green and blue.

Her only jewellery had been an elegant string of cut glass beads, again in blues and greens, which she wore around one slim tanned ankle.

Gus remembered that she’d always worn anklets when she was young and this evening, despite his anger and shock, he’d found this one disturbingly attractive. He’d felt the same helpless stirrings of attraction he’d felt at eighteen, and he’d seen a look in her eyes that had sent his blood pounding. He’d almost been willing to forgive her for not telling him about Nick.

Then she’d dropped her bombshell about the boy’s illness and he’d understood that this meeting was not a voluntary move to reunite father and son. It was simply a search for an organ donor and, without that desperate need, Freya might never have told him.

Suddenly, there’d been so much anger raging inside him he doubted he could ever forgive her.

Should he try?

Wasn’t it too much to ask?

A cloud arrived quickly, covering the moon, and the silver path on the water vanished. Wrapped in darkness, Gus felt unbearably lonely. Alienated. Angry. So angry it blazed like a bushfire in his gut.

But tangled up with the anger was niggling guilt.

If only he’d been more perceptive on that day Freya had come to him. Why hadn’t he realised how insecure she’d felt? And, when she’d stopped answering his mail, why hadn’t he gone back to Sugar Bay to demand a response?

Instead, he’d listened to his mates, who’d embraced the plenty more fish in the ocean philosophy, and he’d let his relationship with his schoolboy crush fizzle out.

The weight of those choices wrenched a groan from Gus. But it was too late for regrets and, no matter where the blame lay, the one person who mattered now was his son.

He had to make sure that Nick didn’t suffer because of his anger. Hell, he could remember what it was like to be eleven going on twelve, all the frustrations, the hopes, the energy and the awkwardness. And he hadn’t been facing the prospect of kidney failure.

That thought sent a cold chill snaking over his skin. Sickening desperation gripped him and he prayed that he was a suitable donor. But then he reasoned that, if all went well and he was a match for Nick, he and Freya and their son would find themselves caught up in an even deeper whirlpool of emotions.

So it made sense from the outset to have a very clear plan of how he would negotiate the pitfalls.

Watching the moon shimmer faintly from behind the cloud, he made a decision. He would do whatever was in his power to help his son, but he would maintain a clear emotional distance from the boy’s mother. He had to accept that he would always find Freya attractive. Spending time with her, being close to her would be sweet torture, but he mustn’t contemplate revisiting temptation.

The last thing their boy needed now was the distraction of estranged parents trying to recapture their youth.

Gus had made all kinds of wrong assumptions about Freya when they were young, and this time he wanted no confusion. He was always prepared to admit his mistakes, but he prided himself on never making the same mistake twice.

Normally, Freya didn’t mind dining alone.

Although she’d had several almost-serious boyfriends, she was well and truly used to being seen in public without an escort. This evening, however, when the waitress in the hotel’s bistro showed her to a table for two, then removed the extra place setting, Freya felt unusually conspicuous.

It was ridiculous, but she felt as if everyone in the room could guess that she’d invited a man to dine with her and he’d turned her down.

But, in all honesty, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that Gus had declined her invitation.

She knew she should be relieved. She’d won Gus’s cooperation but he was going to keep his distance, which meant she would be spared any unnecessary complications. It was, really, the best possible outcome.

Too bad for her that seeing Gus again had stirred up all sorts of longings and heartaches. Too bad that she kept remembering the warmth of his hands, and the deep rumble of his voice, and the exact shape of his curvy, kissable mouth. It was especially too bad that she could still remember from all those years ago the bone-melting fabulousness of his lips on hers.

She was a fool to think about that now. It would be the worst kind of madness to start falling for Gus again. Surely she’d learned, once and for all, that she wasn’t his type.

Her unsuitability had been a painful discovery when she’d visited Gus at university. This evening he’d confirmed it when he told her that the woman he’d loved and chosen as his wife had been a doctor, not just any doctor, but a brave, unselfish, generous woman who worked with the Médecins Sans Frontières. Freya knew she could never live up to such high standards. Not even close.

She had no choice but to squash her romantic memories and to bury them deep, just as she had years and years ago, before Nick was born.

The waitress came back to take Freya’s order, but she’d been so lost in the past she hadn’t even looked at the menu. Now she gave it a hasty skim-read and ordered grilled coral trout and a garden salad and, because she needed to relax, she also asked for a glass of wine, a Clare Valley Riesling.

Alone again, she sent a text message to Nick reassuring him that she would be home by tomorrow night. She sent her love but she didn’t mention the F word.

Father.

When she’d flown to Darwin, she’d merely told Nick she was meeting a ‘potential donor.’ At this point, she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle the next huge step of telling Nick about Gus Wilder.

If only there was a way to tell him gently without the inevitable excitement and unrealistic hope. She knew from bitter experience that meetings with fathers could be hazardous.

Freya was brisk and businesslike next morning when she phoned Gus. ‘I have the doctors’ phone numbers and addresses ready for you.’

‘Thank you.’ He sounded equally businesslike. ‘Why don’t we meet in the hotel’s coffee bar?’

‘I’ll see you there in five.’

She’d tidied her room in case Gus planned to drop by, but the coffee bar was a sensible alternative—neutral ground, in line with his aim to retain a discreet distance.

She knew she shouldn’t have checked her appearance in the mirror—it didn’t matter what she looked like—but she did check. Twice. Once to apply concealer to the purple shadows beneath her eyes. The second time to give her hair a final run through with a comb and to add a touch of bronze lip gloss.

When she saw Gus, she noted guiltily that he also had telltale dark smudges under his eyes. And there were creases bracketing his mouth that she hadn’t noticed yesterday. Even the bones in his face were more sharply defined. Clearly, his night had been as restless and sleep-deprived as hers.

Gus didn’t waste time with pleasantries. As soon as they’d ordered their coffees, he got straight down to business. ‘Do you have those contact details?’

Last night, she’d listed everything he needed. Now she retrieved the sheet of paper from her purse and handed it over.

He read the page without comment, then folded it and slipped it inside his wallet. When he looked up again, she was surprised to see the faintest hint of warmth in his dark brown eyes. ‘Your handwriting hasn’t changed. It’s still the curliest, loopiest script I’ve ever seen.’

Freya risked a brief smile. ‘I’m an artist. What do you expect?’

‘So you’ve kept the art up? I’ve often wondered if you continued with your plans to study painting.’

The word often made Freya’s heart flutter. Had Gus really thought about her often?

She tried not to let it matter. ‘I’ve studied in dribs and drabs. A part-time course here, an evening class there.’

‘It must have been difficult with a baby.’

‘I managed. I still paint.’

Their coffees arrived—a soy cappuccino for Freya and a long black for Gus.

As Gus picked up his cup, he asked, super-casually, ‘Does Nick have any artistic flair?’

‘Oh, no.’ With a nervous smile, she selected a slim packet of raw sugar from a bowl of assorted sweeteners, tore off the end and tipped half of the crystals into her coffee. ‘Nick’s sporty and brainy.’

Avoiding the intense flash in Gus’s eyes, she began to stir the sugar. ‘He’s good at maths and science and football.’ Her face grew hot. ‘Like you.’

She looked up then and wished she hadn’t. The stark pain in Gus’s face made her heart thud painfully.

Don’t look like that, Gus.

Last night, as she’d tossed and turned, she’d assured herself that it was possible to get through this without becoming too emotionally entangled with him. But was she fooling herself? He’d merely asked one simple question and now she was struggling, on the brink of tears. And she suspected that Gus was too.

Their situation was so delicate and complicated. They shared a son whose life was in danger, and they shared a past that still harboured a host of buried emotions.

Freya’s wounds were twelve years old and she’d thought they were well and truly protected by thick layers of scar tissue, but the smallest prod proved they were still tender. Gus’s wounds, on the other hand, were new and raw and clearly painful.

‘About the medical tests,’ she said quickly, sensing an urgent need to steer their conversation into safer, more practical waters. ‘I’m pretty sure you can have them done in Darwin. The hospital can send the results on so, with luck, you shouldn’t have too much disruption to your building project.’

Gus dismissed this with a wave of his hand. He frowned. ‘What have you told Nick about…about his father?’

‘I…I said you were someone I knew when I was young.’

‘Does he know my name?’

Freya shook her head and a pulse in her throat began to beat frantically. ‘I said you were a…a good man…that you’d spent a lot of time overseas.’ Her fingers twisted the half-empty sugar sachet. ‘He did ask once, ages ago before he got sick, if he was ever going to meet you. I said it would be better to wait till he’s grown up.’

‘For God’s sake, Freya. Why?’

Unable to meet the blazing challenge in his eyes, she looked away. ‘I knew you were in Africa, and I couldn’t go chasing after you there. I did look up what was involved and it was terribly complicated.’

Gus looked shocked.

Freya shrugged. ‘I…I guess I was waiting for the right time. But then we went through the experience of meeting my father, and it was a disaster.’

‘What happened?’

‘Let’s just say it was a bitter disappointment. Very upsetting for all of us.’

Gus let out his breath on a slow huff. ‘OK…so…I take it Nick doesn’t know you’re meeting me now?’

She shook her head.

His jaw tightened. ‘Do you have a photo of him?’

‘A photo? Oh…um…I…’ Freya gulped, swamped by a tidal wave of embarrassment.

‘I’d like to see what my son looks like.’

Good grief. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a photo? She didn’t even carry one in her purse.

She was rarely separated from Nick. His school was just around the corner from her gallery and she hardly ever left the Bay, so she’d never felt the need to carry her son’s photo. And, coming here, she’d been so stressed, so focused—her mind was a one-way track.

Saving Nick’s life filled her every waking thought.

From over the rim of his coffee cup, Gus was watching her discomfort with a stern lack of sympathy. ‘No photo?’

‘No…I’m sorry.’ How could she have been so thoughtless? ‘I’ll get photos for you, Gus. Of course, you must have photos. Absolutely. I’ll scan the whole album and send them by email just as soon as I get back.’

‘When are you flying back to the Bay?’

‘This afternoon.’

Gus placed his coffee cup carefully on its saucer and, with his mouth set in a grim line, he leaned forward, arms folded, elbows on the table.

To Freya, the pose made his shoulders look incredibly wide and somehow threatening.

‘I’d like to come too,’ he said.

Thud. This was so not something she’d bargained for. Not today. Not so soon.

‘I’m sure you understand that I want to meet my son.’ Gus spoke with the quiet but no-nonsense determination he probably used to push aid projects past obstructionist Third World governments.

‘You mean you’d like to fly back to the Bay today?’

‘Yes…Why not?’

We’re not ready. I’m not ready. ‘I…I thought you were in the middle of a very important building project.’

‘I am, but there’s a window of opportunity. The designs are finished, the materials have been ordered and there’s another engineer supervising the foundations. So I phoned the site and the elders are happy to shoulder more responsibility for a limited time.’

‘Oh, I…see.’

Freya had known from the start that eventually Gus would want to meet Nick, and their meeting would be emotional and wonderful—but terribly complicated. She hadn’t dreamed, though, that Gus would want to come back to the Bay with her straight away. She needed time to prepare Nick, to warn him.

She couldn’t help remembering her own brief encounter four years ago with her male parent—she shied away from thinking of Sean Hickey as her father… Meeting him hadn’t been worth it. Nick had learned then, at the age of seven, that happy reunions were also potential disasters.

Gus would be different, almost certainly. But so soon?

Freya found herself grasping at straws. ‘There probably won’t be any plane seats available at such late notice.’

‘There are seats.’ A faint smile played on Gus’s face, making attractive creases around his eyes.

‘You’ve already checked?’

He pulled a very smart state-of-the-art phone from his pocket.

‘I suppose that has Internet connection,’ she said faintly.

‘Yes. It’s so easy.’

In other words, Gus was five steps ahead of her.

‘Well…that’s…wonderful.’ Freya forced enthusiasm into her voice. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t so terribly difficult. There had been a time when this possibility had been her secret dream, and she’d longed for Gus Wilder to come back to the Bay. The only problem was that in her fantasy he’d claimed her as well as Nick. He’d been incredibly understanding and considerate, and her secret hadn’t been an issue between them.

In her fantasy, Gus had fallen in love with her again and he’d adored Nick and in no time they’d been married and formed a perfect little family.

How pathetic that dream seemed now. Thank heavens she’d come to her senses.

Gus was frowning. ‘You don’t object to my seeing the boy, do you?’

‘No-o-o, of course not.’ Not in theory.

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. ‘But you look worried. Is there a problem?’

Freya shook her head. ‘No. No problem. Not if we’re careful.’

‘I want to help Nick any way I can, Freya.’ He watched her for another beat or two, then said quietly, ‘I promise I won’t rush in and do anything rash.’

Yes. She would make sure of that.

Chapter Four

IT WAS mid-afternoon when they landed at Dirranvale, a short distance inland from Sugar Bay. After collecting Freya’s car from the airport’s overnight car park, they drove to the coast along a road that wound through tall fields of sugar cane.

Everything was exactly as Gus remembered—the gentle undulating countryside, the rich red soil, the endless sea of feathery mauve plumes on top of the waving stalks of cane. He was caught by an unexpected slug of nostalgia.

He remembered the first time he’d made this journey at the age of sixteen, slouched beside his sister in the back of his parents’ station wagon. Back then, they were both furious about their father’s transfer to the Bay, hating that he’d dragged them away from their city school and their friends.

They’d sulked and squabbled throughout the entire journey from Brisbane…until they’d crested the last rise…and the Bay had lain before them in all its singular, perfect beauty.

Remembering his first sight of the beach town that had been his home for two magical years, Gus felt a ripple of excitement. His nostrils twitched, already anticipating the briny scent of the sea and the tang of sunscreen. He could almost feel the sand, soft and warm under his feet, and the sun’s burning heat on his bare shoulders.

He could practically hear the rolling thump and rush of the surf and, for the first time in a very long time, he found himself remembering the out-of-this-world thrill of riding a board down the glassy face of a breaking wave.

He’d loved this place. Why on earth had he taken so long to come back?

He turned to Freya. ‘I bet Nick loves living here.’

‘Oh, he does. No doubt about that.’

Most of her face was hidden by sunglasses, but Gus saw the awkward pucker of her mouth and he knew she was nervous, possibly even more nervous than he was.

They hadn’t talked much on the plane, mainly because a nosy middle-aged woman who’d sat next to them had tried to join in every conversation.

He’d learned, however, that Nick was staying at Poppy’s place while Freya was away, but that Freya and the boy normally lived in a flat attached to an art gallery. They’d agreed that Gus would stay at the Sugar Bay Hotel.

‘I suppose you’ve warned Poppy to expect me?’ he asked.

‘Actually, no,’ Freya said, surprising him. ‘I haven’t told her yet.’ She chewed at her lip.

‘Is there a reason you haven’t told her? Does she still have a problem with me?’

Not quite smiling, Freya shook her head. ‘I knew she wouldn’t be able to help herself. She wouldn’t have been able to keep the news to herself. She might have told Nick about you, and got him all worked up.’

It was understandable, Gus supposed, given how restless and on edge he’d felt ever since he’d learned about his son. ‘So how do you want to handle this? Will I go straight to the hotel and wait to be summoned?’

They’d come to a junction in the road and Freya concentrated on giving right of way to oncoming traffic before she turned.

When this was accomplished, she answered Gus’s question. ‘Nick’s playing football this afternoon and I thought it might be a good idea if you went to the game.’ Quickly she added, ‘It would be a more relaxed atmosphere.’

At first Gus was too surprised to speak. All day he’d been trying to imagine meeting his son, and he’d always pictured an awkward introduction indoors with Poppy and Freya hovering anxiously over the whole proceedings. A football match was the last thing he’d expected, but the idea of meeting Nick at a relaxed social event appealed.

‘That’s smart thinking,’ he told her. ‘What kind of football does Nick play?’

‘Rugby league.’

Gus swallowed against the rapid constriction in his throat. There’d been a time when he’d lived to play rugby league. He’d loved it almost as much as surfing. ‘How can Nick play league in his condition? It’s such a tough game.’

‘I know.’ Freya shrugged. ‘I thought the doctors would put a stop to it, but they said he’s fine to play while his medication’s still working.’

‘That’s amazing.’

‘Except…as I told you, the medication has a time limit.’

Gus scowled. ‘So when will you tell him who I am, and why I’m here?’

‘I don’t think we can talk about that sort of thing at the game. We should go back to my place.’

Her place.

Unreasonably, that cold feeling of exclusion encircled Gus again. Freya and Nick had a home where they’d lived as a special unit for all these years. Without him.

It was only then that he realised they were cresting the last rise—and suddenly there was the Bay lying below them, even more beautiful than he remembered.

Considerately, Freya stopped the car so he could take in the view. The small town hugged the pristine curve of pale yellow sand strung between two green headlands that reached out like arms to embrace the sparkling, rolling sea.

‘Wow.’ He hadn’t dared to hope that it might still be the sleepy seaside village he remembered. ‘It hasn’t changed.’

‘Not too much.’

‘I was worried the beach would be crawling with tourists by now, or spoiled by developers.’

‘There are a lot more houses.’ Freya waved to the crosshatching of streets and rooftops that stretched back from the beachfront. ‘And there are new blocks of units on The Esplanade.’

She pointed out a handful of tall buildings that stood, boldly out of place, near the shops overlooking the sea. ‘The local councillors have been very strict, though. They won’t allow any building taller than six floors.’

‘Good thinking.’

Disconnected memories came rushing back. Eating fish and chips on the beach straight from the paper they were wrapped in. Watching the flashes of summer lightning out to sea. Surfing the waves and feeling at one with the forces of nature, with the whole universe.

That last summer, which he’d forever thought of as Freya’s summer.

Gus felt as if a thorn had pierced his heart.

Freya started up the car again and, as they headed down the hill, he saw the house his parents had owned, perched on a clifftop overlooking the bay. Lower down, they reached the suburban streets where many of their friends had lived, and then the high school, with the new addition of an impressive brick gymnasium.

Neither Gus nor Freya spoke as they continued on two blocks beyond the school to the football field ringed by massive banyan trees.

Gus stared through the windscreen and his throat was tighter than ever as he glimpsed the grassy sports oval between the trees. He saw the white timber goalposts, the young boys in colourful jerseys, the rows of parked cars and the players’ friends and families gathered along the sidelines, or sitting on folding chairs in the shade.

For two happy years, this had been his world.

Now it was his son’s world.

The picture swam before him and he was forced to blink.

Freya turned off the engine.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked her.

‘I’m a bit shaky.’

Gus nodded. Shaky was exactly how he felt. This was such a big moment. Huge. Almost as momentous and huge as getting married, or witnessing a birth. Twelve years too late, he was about to become a father.

A roar erupted from the crowd as they got out of the car and Freya sent a quick glance over her shoulder to the field.

‘Looks like the other team has scored a try.’ She pouted her lower lip in mock despair.

‘Who’s the opposition?’

‘Dirranvale. They usually beat us.’

‘Nothing’s changed, then.’ Gus sent her a quick grin, and he was rewarded by an answering grin.

Wow.

Wow. Wow. Wow. Even when Freya’s face was half hidden by sunglasses, the grin transformed her. She was the laughing beach girl of his past, and his heart leapt and rolled like a breaking wave.

Impulsively, he reached an arm around her shoulders, moved by an overpowering urge to plant a deep, appreciative kiss on her smiling mouth.

Just in time, he remembered that she’d chosen to keep him out of her life, out of his son’s life, and he stamped down on the impulse.

Just as well. Freya wouldn’t have welcomed it. Even his casual hug troubled her. Her lips trembled, her smile disintegrated and she moved away, leaving his arm dangling in mid-air.

Fool. Gus shoved his hands in his pockets. He was here to meet Nick, to save Nick. Flirting with the boy’s mother was not an option. Neither of them wanted to rake up out-of-date emotions and he’d promised himself he wouldn’t put a foot wrong during this visit.

Hurrying ahead of him, Freya had already reached the sideline and some of the bystanders turned, smiled and waved to her or called hello. As Gus joined her, they eyed him with marked curiosity, but he paid them scant attention. His interest was immediately fixed on the team of boys in the blue and gold Sugar Bay jerseys.

His son was one of those boys.

Right now, they were standing in a disconsolate row, watching as the opposition’s goal kicker booted the ball over the bar and between the posts. The whistle blew, the Dirranvale team’s score jumped another two points, then both teams regrouped, ready to resume the game.

Fine hairs lifted on the back of Gus’s neck. ‘Where’s Nick?’ he murmured to Freya. ‘Is he on the field?’

She nodded. ‘I bet you’ll recognise him.’

Gus felt a spurt of panic. Was he supposed to instantly know which boy was his? Was this some kind of test?

Freya’s sunglasses hid the direction of her gaze and his heart thumped as he scanned the field. There were thirteen boys out there in the Sugar Bay jerseys. He had no idea if Nick was dark or fair, tall or thickset, if he took after the Wilder family or the Joneses.

Should he be looking for a kid who was frailer than the rest? Or was his son the chubby kid, red-faced and panting and avoiding the ball?

The Sugar Bay team had possession of the ball and parents yelled instructions from the sidelines. The boys were running down the field, throwing passes, trying to make ground and dodge being tackled. As far as Gus could see, they were all happy and healthy and bursting with energy. It was hard to believe that any one of them could be seriously ill.

The boy in the number seven jersey suddenly broke ahead of the pack. He had a shock of black hair and dark grey eyes, and there was something about his face. Gus felt a jolt, a lightning bolt of connection. Recognition?

‘I don’t suppose that could be him, could it?’ His voice was choked. ‘Number seven?’

‘Yes, that’s Nick!’ Freya’s cry was close to a sob and she stood beside him with her arms tightly crossed, hugging her middle.

Nick. His kid. Nicholas Angus. Gus felt a rush of adrenaline as he watched the boy and he tried to pinpoint why he was so familiar. Apart from colouring, they weren’t really alike.

But there was something.

Gus’s eyes were riveted on Nick’s dashing dark-haired figure as he cleverly sidestepped an attempted tackle, then passed the ball.

He was good. Hey, Nick was really good. He moved forward again, ready for another chance to take possession, and Gus couldn’t suppress a fierce glow of pride.

The kid was fast. He was a halfback, a key position in any team, requiring speed and ball-playing skills and a quick mind rather than brute strength.

Chest bursting, Gus watched as Nick took the ball once more and passed it on neatly and deftly, a split second before he was tackled to the ground.

Gus elbowed Freya’s arm. ‘You didn’t tell me he was terrific.’

Her mouth pulled out of shape, halfway between a happy grin and heartbreak.

And suddenly Gus felt as if he’d swallowed the damn football. He looked away, staring into the canopy of one of the ancient trees as he willed his emotions into some kind of order. Once the game was over, he would meet Nick and he’d have to play it cool.

But it was such a massive thing to know that this wonderful kid was his child. He was flooded by a rush of emotion—of responsibility, of happiness and pride—and all of it tangled with fear and the weight of loss for all the years he’d been deprived of this pleasure.

If I’d seen him in the street I would have walked straight past and totally ignored him.

Knowing made such a difference.

But there was so much more he wanted to know. How could he and Nick possibly bridge all their missing years?

Freya thought she might burst with the tension.

She’d hoped that viewing the game from the sidelines would be an easier induction for Gus, giving him the chance to take a good long look at Nick before he had to cope with introductions. But she wasn’t finding it easy at all. With each minute that passed, she was more on edge.

She’d watched Nick play football many times, but she usually chatted with other mums and paid only fleeting attention to what was happening on the field. Today, she couldn’t drag her eyes from her boy, kept trying to see him though Gus’s eyes.

She knew she was hopelessly biased, but Nick was gorgeous, with his lovely dark hair and beautiful, soulful, intelligent grey eyes. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Gus to be seeing his son for the first time.

She remembered her own introduction to Nick. All those years ago.

With Poppy at her side as her birthing coach, there’d been gentle music playing in the background and the scents of lavender aromatherapy candles. Poppy had helped Freya to breathe through her contractions and, although the whole process was hard work, Nick’s arrival had been a calm and beautiful experience.

And he was perfect. Eight and a half pounds, with lovely dark hair, sturdy limbs and great energetic lungs.

It was only later, after Poppy and the midwife left Freya alone to rest, that she’d allowed herself to cry.

She’d cried for Gus.

And she’d cried oceans. She’d missed him so terribly, and she’d longed for him to see their baby. She’d cried and cried so hard and for so long that the nurse had called the doctor, who’d come hurrying back, and he’d been worried and wanted to prescribe a sedative.

Freya had been breastfeeding and she was sure a sedative couldn’t be good for her baby, so she’d rallied. From her first days as a mother, she’d always put Nick’s needs first.

But, because she’d managed just fine without ever meeting her dad, she’d convinced herself that her son could manage without a father. She’d told herself that she would unite the boy and his dad once Nick was old enough to understand…but by then Gus had been in the depths of Africa.

Freya was so wrapped in her worries she hadn’t even realised that the game was over until she saw the boys on the field shaking hands and reaching for water bottles. It was obvious from their body language that the Sugar Bay team had lost.

She glanced quickly at Gus. His body language spoke volumes too. He was so tense he was practically standing to attention.

Out on the field, Nick’s coach, Mel Crane, was giving the boy a pat on the back. Nick turned and saw Freya and he grinned and waved, called to his team-mates, then began to jog across the field towards her.

Nick was halfway to them before he saw Gus and his pace slowed. By contrast, Freya’s heart began to canter. She took deep breaths, trying to calm down, and she stifled a longing to reach for Gus’s hand. How crazy would that be? Gus was here to help Nick, and for no other reason.

She mustn’t give the impression that she needed him too. And she certainly mustn’t send Nick mixed messages about her relationship with his father. There must be no confusion.

Beside her, Gus dipped his head and spoke close to her ear. ‘I’ll take my cues from you.’

She nodded and pinned on a smile. Always assuming I know how to handle this. Problem was, etiquette advice didn’t cover this kind of introduction.

Nick didn’t run into Freya’s arms as he might have done a few years ago, but he let her kiss him. He smelled hot and dusty and sweaty and she relished the smell—the scent of a normal, healthy eleven-year-old footballer.

‘You were fantastic,’ she told him, as she told him after every game. ‘And you’ll beat them next time, for sure.’

Nick accepted this with a smiling shrug. Then he shot a curious glance at Gus.

Freya jumped in quickly. ‘Nick, this is Gus Wilder. He’s come back from Darwin with me.’

Nick’s dark eyes widened and a mixture of tension and curiosity crept into his face. ‘Hi,’ he said.

‘How do you do, Nick?’ Gus’s deep voice held exactly the right note of friendly warmth. He held out his hand and Freya’s heart tumbled as her son and his father exchanged a manly handshake.

‘You made some great plays out there,’ Gus said.

‘Thanks.’ Nick grinned, clearly warmed by the praise. He looked at Freya, his eyes flashing questions. Dropping his voice, he asked, ‘Is Mr Wilder—’

‘You can call him Gus, Nick. He’s a friend.’ Conscious of the people milling around them, Freya chose her words carefully. ‘He’s hoping to be a good match for you.’

‘Really?’ Nick’s grin widened and this time when he looked at Gus, his eyes absolutely glowed. ‘Wow!’

Gus’s eyes glowed too as he cracked a shaky smile.

‘So how did you find—’

‘Hey, Gus, is that you?’ a voice called from behind them. ‘Gus Wilder?’

Mel Crane, the football coach, was an old classmate from Sugar Bay High and he grinned madly and slapped a beefy hand on Gus’s shoulder. ‘Thought it was you. Good to see you, mate.’

‘Mel, how are you?’

‘Not bad. Not bad. What brings you back to the Bay? Are you here for long?’

Gus’s smile was guarded. ‘Just a short trip.’

Mel Crane’s pale blue eyes flickered with keen interest, and Freya’s anxiety levels began to climb. As Nick’s coach, Mel was one of the few people in the Bay who knew about the boy’s condition. He also knew that Freya and Gus had once been an item.

It wouldn’t be long before he put two and two together.

‘Young Nick played a terrific game today.’ Mel ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘But you know, Nick, Gus here was a great footballer.’ He gave Gus another hearty thump on the shoulder. ‘Lucky for me, he was also good at maths. He used to let me copy his homework.’

Nick laughed and Freya could see that his admiration for Gus was rapidly escalating to hero worship.

‘How do you know my mum and my coach?’ Nick asked Gus. ‘Did you used to live here?’

‘Ages ago,’ Gus said, carefully avoiding Freya’s eyes. ‘But I only lived here for a couple of years. Last two years of high school.’

Stepping in quickly before too many memories were laid bare, Freya said, ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to whisk Gus away now, Mel. We want to catch a few of the sights before it gets dark.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Mel said. ‘If you’ve got a spare moment while you’re here, Gus, drop in to the garage.’

‘Still the same place down on The Esplanade?’

‘Yep. My brother Jim and I have taken over from the old man.’

Gus shook Mel’s hand. ‘I’m staying at the hotel. I’ll call in.’

‘Lovely,’ said Freya quickly. ‘I think we’d better get going now.’ Keen to avoid being held up by anyone else, she shepherded Nick and Gus ahead of her to the car.

The worst wasn’t over yet.

For Gus, it felt surreal to be sitting in the car beside Freya, with their son in the rear, unaware that his life was about to change for ever.

‘So what sights do you want to see, Gus?’ Nick asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Gus shot Freya a questioning glance.

‘I think we should go straight home,’ she said.

‘But you told Mr Crane—’

‘I know what I told Mr Crane, Nick, but I needed an excuse to get away. I want to take Gus back to our place. There’s a lot to talk about.’

‘About the kidney?’

‘Yes.’

Nick flopped back in his seat and stopped asking questions. In the stretch of silence, Gus stole a glance back over his shoulder and found the boy watching him, his eyes huge and wondering. Gus sent him a smiling wink. Nick smiled shyly, and Gus felt his heart turn over.

Freya turned the car onto The Esplanade, where late afternoon shadows stretched across the beach. Sunbathers were packing up but a handful of hardy board riders were still catching waves. He watched them. He’d been like them once, not wanting to leave the water till it was almost dark, much to his mother’s consternation.

To his surprise, he saw that Freya was turning into a driveway. ‘Do you live here? Right on the beachfront?’

‘Where else?’ A quick smile flitted across her features, but it disappeared in a hurry and Gus knew she was nervous again.

The driveway ran next to a modern building of timber and glass. He caught sight of a sign in the front garden, with The Driftwood Gallery painted in pale tan on a cream background.

‘Hey, Urchin!’ A doggy blur and a wagging tail greeted Nick as they got out of the car. After giving the dog a rough and enthusiastic hug, the boy called to his mother, ‘I’m starving.’

‘Nothing new there,’ Freya responded with an elaborate roll of her eyes.

Gus retrieved their overnight bags from the boot while Freya opened bi-fold doors, and he followed her into an open-plan living area.

‘Hey, this is beautiful,’ he said, looking around him.

‘Not bad, is it?’ She dumped her purse and keys on a granite topped counter. ‘I manage the gallery, and this flat is part of the deal. Please, take a seat and I’ll make some coffee. Is plunger coffee OK?’

‘Yes, perfect, thanks.’

Gus remained standing, taking in details of the off-white walls, gleaming pale timber floors and large picture windows looking out to the sea.

The place felt perfect for Freya. It was so much like her—close to the beach and decorated simply but beautifully in neutral tones with soft touches of peach or sea-green. The colours were repeated in the watercolours that hung on the walls and there was a wistful elegance about the paintings that made him wonder if they were hers.

Nick was at the fridge and helping himself to a brightly coloured sports drink. ‘What can I have to eat?’

‘The usual,’ Freya told him. Already, she’d filled a kettle and switched it on and was retrieving the makings of a sandwich. She shot Gus a quick apologetic smile. ‘Excuse us for a moment, please.’

‘Of course. You have to feed the hungry beast.’

Nick grinned at him and came to the counter beside his mother, took slices of cheese from a packet and added them to the bread she’d buttered.

‘I hope you’ve washed your hands.’

‘Washed them at the sink just now.’

‘Would you like tomato with this?’

Nick shook his head. ‘Cheese is fine.’ He added an extra slice, then fetched a plate for his sandwich.

They looked so at home, Gus thought. This routine was so familiar to them, and his outsider status washed over him like a physical pain.

As if sensing how he felt, Freya said, ‘What about you, Gus? Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich?’

He smiled. ‘No, thanks. Coffee’s fine.’

Leaning against the counter, plate in hand, Nick munched on his snack. He was still wearing his football gear and Gus saw green smears where he’d landed heavily on the grass, and there was a graze on his knee.

How the hell can this kid be sick? Gus thought. He looks so normal.

It seemed so wrong. So cruel.

‘So has Mum told you all about my global warning?’ the boy asked suddenly, smiling between mouthfuls.

Gus’s stomach took a dive. ‘Yes, it’s rotten luck, but I’m hoping we can turn that around.’

Freya, in the middle of retrieving coffee mugs from an overhead cupboard, appeared to freeze.

‘Awesome,’ said Nick. ‘So do you have O blood, the same as me?’

‘I do.’

‘But Gus still has to have more tests before we can be absolutely sure he’s a perfect match,’ Freya countered.

Nick nodded and looked thoughtful as he chewed again on his sandwich, while the kitchen filled with the smell of coffee.

Across the silence, Gus met Freya’s gaze. She sent him a wobbly smile.

‘If you could help to carry these things, we can make ourselves comfortable,’ she said.

‘Sure.’ Immediately he snapped into action, and they carried the pot and mugs, a milk jug and a plate of pecan cookies to a low coffee table set amidst comfortably grouped squishy armchairs upholstered in cream linen.

‘You want me to hang around?’ Nick asked.

Freya’s throat rippled as she swallowed. ‘Yes, honey, of course. We need to talk to you.’

He came and perched on the arm of one of the chairs, sports drink in one hand, plate with the remains of his sandwich in the other, and he frowned as he watched his mother pour coffee. ‘So did you guys know each other before? When Gus used to live here?’

‘Yes.’ Freya’s voice was a shade too tight.

Nick stared at her and his face sobered. He slid a quick look to Gus, then another glance back to his mother. ‘You’re not going to tell me anything really crazy, are you? Like Gus is my father or something?’

Chapter Five

FREYA almost dropped the coffee pot. It clattered onto the table and Gus was instantly attentive.

‘Did you burn yourself?’

She shook her head. She was too mortified by Nick’s question to worry about the stinging patch of skin on the inside of her wrist. She wished she could think more clearly, wished she could find the right words so that everything made instant sense to Nick. And she wanted to defend Gus.

When she opened her mouth, nothing emerged.

She looked helplessly at Nick, who was watching her and Gus with his lips tightly compressed and a look of anguish in his eyes, as if he wished he could bite back his words.

I have to answer him.

But, as she struggled to find the words, she heard Gus’s voice above the fierce hammering of her heartbeats.

‘That’s exactly right, Nick.’ Gus spoke quietly, calmly. ‘I’ve come here because I’m your father and I’m the best person to help you. I want to help you.’

There…

It was out.

Thank you, Gus. Freya felt relief, but a sense of failure too. She should have been ready for this. She knew exactly what her son was like, knew he was smart and perceptive.

When at last she found her voice, she hurried to make amends for her silence. ‘Gus really wants to help you, darling. We know there could be other donors, but Gus is your best chance for a really good match.’

A bright red tide was creeping up Nick’s neck and into his cheeks. His eyes shimmered with tears.

The sight of his tears tore at Freya’s heart. She felt lost. Totally thrown.

Slowly, her son slid from the arm of the chair and he set his plate and drink down on the coffee table.

‘Thanks,’ he said shakily, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze. ‘That’s great.’ Then he shot a nervous glance to Freya. ‘If it’s OK, I’m going to get changed and take a shower.’

This was so not what she’d expected, so out of character. Nick hardly ever volunteered to have a shower. Freya usually had to shove him into the bathroom. Now, she felt compelled to let him go.

The adults watched in uncomfortable silence as the boy walked from the room, sports shoes squeaking on the polished floors. Neither of them spoke nor moved until they heard Nick’s bedroom door close down the hallway.

Freya let out a soft groan. ‘That went well.’ She felt terrible for Gus. What must he be thinking? Of her? Of their son? ‘I’m sorry, Gus. That wasn’t quite the reception I imagined.’

‘Do you want to go and speak to him?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, feeling dazed. ‘I’m not sure it would help. I…I’ll try.’ Her legs felt as weak as limp rope when she stood. ‘Won’t be a moment.’

She went down the hall and knocked on Nick’s door. ‘Nick?’

‘I’m getting undressed.’

‘Do you want to talk?’

She heard the thump of his shoes hitting the floor. ‘Later.’

‘Don’t be long,’ she called.

When she went back into the living room, Gus gave an easy non-judgemental shrug.

‘The boy’s had a shock.’

‘But you’ve come all this way to meet him.’

To her surprise, Gus didn’t seem angry.

‘All in good time,’ he said smoothly. ‘Nick needs a chance to get his head around everything.’

Gus would know what Nick was going through, of course. He’d had a similar shock less than twenty-four hours ago.

As Freya picked up the coffee pot again, she gave him a grateful smile. ‘So…would you still like a cuppa?’

He was staring at her arm, frowning. ‘You did burn yourself.’

She’d been trying to ignore the stinging, but now she looked down and saw the angry red welt on the pale skin of her inner wrist.

‘You need to get something on that,’ he said. ‘Do you have burn cream?’

‘Oh—I have some of Poppy’s aloe vera growing in a pot. That’ll fix it.’

Frowning, Gus rose and followed her into the kitchen, watching as she snapped off a piece of succulent herb growing on the windowsill.

‘Here, let me,’ he said, taking the aloe vera from her. ‘That will be hard to manage one handed.’

Before Freya could protest, he was holding her arm, gently, ever so kindly. He squeezed the plant to break up the juicy fibres and began very gently to rub it over her reddened skin.

His touch sent an electric shiver trembling through Freya. She was remembering a time when they were young, when she’d had a coral cut on her ankle, and Gus had been so caring—just like this—washing the cut clean and making sure she got antiseptic straight onto it.

OK, so he’s a caring guy. I know that. It’s why he’s here. It’s why he’s been working in Africa for all these years. That’s no excuse for swooning.

‘Thanks,’ she said extra brightly when he was done. ‘That’s feeling better already. Now, about that coffee—’

Gus was still holding her arm. She was still flashing hot and cold. And when she looked into his eyes, she saw a look she remembered from all those years ago.

An ache blossomed inside her, treacherous and sweet, and she almost fell into his arms.

He let her wrist go and said, ‘I’d love a coffee.’

Just like that, the moment was gone and, as Freya crashed back to earth, she wondered if she’d imagined that look.

She went back to the coffee table, filled their mugs and handed one to Gus.

He sat down and took a sip and made an appreciative noise. ‘I remember now. You make very good coffee.’

She smiled faintly and sat very still, holding her coffee mug without tasting it, thinking about Nick, and Gus and…the repercussions of the decision she’d made all those years ago.

From down the hallway came the sound of a shower turning on. Freya and Gus exchanged cautious glances.

‘I’d always planned to warn him, to get him ready before he met you,’ she said defensively. ‘But you insisted on meeting him today.’

Gus sent her a strange look and took another sip of coffee. ‘You said Nick had a bad experience when he met your father.’

‘Yes. I think it’s safe to say he was quite disillusioned.’

‘Do you mind telling me what happened?’

She let out a slow huff. ‘Well…my father turned up here a few weeks before Christmas. He sailed into the Bay in a pretty little yacht called Poppy.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You can picture it, can’t you? All smart white paint and lovely tanned sails.’

‘Like a romantic fantasy,’ Gus suggested.

‘Exactly.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Sean Hickey.’ Freya drank some of her coffee, then settled back in her chair, as if getting ready to tell a long story. ‘He certainly looked the part, all lean and sunburned, with a weather-beaten sailor’s tan. Quite handsome, actually, in a wicked, boyish way. White curly hair and bright blue eyes—and a charming Irish lilt to his voice.’

‘How did Poppy react to seeing him?’

‘Oh, she welcomed him with open arms, and she seemed to grow ten years younger overnight. Nick adored him, of course. I mean, he had another male in his family for starters.’

As she said this, she felt a stab from her guilty conscience. She’d always felt bad about denying her son a male role model. ‘Nick was seven at the time, and he was over the moon. Sean was the ideal grandfather—lively and friendly and full of fun, and very interested in his grandson.’

Gus regarded her steadily. ‘And you?’

‘Oh, I was beyond excited too. I had a father, at last.’ She avoided Gus’s eyes as she said this and her cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. She stumbled on, hoping to make amends. ‘Admittedly, Sean wasn’t quite the way I’d pictured my father.’

‘I seem to remember,’ said Gus dryly, ‘that you had a list of famous Australians who might have been your father.’

The heat in Freya’s face deepened. Gus hadn’t forgotten. She, however, had conveniently pushed that memory underground, hadn’t let herself think that Nick might feel equally deprived. Or worse.

‘Well, Sean wasn’t a film star,’ she said tightly. ‘He was more like a charming pixie, but he lavished praise on my paintings and I lapped it up. He even told me about an artistic grandmother who still lives in County Cork in Ireland.’

Gus smiled. ‘So that’s where your talent comes from.’

‘I’m not sure any more.’ Freya shrugged. ‘Anyway, he taught Nick how to sail, and he took the three of us out in Poppy, and we sailed to the islands and had lovely picnics. He even painted Poppy’s house for her.’ This was said with an accompanying eye roll. ‘Do you remember how Mum’s cottage used to look?’

‘Of course. It was fabulous. The only house right on the edge of the sand. And painted every colour of the rainbow. It was a talking point in Sugar Bay.’

‘Yes, well…wait till you see it now.’

‘Why? What did Sean do to it?’

‘Painted it white.’

‘The whole house?’

She nodded. ‘Spanking white with neat aqua blue trims. Spotless and tidy, just like his boat.’

‘My God. Spotless and tidy are two words I’d never associate with Poppy. Did she hate it?’

Freya gave another shrug. ‘She pretended to love it. She was smitten at the time, though, so her judgement was clouded.’

‘But I take it your dad eventually blotted his copybook?’

‘Oh, yes. Big time. A week before Christmas he totally blackened his name. He and his little yacht just disappeared into the wide blue yonder.’ Freya paused significantly. ‘Along with Poppy’s savings.’

It was gratifying to watch Gus’s jaw drop.

‘How did he manage that?’

‘Oh, you know Poppy. Didn’t trust banks, and didn’t worry much about money. What little she did accumulate she kept at home in a ginger jar.’ Freya sighed. ‘It was the gloomiest, most depressing Christmas ever. We tried to be cheerful for poor Nick’s sake, but we weren’t very good at it, I’m afraid.’ Leaning forward, she put her coffee mug back on the table. ‘I found out later from one of the local fishermen that Sean had moved on, up to Gladstone. He’d changed the name of his yacht to Caroline, and he was living with a new woman, a widow named Mrs Keane. Caroline Keane, of course. And he showed no sign of an Irish accent.’

‘So he was a con artist.’

‘Through and through. And Poppy admitted later that he’d always had a gambling addiction. She’d known that, and she still wasn’t careful.’

Gus let out his breath in a whoosh, then rose and paced to the big picture window and stood with his hands resting lightly on his hips as he looked out to sea. ‘I see why fathers have a bad name around here.’

Freya stood too and followed him across the room. ‘I know you’re nothing like Sean, Gus. In fact, you’re the opposite. You’ve come here to give, not to take.’

‘That’s certainly the plan.’ He didn’t turn from the window. Outside, it was almost dusk and the sea and the sky had turned a deep pearlescent grey.

‘I know Nick liked you, straight off,’ Freya said. ‘Actually, I’m sure he wants to get to know you. He’s just—’

‘Scared.’

‘Yes.’ We’re both scared.

Trouble was, though Gus might not be a con man, he still had his own special brand of dangerous charm. If he entered their lives, even for a short time, and then left again, as he must, he would almost certainly leave a huge raw-edged hole.

Gus turned from the window. ‘I guess I should head off now. You need to talk to Nick, and I need to book into the hotel.’

‘You’re welcome to stay here.’ Freya had no idea she was going to say that. She was pretty sure Gus wanted to stay in the hotel, to keep an emotional distance, but the invitation had tumbled out spontaneously and she couldn’t take it back without looking foolish. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

To her surprise, his lip curled in a faintly amused smile. ‘Don’t you think you should consult Nick before making such rash offers? He hasn’t exactly welcomed me with open arms, has he?’

‘But you’re doing a wonderful thing for us, Gus, and we’re in your debt. What if I go and talk to him? He’s sure to have calmed down by now.’

‘Not now, Freya.’ Gus wasn’t smiling any more. He was deadly serious. ‘It will be better for all of us if I stay at the hotel.’

It was ridiculous to feel disappointed. Freya was dredging up a smile when Gus surprised her by reaching for her arm.

‘Before I go, let me see that burn. I’m not sure you should trust Poppy’s home-grown remedies.’

‘Oh, it’s fine.’ It was true. The burn no longer stung and, when she looked at her arm, the aloe vera was already working. The angry redness was fading.

Gus’s fingers, however, encircled her wrist and, in spite of her beach girl’s tan, they looked very dark and strong against her skin. His other hand touched her wrist gently, unbelievably gently. So gently he was killing her.

A tiny gasp escaped her and he went still. She looked up and something in his burning gaze sent a high voltage current through every vein in her body.

She couldn’t bear it, had to look away.

He said, ‘I’ll make contact with Nick’s doctor in the morning.’

She was almost too breathless to respond. ‘If you need me, I’ll be here in the gallery all day.’

‘OK. I’ll call you.’

Without another word, Gus went to the kitchen door where he’d left his overnight bag. Snagging it with two fingers, he let himself out and he didn’t look back.

Freya was chopping mushrooms and onion for a homemade pizza when Nick came into the kitchen. His hair was still wet from his shower, and she always thought he looked younger somehow when his hair was wet. More vulnerable. Tonight, he looked shamefaced too.

He sent a quick glance around their open-plan living area. ‘Where’s Gus?’

‘He’s gone to the hotel.’ She continued methodically to slice mushrooms.

‘Is he buying wine or something for dinner?’

‘No, Nick. He’s staying at the hotel.’

‘Why? Didn’t you ask him to stay here?’

Setting down her knife, Freya folded her arms and she sent her son a rueful smile. ‘Gus thought it would be better. He wanted to give you time to get over your shock.’

‘Oh.’

‘He’s a good man, Nick. He’s not like Sean. He really wants to help you.’

The boy stared at the partly assembled pizza. ‘Are you going to put bacon on that?’

‘Of course.’

‘Plenty?’

‘Just the right amount. You know what Dr Kingston said. You’re supposed to have lots of vegetables and not too much salt.’

Nick sighed theatrically and, for a moment, Freya thought the subject of Gus had been dropped.

Not so.

Leaning with his elbows on the counter, her son scowled. ‘I don’t get it. I really don’t get it. If Gus is such a great guy, why isn’t he a proper father? Why doesn’t he live here with us?’

Freya’s heart thudded and her brain raced as she searched for the exact words to explain. This moment was so critically important. The explanation was complicated, but she had to get it right.

Clearly, Nick thought she was taking too long and he rushed in with more questions. ‘If Gus is so helpful, why’d he go away in the first place? What’s wrong with us?’ Sudden tears spilled and Nick swiped at them angrily with the backs of his hands. ‘What’s wrong with our whole freaking family?’

‘Oh, darling.’ Freya gave up searching for perfect words to answer these questions. Instead, she rushed around the kitchen counter to hug him.

On Monday morning Gus looked out of his hotel window at blue skies and perfect rolling surf and wished his heart felt lighter. He’d spent another restless, unhappy night thinking about Freya and Nick and he’d resolved nothing.

Still yawning, he showered and shaved and went down to the hotel dining room for breakfast. Coffee, fresh fruit and scrambled eggs helped.

Then, as he left the dining room, he came to a sudden, heart-thumping halt. Nick was in the foyer, speaking to a woman at the front desk.

The boy was dressed for school in a blue and white polo shirt with grey shorts and sneakers. He had a school bag slung over his shoulder and he fiddled nervously with its zip while he spoke to the woman behind the counter.

What was he doing here? Gus’s heart picked up pace as he hurried forward. ‘Nick?’

The boy whirled around. His eyes widened and he smiled nervously. ‘Hi, Gus.’ He turned back to the desk and said to the woman, ‘No need to call the room. It’s OK. I’ve found him.’

I’ve found him.

The words were like music to Gus, or the world’s finest poetry. His son was looking for him. His heart swelled with elation. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he told Nick thickly.

The boy nodded. ‘I was hoping I’d find you.’

‘Have you had breakfast?’ Gus smiled, trying to put the boy at his ease.

‘Yes, thanks.’ Nick swallowed nervously. ‘Mum didn’t send me here or anything. I just wanted to see you—to…to talk.’

‘Sure. We could go up to my room or—’ A glance through the hotel’s large plate glass windows showed the beach sparkling in the morning sunshine. ‘We could go outside.’ Gus smiled again. ‘I think I’d rather be out in the fresh air. How about you?’

‘Yeah. Outside would be better.’

They went out through automatic sliding glass doors into the pleasant subtropical sunshine. Children zipped past on bikes or dawdled to school. Ubiquitous surfers carrying surfboards mingled with early shoppers strolling on The Esplanade. Gus and Nick walked over soft grass strewn with pine needles to an empty bench seat beneath Norfolk Island pines.

‘Look at that.’ Gus gestured to the curling waves and the pristine curve of the beach. ‘You know you’re lucky to be living here, don’t you?’

‘Yeah.’ Nick smiled shyly. ‘But it’s not so great when you have to go to school all day.’

‘Although…as I remember, the surf’s still here when school’s out.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Nick grinned. ‘It’s a cool place to live, except lots of people only stay for a while, then move away.’ He shot a sideways glance to Gus. ‘Like you.’

Making a deliberate effort to appear casual and relaxed, Gus leaned back against the seat’s wooden slats and propped an ankle on a knee. ‘There aren’t a lot of jobs in these parts. That’s why people move on. I had to go away to university and then, later, I worked overseas.’

‘Yeah, Mum told me.’ Nick looked down at his school bag, dumped at his feet, and he reached for the strap, twisting it with tense fingers. ‘Like I said, Mum didn’t send me here. I told her I had to get to school early. She doesn’t even know I’m talking to you.’

Pleased by the boy’s honesty, by his obvious concern for Freya, Gus felt a strangely warm glow. ‘Maybe we can tell your mum…later.’

‘I guess.’ Nick kicked at a fallen pine cone. ‘We talked last night. About you. Mum told me what happened.’

‘Happened—as in—?’

‘Why you two split up. She said you didn’t deliberately leave us. You didn’t even know about me.’

‘Well…yes…that’s right.’

‘And she said it was her decision not to tell you about me.’

Gus couldn’t resist asking, ‘Did she explain why?’

Nick shrugged. ‘Kind of. It didn’t really make sense.’

You and me both, kiddo, Gus thought. Even though he understood Freya’s motives, her secrecy still hurt, still didn’t make proper sense to him. Just the same, he tried to explain it to the boy. ‘Sometimes we do things that feel right at the time that don’t always make sense when we look back on them later.’

‘Especially in my weird family.’

‘Trust me, Nick, every family has its own kind of weirdness.’

Wind ruffled the boy’s dark hair and he seemed to consider this for a moment, then shrugged it aside. ‘The way Mum tells it—sounds like she wasn’t good enough for you.’

Gus lost his casual pose. ‘Freya told you that?’

‘She didn’t say those exact words.’

‘But she told you that she couldn’t fit into my life?’

‘Yeah. Something like that. Sounded pretty lame to me.’

A heavy sigh escaped Gus. How could he ask Nick to understand that he and Freya had been young, that most young people made bad judgements one way or another, although they never felt like mistakes at the time?

The boy was eleven and he couldn’t be expected to look on eighteen-year-olds as young, especially when he faced a shockingly uncertain future.

‘The good thing is, your mum found me now,’ Gus said.

‘Yeah. Thanks for coming down here, and offering the kidney and everything.’ Nick sent him another shy smile. ‘That’s actually what I wanted to say.’

Gus smiled back at him. He loved this kid. Heck, he wanted to wrap his arms around Nick’s skinny shoulders and hug him hard. But maybe it was too soon, so he resisted the urge. ‘I’ve got a kidney to spare, and you’re welcome to it. But I have to have the tests first.’

‘I emailed Dr Kingston last night.’

‘You what?’

‘Sent him an email,’ Nick said nonchalantly.

‘I didn’t know you could do that.’

‘My doctor’s pretty cool. And he wrote back to say he’s really pleased we found you, and you can get most of your tests done at the Dirranvale hospital, if you want.’

‘That sounds good.’

Nick’s grey eyes, which were the same shape as Freya’s eyes and had the same thick, dark lashes, took on an unexpected twinkle. ‘If you’re going to Dirranvale, there’s something I should warn you about.’

‘What’s that?’

‘One of the nurses up there is a vampire.’

For a split second, Gus wasn’t sure how to respond to this. He was about to laugh it off, then he caught the spark of mischief in Nick’s grin and changed tack. ‘No kidding? A vampire?’

‘I reckon when she takes your blood, she keeps some of it for herself.’

‘No!’ Gus gave an elaborate shudder. ‘You’d better describe her to me, so I’ll know to avoid her.’

‘She’s easy to pick. She has long black hair and really, really pale skin.’

‘And fangs?’

Nick giggled. ‘No. She’s actually kind of pretty.’

‘Oh, yeah. That would be right. Vampires are often exceptionally beautiful. That’s why they’re so dangerous. Do you think I should tell her that we know what she’s up to?’

Nick’s smile lost a little of its certainty. ‘I’m not asking you to drive a stake through her heart or anything.’

‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Gus chuckled. ‘So you’re determined to save her bacon. Does that mean you’re keen on her?’

‘No way.’ The boy went bright pink.

‘All right, then. I won’t say a word.’

From somewhere in the distance came the ringing of a bell.

‘Oh-oh.’ Nick scrambled to his feet and scooped up his bag.

‘You’re going to be late for school.’

‘Yeah. I’d better go.’

‘You’d better run,’ Gus said. ‘But be careful crossing the road, won’t you?’

‘Course.’

‘Thanks for the advice about the vampire.’

‘Good luck!’ Nick flashed a final quick grin, and Gus watched the boy dashing across the grass beneath the pines, dark hair lifting in the breeze, school bag bumping against his hip, and he felt, for a fleeting moment, as if he’d known his son all his life.

Then reality returned like a fist in his guts. He’d been deprived of this fabulous feeling, deprived for the past eleven and a half years.

Freya’s concentration was shot to pieces. Gus had phoned to say that he’d hired a car and was driving to Dirranvale for blood tests, X-rays and scans and, although she went through the motions of her normal everyday activities—opening the gallery, smiling at visitors who wandered in, checking mail, answering phone calls—her mind was at the hospital.

She’d been there so many times with Nick and she could picture exactly what Gus was going through—sitting patiently, or perhaps impatiently, on those hard metal seats outside X-ray, then having to change into one of the awful gaping hospital gowns. Afterwards, going on to Pathology to be stuck with needles.

The thought kept her dancing on a knife-edge between hope and fear. This morning, Nick had been so excited, so certain that his dad would save him. He had all his faith pinned on this. And of course she was hoping too…

Even though Nick wasn’t in immediate danger, he was on a national waiting list and they’d been assured there would be a donor match out there, but she knew they all, including Gus, wanted him to be the one who gave.

The tissue match had to be perfect, however, so wasn’t it foolish to build up too much hope?

She must have whispered good luck to Gus at least a thousand times this morning.

When she wasn’t doing that, she was thinking about last night and the way Gus had held her wrist and looked at her…She kept seeing the dark shimmer of emotion in his eyes…

The memory filled her head and how crazy was that, to be obsessed by such a teensy, short-lived moment?

It was nothing.

No.

It was something. There’d definitely been something happening when Gus had touched her skin…intensity in his face that couldn’t be ignored. He’d looked that way all those years ago…on so many occasions during their perfect summer.

Thinking about that summer, Freya found herself drawn into a web of memories…beginning with the first time Gus had asked her out, when he invited her to be his partner at their senior formal.

She could recall every detail of that afternoon in their last year of high school…

Wednesdays always finished with double history, one of the few classes Freya shared with Gus. And on that particular mid-week afternoon he spoke to her just outside the school gate.

Her heart started a drum roll the minute she saw him standing there and realised he was waiting for her.

She’d been hopelessly smitten from the day Gus arrived at their school two years earlier, but she’d been quite stupidly shy around him and, as Gus had been rather shy too, they’d hardly spoken.

Oh, there’d been a little flirting…and a lot of smiling…but he’d been caught up with his surfing, his football and his studies, and he’d never asked her out on a date. As far as Freya knew, Gus hadn’t taken any girl out and there were plenty of girls who’d been hoping.

But, on that special afternoon, he approached her with endearing nervousness.

‘Hey, Freya?’

‘Hey.’ She’d tried to sound casual, as if this wasn’t a big deal, like maybe the biggest deal of her life to date…

‘I was wondering…if you have a partner for the formal.’

‘Um…no, I haven’t.’ Oh, God. Her knees were shaking. ‘Not yet.’

Mel Crane shuffled past and sent them a goofy grin.

Gus scowled at him, then offered Freya a shy tilted smile. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.’

‘Um.’ Her tongue was suddenly paralysed. Speak, simpleton! ‘Yes,’ she managed at last.

‘Yes?’ Seemed he was about as inarticulate as she was. Why did he look so disbelieving? As if she wouldn’t jump at the chance? His shock gave her courage.

‘Yes, Gus, I’d really like to go to the formal with you.’

‘Sweet.’ He was smiling properly now, smiling fully at her in a way that was a little short of dazzling. ‘Terrific. I don’t know any details yet, about what time I’ll pick you up or anything.’

‘That’s OK. There’s no rush.’ She smiled at him bravely. ‘Thanks, Gus.’

He walked with her then for three blocks, and she wasn’t sure that her feet were touching the ground. They talked about their history teacher, about their friends, about surfing…

When they reached The Esplanade they said goodbye. Their houses were at opposite ends of the Bay.

Oh, man. Freya rushed home to Poppy, bursting with excitement.

And, immediately, she met her first hurdle.

Poppy didn’t like the idea of her only daughter going out with a football jock. Weren’t they all smart-mouthed thugs? Wasn’t there a nice boy Freya could go with? Someone more artistic and sensitive?

Naturally, Freya insisted that Gus was nice. He wasn’t just good at football; he was practically top of their class. He was lovely, and she was going with him or with no one.

When Poppy finally, but unhappily, acquiesced, they moved on to the Battle of The Dress.

‘I can do wonderful things with a sewing machine and a bucket of dye,’ Poppy suggested.

Freya was beyond horrified. She loved her mum, but she flatly refused to go to the formal dressed like a tie-dyed hippie.

‘All the other girls are getting their dresses from Mimi’s in Dirranvale. Phoebe’s mother’s even taking her to Brisbane to buy her dress.’

‘That girl’s mother never had any sense,’ Poppy muttered darkly. ‘And you know we can’t afford so much as a handkerchief from one of those fancy salons.’

‘That’s OK. I’ll earn all the money I need.’

‘How?’

‘I’ll sell aromatherapy candles at the markets.’

Poppy rolled her eyes. She’d gone through her ‘market phase’, as she called it. She’d sold handmade soaps and candles and jewellery and she’d made quite good money, but she hated the long hours of constant toil that were required to replenish her stocks week after week, and she’d opted for a part-time job caring for seedlings at a local plant nursery instead.

Freya, however, was determined. She went with her best friend Jane and Jane’s mother to Mimi’s in Dirranvale and she fell in love with a most divine off-the-shoulder dress and put it on lay-by. Then she gathered used jars from all her neighbours’ households and spent hours in the evenings melting wax and adding essential oils and wicks, then decorating the candle jars with silver and gold calligraphy pens.

For a month she spent every weekend doing the rounds of the craft markets in the local seaside towns. She was exhausted, especially as she had to catch the bus back and forth, and she had to burn the metaphorical candle at both ends, sitting up till midnight to finish her homework.

But it was worth it. She’d earned enough to buy her dream dress from Mimi’s, as well as divine shoes that were dainty enough to make Cinderella jealous, and there was money left over for a trip to the hairdresser and a French manicure.

On the night of the formal, Freya slipped into the soft misty-blue chiffon dress that everyone said matched her eyes perfectly. And she felt—amazing!

Gus arrived at her door with a corsage and he looked all kinds of perfect—so tall and dark and handsome in his black tuxedo that Freya thought she might die and go straight to heaven.

And that was before they danced, touching each other for the very first time.

Chapter Six

WALKING home with Gus that night was even more sensational than dancing with him. They had to go all the way along the beachfront because Poppy’s house was at the far end of the Bay, and it was Freya who suggested they should take off their shoes and walk on the sand.

Gus agreed with gratifying enthusiasm, and they left their shoes beside a pile of rocks. Gus shoved Freya’s evening bag into his trouser pocket and rolled up the bottoms of his trousers, while Freya scooped up the hem of her dress in one hand, leaving her other hand free to hold his. Bliss City!

If there were other couples on the beach that night, they stayed well in the shadows and Freya and Gus felt quite alone as they strolled hand in hand on the edge of the sand beneath a high, clear sky blazing with stars.

Freya could have stayed out all night. She’d never felt so happy, so unbelievably alive. She kept wanting to turn to look at Gus. To stare at his gorgeousness. There were so many things she loved about the way he looked—his dark hair with the bit that flopped forward, his deep-set dark eyes, his strong, intelligent profile, his broad shoulders, his long legs, his sturdy hands.

Then there came that moment, the moment when Gus let go of her hand and touched the back of her neck.

Freya usually wore her hair down, but that night it was swept up by the hairdresser into a romantic knot.

‘Did you know you have the most gorgeous skin right here?’

The feel of Gus’s fingers on her nape made her want to curl into his arms.

‘I sit behind you in History,’ he said. ‘And your hair falls forward, and I spend hours admiring the back of your neck.’

‘So that’s why I get better marks than you in History.’

‘Could be.’ His fingers stroked just below her hairline. ‘I love this bit just here.’

And while she was melting from the touch of his fingers, he touched his lips to her neck.

Freya was shaking. His gentleness was excruciating. She bowed her head, exposing her skin in a silent appeal, begging for more. The touch of his lips on the curve of her neck made her ache deep inside, made her want to cry and to laugh, to dance, to lie down in the shallows.

Then Gus kissed her lips.

Of course it was late when they finally reached her house, especially as they forgot their shoes and had to go back to search for them, and it took ages to remember which pile of rocks they’d left them beside. They were laughing, giggling like children, drunk with happiness.

Gus kissed her again on the front steps. He was still kissing her when Poppy flung the front door open, letting bright light spill over them, and making them blink.

Arms akimbo, her mother glared at Gus.

‘Freya should have been home hours ago. Who do you think you are, coming down here and making all sorts of assumptions about my daughter?’

To his credit, Gus was very restrained and polite, but he left in a hurry. It was Freya who lost her cool, later, after he’d gone.

‘How could you be so mean, Mum? We were only kissing. Why did you have to be so awful to Gus?’

‘I don’t trust him, or any of that snobby lot up on the hill.’ Poppy picked up the damp hem of Freya’s dress and frowned elaborately at the clinging grains of sand.

‘Well, I trust him, and surely that’s what counts?’

It was an argument that came back to bite Freya four months later, at the end of the summer, after Gus had already left for university in Brisbane and she missed her period.

Now, Freya was so lost in the mists of the past that when the bell at the front door rang, letting her know that yet another visitor had come into the gallery, she didn’t look up. Most people liked to be left to wander about looking at paintings without being observed, and she wasn’t in the mood for an exchange of happy banter with a tourist.

When a shadow fell over her desk, she realised she was out of luck. She looked up and heat rushed into her face. ‘Gus!’

Gus’s heart was pounding, actually pounding. As he’d walked into The Driftwood Gallery, he’d seen Freya sitting at the pale timber desk in the corner. She had her back to him and she was wearing jeans and a grey knitted top that shouldn’t have looked sexy, but it was soft and it clung lovingly to her shoulders before falling loosely to her hips, and somehow it managed to look incredibly feminine.

She was leaning forward so that her hair, light brown and streaked with gold, parted like a curtain to show a V of smooth, pale skin on her neck. And suddenly he was remembering every detail of falling in love with Freya Jones and the heady, blinding happiness of that magical summer.

Their summer.

To his dismay, he felt the sting of tears and he found himself recalling all the silly nicknames Freya had given him—Huggy Bear, Hot Stuff, Angel Eyes.

Her favourite had been Sugar Lips, while he’d simply called her Floss.

Memories pulled at him as he approached her desk but, when she looked up, he saw shock in her eyes and then unmistakable fear, and their happy past disintegrated like a jigsaw puzzle breaking up into a thousand separate scattered pieces.

Gus was wrenched back into the present in all its unhappy complexity.

‘Hi,’ he said, forcing the breezy greeting past the constriction in his throat. Freya’s smoky blue eyes were so clouded with worry that he tried to cheer her with a joke. ‘I’ve finally escaped from the evil clutches of the vampire.’

‘The vampire?’ She looked more worried than ever.

‘Hasn’t Nick mentioned her?’

‘No.’

Damn. Gus grimaced.

‘I thought you were at the hospital. What are you talking about?’

‘I have been at the hospital,’ he assured her. ‘Every one of my vital organs has been X-rayed and scanned from every conceivable angle, and I’ve given vast quantities of blood.’

‘Oh. Is that the vampire connection?’

‘Yeah. Bad joke. But you can blame Nick. He told me about the vampire nurse when he called in this morning on his way to school.’

‘Really?’ Freya was on her feet, twisting a locket at her throat with anxious fingers.

‘I’m so glad Nick called in to see me, Freya. He came to thank me, and it meant a lot. He’s a great kid. You must be proud of him.’

She showed no sign that his words reassured her. She looked distressed and rubbed at her temple, as if her head ached. ‘Nick didn’t tell me he was going to see you.’

‘Well, I think he felt bad about yesterday’s reception. And he’s entitled to see me. I’m his father, after all.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She was still frowning and not looking at him.

Gus’s jaw tightened. If Freya was going to be a dog in the manger about their son, she’d have a fight on her hands.

‘So what will you do now the tests are out of the way?’ she asked. ‘Will you fly straight back to the Northern Territory?’

‘Why?’ he asked coldly. ‘Are you keen to be rid of me?’

‘No. But you said you had commitments.’

‘I don’t want to rush away till I’ve had a chance to get to know Nick.’

Freya regarded him thoughtfully. ‘But you do know it will be a week or more before we get the results?’

‘A week, Freya? What’s a week when you’ve had Nick for more than eleven years? Don’t you understand that I need a chance to get to know my son?’

‘Yes, of course I understand that. I’m sorry.’ She looked as if she might weep.

‘They’re giving Nick’s case priority,’ he said in a more conciliatory tone. ‘So we might hear quite soon.’

‘That’s good news, at least.’

Gus glanced at his wristwatch. ‘It won’t be too long before school’s out and I thought Nick might like to come swimming with me this afternoon.’

‘Oh?’

‘I won’t keep him too long. I know he has homework.’ He frowned at Freya. ‘Nick does swim, doesn’t he?’

‘Of course. He’s like me. He loves the water.’

Out of nowhere, something about the soft, vulnerable droop of her lower lip triggered a memory for Gus. Damn it. He was recalling a folk song he’d heard years ago, a song about a forsaken mermaid.

He’d only heard it a couple of times—once at an outdoor folk festival and once on the radio—but each time the lament about a lost and heartsick mermaid had drenched him with memories of Freya.

For days afterwards, the memories had haunted him. He’d only shaken them off, eventually, by convincing himself that Freya Jones had moved on with her life just as he had. But how could he have guessed that she hadn’t settled down with some lucky man? How could he have dreamed there was a child, a living connection that would link him to her for ever?

Perhaps it was because of the memory that he said, ‘Freya, you’re welcome to come swimming with us, if you like.’

‘I…I can’t go. I’ve got a gallery to look after.’

Gus looked about him at the empty rooms and the walls filled with artwork. He lifted an eyebrow in a silent question.

‘I know it doesn’t look very busy at the moment,’ she said, reading his thoughts. ‘But you never know who might drop in. I can’t close on a whim.’

‘Pity.’ He let his gaze travel over the colourful walls. ‘You have some great paintings here.’

‘Yes, I’ve been lucky.’ Freya moved into the centre of the room, looking about her with evident satisfaction. ‘I’ve managed to capture quite a bit of interest in this little gallery. It’s developed a reputation and people are starting to come here from all over Australia. Now I have top artists asking me if they can hang their work here. It used to be the other way round.’

‘That’s quite an achievement,’ Gus said, genuinely impressed.

She nodded, smiling, unable to hide her satisfaction.

‘So are any of these paintings yours?’

‘Yes.’ Freya lifted a hand, about to point out her work.

‘Hang on,’ Gus said. ‘Let’s see if I can find yours.’ After finding Nick in a tribe of similarly dressed footballers, he was feeling a tad smug.

Now, with vague memories of the sketches that Freya had drawn twelve years ago, Gus began to wander the rooms checking out the landscapes, seascapes, vibrant arrangements of tropical flowers and fruit, portraits, abstracts…

Freya stood watching him with her lips curled in a small smile and her eyes sparkling with an I dare you gleam.

It wasn’t long before Gus was forced to admit defeat. He sent her an apologetic grin. ‘I give up. These all look really good to me, but none of them screams you.’ He made a circling gesture to the paintings all around him. ‘I have to say, if you’ve painted any of these, you’ve improved a hell of a lot since high school.’

‘I should jolly well hope so.’ Smiling archly, she came and stood beside him, arms folded over her front. ‘Just out of interest, which paintings do you like? Which ones appeal to you most?’

He must have looked anxious because Freya laughed. ‘This isn’t a trick question, Gus. I’m not going to slash my wrists if you don’t pick mine. I’m just curious.’

‘I’m no expert.’

‘I know that.’

His gaze flickered over the fruit and flowers, paused briefly on a bright, daring landscape with sand and palm trees, then on to a realistic seascape with waves crashing onto rocks. He stopped at a piece that seemed to be a collage of watercolours and paper of varying textures. It was beautiful and incredibly clever—the sort of thing he would buy for a woman, the sort of thing he should have bought for Monique, perhaps.

He moved onto an abstract with stripes in browns and ochres overlaid with splashes of charcoal and crimson. ‘If I was buying something for myself, I would probably choose this one,’ he said, pointing.

Freya nodded. ‘That’s a Carl Barrow.’ She smiled. ‘You have good taste. It’s probably the most expensive painting here.’

‘Really?’ He pointed to the collage. ‘What about that one? It’s beautiful.’

‘That’s one of mine,’ she said, turning pink.

‘Wow.’ Genuinely excited, he moved closer. ‘I really like the way you’ve grouped everything and the combination of colours. It’s incredibly pleasing to the eye. Intricate without being cluttered.’ He turned to her, beaming. ‘Floss, you’re brilliant.’

‘Well, thank you, sir.’

She was blushing prettily and her eyes were glowing with pleasure and he wanted to kiss her so badly he couldn’t breathe.

Instead, he found himself saying, ‘Why don’t

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