Seventeen
Fiona stood motionless as the metal hasp scraped against wood, the lock clicking into place with a finality that echoed the sudden fracture of her world.
Until two months ago, Ru had been her business partner, her confidant, her lover .
.. the man whose heartbeat she’d known as intimately as her own.
Now he was suspected of a crime she could scarcely comprehend.
Her mind churned like a turbulent sea, memories colliding.
Fragments of shared dreams, tender moments and professional ambitions, all splintered by nagging questions: Was Ru connected to the missing wine?
How could she have been so spectacularly wrong?
Her ability to read people, once a point of professional pride, now felt like a cruel joke.
It couldn’t be Ru, could it? He was a success story.
He had secured substantial financial backing for a new restaurant, and the success of the Fork her patience was fraying with each new table she greeted.
‘Table 3’s asking for another bottle of Chablis,’ called Rose, giving her a look that was both sympathetic and exasperated.
Today, worry shadowed Rose’s usually serene face.
The missing wine bottles were festering in both of their minds, and although Rose hadn’t said it aloud, Fiona could tell her boss was itching to confront Ru.
Fiona crossed to Table 3, where four couples were crammed together. She wasn’t surprised they needed another bottle. Fiona filled a tray with the empty glasses, acknowledging the two customers still drinking. ‘I’ll bring clean ones for the new bottle.’
That was one of her golden rules. Each bottle of fine wine was unique. She wouldn’t risk mixing the fresh wine with the old.
Balancing the tray carefully, she wove between tables. The scent of rich food tangled with the salt air, setting her stomach rumbling. She hadn’t been able to eat anything; not since that ghastly discovery in the cellar.
Just as she approached the bar, Kim brushed by, her shoulder nudging Fiona’s arm and tilting the tray dangerously. Fiona steadied it, her fingers tightening around a glass, while Kim flashed her a tight smile.
‘Careful, there,’ Kim said with mock concern, placing a sugar bowl down at the next table.
‘Wouldn’t want you dropping anything.’ Her tone was light, almost singsong, but there was a glint in her eye that made Fiona’s cheeks flush.
She bit her lip, swallowing down a retort.
Kim was all silky words and soft smiles with customers and the other staff.
With Fiona though, Kim’s words often carried an edge.
A family at a corner table flagged Kim down and she immediately turned around, smiling and chatting with them effortlessly.
Fiona watched for a moment, sensing the knot of frustration tighten.
Kim’s soft voice drifted across the room as she laughed at a customer’s joke.
The warmth she projected was almost convincing enough for Fiona to doubt herself.
But she could still feel the cold of Kim’s shoulder brushing past her, her voice echoing in her head, taunting, and then Kim’s gaze met hers over the heads of the diners, and Fiona saw that flash again – the barely concealed smirk, gone in an instant, but enough to remind her that there was something Kim was reserving just for her.
A loud crash echoed from the bar, followed by a muttered curse from Rose.
Fiona turned, catching sight of her boss wiping down the counter with jerky, irritated motions.
That was a second glass shattered. Rose was clearly rattled: she rarely broke things.
Trying to shake off a sense of unease, Fiona, accompanied by Rose, went to fetch the wine for Table 3 from the cellar.
Fiona couldn’t stop thinking about the missing wine.
She must warn Ru that he was a suspect. She owed him that much. But when would she catch him alone?
The autumn sun hung low, its pale honey light gilding the crests of the waves.
Fiona squinted against the soft glare, the breeze tangling her fair hair as she adjusted the rope tethering her ankle to the board.
The sand was cold beneath her bare feet and scattered with shells and dry seaweed that crunched softly when stepped on.
She glanced at her ‘instructor’ – or at least that was how she’d described Josh in her head.
‘You ready to get wet?’ he asked, his accent lilting and warm.
Fiona forced a smile. ‘Sure.’ She gripped the waxy surface of the foam board, its bright yellow colour an almost cartoonish contrast to the muted blues and greens of the sea.
Her stomach was roiling with nerves, or the lingering ache of love for Ru.
It didn’t matter which. Today was about distractions and Josh was a distraction wrapped in an Aussie drawl and taut muscles.
They waded into the water. The first icy wave splashed against her thighs, and she sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Bloody cold,’ she muttered.
Josh chuckled close behind her. ‘It’s bracing. Good for the soul.’
The waves tugged at her hips and her skin prickled with goosebumps as the wetsuit clung tighter to her body. Josh moved alongside her, his arm brushing hers as he steadied her on the board. She wasn’t sure she needed the help, but he lingered, his hand resting a beat too long on her waist.
‘Alright, now lie flat on your tummy,’ he said, his voice soft yet insistent.
She obeyed, feeling the slick chill of the board beneath her.
Josh crouched beside her in the shallows, his hands running lightly over her hands.
‘When you see the wave coming, you paddle like mad. Then pop up quick, yeah? Here, I’ll show you. ’
His hands guided her arms. His breath smelled faintly of coffee and saltwater, warm against her cheek as he leaned in to demonstrate. Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t pull away. She had to move on from Ru. She had to.
The ocean roared around them, waves breaking with hissing foam.
She caught a faint whiff of something earthy and familiar, carried on the breeze – the scent of wood smoke evoking a memory of her and Ru sitting in front of a log fire grilling sardines on a beach in Portugal.
She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on Josh’s voice.
‘Now paddle!’
She did as instructed, her arm muscles straining against the resistance of the water.
A swell lifted the board, and she wobbled upright, balancing precariously as the wave propelled her toward the shore feeling a brief thrill of triumph before the inevitable tumble.
The salt water rushed into her nose and mouth as she crashed.
Spluttering, she surfaced, pushing her wet hair from her face. Through stinging eyes, she spotted a figure on the shore, silhouetted against the sun. Ru.
Her breath caught. He stood still, arms crossed, watching her. Watching them .