Chapter 44
CHAPTER
On Saturday, Amy’s mother finds me a parking spot at the carpark of her inner-city apartment.
From there, it’s only a ten-minute walk to the harbourside boutique hotel where the engagement party will be held.
Even so, my shoes are nipping at my heels by the time Matilda and I walk into the building.
Matilda looks pretty in Amy’s pink dress, but fiddles with the shoulder straps.
‘Let’s have a look.’ I position her in front of me, take the ribbon from my ponytail and thread it through the straps at the back of the dress before tying it in a bow. ‘That’s better.’
Smiling gratefully, Matilda smooths the skirt. ‘Amy is getting breasts and I’m not.’
‘I was the same at your age.’
‘Sorry to take your ribbon.’
‘All good.’ When I blow an upwards breath, my fringe lifts off my forehead. ‘It’s humid.’
‘Jane Austen would say we’re glowing.’
‘That’s a nice way of putting it.’
‘When you’re not working, you should wear dresses.’
I smooth my pale blue dress in the way she smoothed her pink one. ‘Not too short?’
‘Amy’s mum said she’d kill to have legs like yours.’ Tilting her head to the side, Matilda considers my legs. ‘To me, they’re just legs.’
We’re about to take the wide granite staircase when Sebastien, dressed formally in dark pants and jacket and a white shirt, walks towards us. His hair is short—brutally short. He has shadows under his eyes and his cheekbones are sharp.
Images flash through my mind. The blood on the floor of the mess. His freezing hands. Slurred speech and scattered thoughts on the ship and in the hospital. Now I can breathe again, I desperately want to cry.
When he reaches us, he nods. ‘Felicity.’
‘Sebastien.’
His gaze softens when he turns to Matilda. He holds out his hand. ‘Sebastien Thorsen.’
‘Matilda Atherton.’ Matilda takes his hand and shakes vigorously. ‘How is your arm?’
‘Good enough to shake hands.’
‘Whoops!’
An almost smile. ‘It’s good to meet you.’
‘You look like your brother Kit.’
‘I am taller.’
She grins. ‘Maybe, maybe not.’
Sebastien, chestnut eyes dark, turns back to me. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. How are you?’
‘Well.’
Even Matilda squirms at the awkwardness. After looking from Sebastien to me and back to Sebastien, she takes the lead.
‘You’ve finished the Flamethrower series, haven’t you? What are you reading now?’
‘Dragon’s Lair. Another fantasy.’
‘I haven’t read that. What do you think of it?’
‘I might not finish it.’
‘What page are you up to?’
‘Ninety-two.’
‘You’ve given it a fair go. Why don’t you like it?’
‘There are no dragons yet.’
Matilda laughs. ‘That’s not a reason!’
Sebastien smiles. ‘What are you reading?’
‘Jo Riccione’s Branded series.’
I tap Matilda’s foot with mine. ‘Is that age appropriate?’
Matilda nods briskly before turning back to Sebastien. ‘When me and Flicka walked in, we were glowing like Elinor and Marianne. You liked Sense and Sensibility, didn’t you?’
‘I preferred Persuasion.’
‘Flick! Seb! Tilly!’ Angelina, dressed in a silky black and cream dress that puddles on the top two stairs, calls out. ‘Why are you taking so long?’
When we reach the top of the stairs, Nate hugs me and then Sebastien. He beams at Matilda. ‘It’s so great to meet you.’
‘There are a lot of people here,’ she says.
The bar area has panoramic views of the Opera House. ‘What a wonderful view.’
‘A stage for my bowerbird.’ Angelina winks as she hands me a glass of sparkling wine.
When Sebastien asks Matilda what she’d like to drink, she can’t make up her mind, so he asks her if she’d like to come with him to the bar. They talk intensely, presumably about books, all the way there and all the way back. Matilda’s drink is pink and frothy.
‘What is that?’ Angelina asks.
‘It’s from a Norwegian recipe,’ Matilda says. ‘How do you pronounce it again?’
‘Gl?gg,’ Sebastien says. ‘Apple juice, not wine.’
‘Seb Thorsen?’ A very attractive woman with long dark hair and a crimson dress places a beautifully manicured hand on Sebastien’s arm.
‘We have a mutual acquaintance in Per Amundsen, who I worked with on a Polar Institute fundraising event. Would you have time to meet next week? I have contacts you might be interested in for your current project.’
‘I’m going away for a few days.’ Sebastien glances at me. ‘Back on Wednesday.’
‘I’ll be in touch again.’ A brilliant smile. ‘In the meantime, could I steal you away? I have a colleague from the World Wildlife Fund who’d love to meet you.’
Sebastien doesn’t look overjoyed to leave Matilda, but after he’s joined the group of women and men, his smile quotient ratchets up. Whenever our eyes meet, one or the other of us looks away.
Angelina introduces me to Golden, fair haired, very pretty, and around thirty centimetres shorter than her sister.
‘Flick and Tilly ride horses too,’ Angelina says with a smile. ‘Be back soon.’
Golden puffs out a breath. ‘How does my sister know so many people?’
‘To know Angelina is to love her.’
‘She had a hundred and fifty RSVPs but was hanging out for yours.’
I look around. ‘I’m not used to parties like this.’
‘I do my best to avoid them too.’
When a tall and extremely good-looking, dark-haired man puts his arm around Golden’s waist, she leans against him.
‘Kjaereste.’ He looks at her with concern before smiling at Matilda and me.
‘Flick and Matilda Atherton, this is my husband, Tor Amundsen.’
‘A lady over there said that she knows Per Amundsen,’ Matilda says.
‘Do you know of him?’
‘Everybody knows Per Amundsen.’ Matilda grins. ‘You two look the same.’
‘I’m five minutes older,’ Tor says mock seriously. ‘Also, I’m far more friendly than my brother, who was invited but hasn’t showed up. Would you and Flick like to join Golden and me at our table?’
‘Feel free to say no if you want to mingle.’ Golden looks at us apologetically. ‘I shouldn’t have ridden so far today.’
‘Did you hurt your leg?’ Matilda asks.
‘A long time ago.’
Angelina is pulling people onto the dance floor when Tor crouches by Golden’s chair and eases off her shoe. She’s clearly in pain, but as he massages her calf before gently rotating her ankle, they exchange a look of understanding and intimacy and—
‘Tilly!’
Immediately Amy and her mother arrive, Matilda and Amy skirt around the increasingly jocular guests to race across the dance floor to the canape table. By the time we’ve rounded them up and I’ve kissed Matilda goodbye, it’s almost nine o’clock.
I’m on my way to farewell Angelina and Nate when Sebastien intercepts me. He holds out a hand.
‘Dance with me.’
I link my hands. ‘I should have said sorry in person and I didn’t. I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘Everything.’
‘I should have said please dance with me, and I didn’t.’
‘Why do you want to dance?’
‘Matilda said we should.’
‘She doesn’t understand.’
‘Neither do you.’ There’s a challenge in his eyes, but something else as well. I’m trying to work out what that is when our fingers tangle. One of my hands in his, another on his chest. His scent is heady and heartbreaking all at once. The song is slow and melancholy. Adele.
‘You’ve lost weight. Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘I passed the physical. I can go back.’
‘To flying?’
‘The air force wants that.’
I look at other couples on the dance floor. Smiling. Celebrating. Singing along. ‘How much longer on the Antarctica project?’
Sebastien’s breath is warm on my cheek. ‘A few months.’
His heart pounds against my palm. When we turn, one of his legs slides between mine.
His cheek brushes my temple and my heart flips.
Ever since we met, we’ve been dancing around each other.
He was infuriating. Then he wasn’t. Then he was.
Then he wasn’t. I want to sleep with him again.
I want to wake up in his arms. How long will he stay?
The woman with the crimson dress floats past. A different song starts up. A cheer from the bar. Heart skittering, I twist out of Sebastien’s arms and weave around the dancers to escape. I’m hot. Then cold. My hands are shaking.
Angelina, standing at the bar, blows a kiss in goodbye and Nate lifts a hand.
Sebastien, grim and silent, catches up and walks by my side down the stairs. When we reach the foyer, I turn and face him.
‘I have to get back to Tilly.’
‘You’re running away.’
My nails dig into my palms. ‘I got used to not seeing you and not waiting for your calls.’
‘I didn’t get used to it.’
‘I can’t go back.’
He rubs around his neck. ‘Robin told me about your mother. She said to give you time.’
My eyes prickle. ‘You and me, it couldn’t work.’
He lifts a hand to push back his hair even though it’s so short he doesn’t need to do that any more. Music thumps in the background. ‘Lady in Red’. Where is the woman in the crimson dress? If she claimed him, if he claimed her, this would be easier.
‘Your life is complicated, mine is simple.’
‘You don’t know me.’
My chest aches. My heart hurts. I love you. Will that do?
His shutters come down and he steps back. ‘I’ll go.’
Right now, more than anything else in the whole wide world, I want him to stay. Does that mean something? It must. But by the time I find my voice, he’s walking away.
‘Sebastien!’
He stops and turns. Nods like we’re strangers. ‘If you want to see me, call.’
A shudder. A sob too big to swallow. As Sebastien reaches the door, a tall slender man blocks his path.
He puts his hand on Sebastien’s shoulder as he talks.
Sebastien nods stiffly in response and then, back ramrod straight, walks onto the concourse.
Opera House to the right. City to the left. Circular Quay straight ahead.
My phone buzzes. Matilda.
I hope you’re having fun!
The concourse is flooded with people. After scrabbling in my bag for a tissue, I stand on my toes to search for Sebastien and—
‘Excuse me?’ The man who talked to Sebastien has an angular face, short grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard. ‘May I be of assistance?’ he asks.
His accent is similar to Sebastien’s but more distinct. He even said ‘may’ like Sebastien does. He’d be in his late sixties.
‘I’m okay.’ The tissue is sodden, but I wipe my eyes again. ‘Thank you anyway.’
He looks towards the staircase. ‘I’m late.’
‘You know Angelina and Nate?’
‘My son does.’
‘Are you Hendrik Thorsen?’
‘I should have introduced myself.’ A quiet smile. ‘Are you arriving or leaving?’
‘I’m Flick. Felicity Atherton.’ Another sniff.
‘Ah …’ His eyes are a deeper shade of brown than Sebastien’s. ‘You were on Morrison Island.’
A statement, not a question.
‘I had a placement there.’
‘“Lisse.” This is what Sebastien calls you.’
‘Yes. You were with him when we talked in the hospital.’
‘He was too unwell to operate the phone. I assisted.’
‘I was afraid for him. Thank you.’
Hendrik glances towards the door. ‘His health is now good. Excellent.’
‘Sebastien wouldn’t have told you how brave he was, the way he stood in front of the gun to protect the others.’
‘I took it for granted that he would be brave. Perhaps that was wrong.’
‘You’re used to him being like that.’
‘You and Sebastien talked about books. Do you like to read?’
‘Not in the way Sebastien and my niece Matilda read.’ I don’t know this man, but I can’t stop talking. ‘Do you read?’
‘The love my father had, that I have, for literature, is a matter of amusement in my family.’ His smile is affectionate.
‘My wife and sons are better known for testing their physical abilities, so I am proud that Sebastien also enjoys books.’ Hendrik glances towards the door and back again. ‘He was upset. Do you know why?’
‘Yes, but …’ Blinking hard, I shake my head. ‘I can’t talk about it.’
He holds up his hands. ‘If you hadn’t been Sebastien’s “Lisse”, I wouldn’t have mentioned it.’
‘I’m not … I mean … We’re not in a relationship.’
‘Sebastien was too weak to speak with hospital staff, but he found the strength to speak with you.’ His frown reminds me of Sebastien’s. ‘Against medical advice, I dialled your number many, many times. You talked of birds and books.’
‘I don’t want to hurt him, Hendrik.’ I wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands. ‘I want him to be happy.’
‘I also want that.’
‘Flying and all the other things he does, they’re part of who he is.’
‘Sebastien challenges himself, this is true, but now it is different.’
‘He takes risks.’
Another gentle smile. ‘Never before like this.’
All four bedrooms in Amy’s mother’s apartment have views of the harbour.
Matilda could have had her own room or shared with Amy, but she chose to share with me.
One day she’ll be independent and fly but until that day comes, I’ll give her the support she needs.
There are two single beds in our room—king-sized extra-long single beds that make her look little.
I climb into my bed and she turns on her side to face me.
‘I thought I’d be asleep by the time you came back.’
‘We have to be up early to get you and Amy back to school.’
‘Did the makeup hurt your eyes?’
‘I think you know it didn’t.’
‘Did you like the band? Did you dance?’
‘One dance.’ I push the words through the constriction in my throat.
‘Was it with Seb?’
Never before like this. Is Sebastien vulnerable in the same ways that I am?
‘Yes, I danced with Sebastien.’
‘Would you like to live in Norway?’ Even in the dimness, it’s clear her smile is wobbly. ‘We could talk on the phone like we do now and email and—’
‘Australia is our home.’ I hold out my hand and she holds out hers and our fingertips touch. ‘Anyway, I don’t like the cold.’
‘I think you like Sebastien.’
‘I do. Very much.’
‘He likes you too.’
Sebastien said: You don’t know me. But that’s not right. I do know him. I know him well. So how could I have made so many mistakes? How could I have sent him away again?