bet it did,’ Ryan said.
Laura didn’t need to look at him to know that his face would be the picture of disbelief at Father Grant’s kind words. She kept her head down as she picked at a flake of old paint on the tabletop.
‘Our Laura is involved with numerous community projects,’ Father Grant continued. ‘She is President of the PTA and a volunteer firefighter, as well as infamous for undercharging for catering every event we throw in town. I don’t know what we would do without her. Or little Chloe. They are family to all of us. We’ve just up and adopted them since Laura’s dear father passed—haven’t we, Laura?’
‘Of course, Father Grant. You’re the best.’
‘Now, I’d better be off. Enjoy your meal.’ He shot them a parting smile and Laura let out a shaky breath, thankful she had not had to introduce her companion.
‘He seemed nice,’ Ryan said. ‘He certainly had a lot of good things to say about you.’
Laura brushed the praise away. ‘Mr Gasper, if we keep beating around the bush like this I am likely to explode on the spot. Mr Gasper—’
‘Call me Ryan, please.’
There was something in his voice, something low and intimate, that had her forgetting what she had been talking about in the first place. ‘I just…’ She took a moment to swallow. ‘I know that this moment had to come. I only wonder why, seven years after the fact, that silly little letter of mine has sent you out looking for us.’
‘I only just found your letter, Laura,’ he explained. ‘A couple of days ago. As the fates would have it, your letter never came to our attention at the time in which you sent it.’
Oh, God! Had they truly never known about her? About Chloe? She had never, not even once, thought that might be the reason why they had not come looking for her.
‘I’m back in Australia for an extended stay for the first time in years,’ he continued. ‘At my family’s request I have been cleaning up Will’s effects. Seven years having passed since Will…died, no financial records need be kept any more. I discovered your letter unopened in amongst the great host of condolence letters.’
‘Unopened?’ Laura repeated, still coming to terms with Ryan’s bombshell.
‘At the time, my family received so many condolence letters—from friends, acquaintances, readers of my sister’s magazine, fans of my parents’ documentary films, even many of your neighbours. My family read as many as they could, but after a couple of weeks found they couldn’t keep up. It was too much. Too hard. In the end they posted a half-page thank-you note in the Australian newspaper to all who had Will in their thoughts.’
Laura noticed Ryan’s dulcet voice was unnaturally even. Though he held eye contact with her the whole time, the poor man was struggling just as she was with the situation. Nevertheless, she fought back the desire to take his fisted hand in hers, to unpeel his tightly clenched fingers and rub some warmth back into them.
‘Mum and Dad went back to Brunei to finish the film they were working on,’ he said. ‘Jen was already back on a musical tour of the United States. And Sam had just had her second child and couldn’t cope with the task. All of Will’s correspondence was forwarded to our family accountant, who kept on track with bills and tax correspondence, and simply filed everything else. When cleaning out the files this week I found one folder with several unopened letters. Including yours.’
Laura realised he hadn’t included himself in the list of people available to read the letters and look after the formalities. Where had he been when his family had needed him? she wondered. Why hadn’t he been at the funeral? But she heard the steady thread of regret in his voice that he was trying so hard to mask. So she let it go. ‘And…and your family?’ she asked, when she found her voice again. ‘Your sisters and parents? Do they know about me?’
‘Only Sam. She was with me when I found your letter, and would have come too if not for having three kids under ten herself. As to the others, no. Not yet. We thought it better to find out if you had—’
He stopped, and for the first time was discomfited enough to look away.
‘If I had gone through with the pregnancy?’ she finished for him, biting down the bitter taste the very thought brought. But it wasn’t his fault. He was only being honest. ‘And now that you know that I did?’
He looked back at her, the deep, steady blue gaze creating patches of warmth on her skin wherever it touched.
‘Well, now I think it would be best for Chloe to get used to me first,’ he said, ‘before the whole Gasper gang descends upon her. We can be formidable as a united front.’
A tiny portion of the tension in Laura’s shoulders eased. Surely, if that was his ultimate plan, he would have brought the might of the Gasper clan down on her with a vengeance? It seemed there was a streak of compassion within the self-assured outer shell.
The bell over the door jingled as a group of chattering women in pirate garb jumbled into the restaurant. Their beady, kohl-smudged eyes searched the restaurant.
Ryan felt the chance to get to his own questions slipping away. Somehow, with her smoky eyes and bold honesty, her bare feet and knee-high boots, her glossy curls and red bandana, she had managed again and again to keep the conversation as one-sided as she pleased. She had found out his side of the story and he still knew nothing of hers. He wondered if it was entirely accidental, or whether, despite all her I really want you to meet Chloe promises, she would be happier if that never eventuated at all.
‘That lot are looking for me,’ Laura said. ‘I’m sorry to leave this hanging mid-air, but I do have to go.’
She stood, and he grabbed her hand. ‘So when do I get to meet her?’ he asked.
Laura stared at their entwined fingers for a few moments before her glittery golden eyes swung to face him, her head cocked to one side.
‘Chloe,’ he clarified. ‘When do I get to meet her properly? I hoped that was what this secret meeting was all about.’
‘Half the town is at this restaurant, Mr Gasper,’ she said. ‘This meeting is hardly a secret.’ He knew then that she was wilfully misunderstanding him. Her obstructiveness was no accident. Behind the pretty eyes, this woman’s mind had not stopped ticking all night.
If he could figure a way through her labyrinthine thinking, maybe he would end up on her side rather than three steps behind. At least now he knew what made the Upper Gum Tree Hotel at six o’clock on a Sunday night so special. She’d figured that if he was going to make demands, she would have half the town as witnesses.
‘Well, obviously my presence here is not a secret. Why else would I have had people lining up to give you glowing testimonials?’
She made to protest, then seemed to realise what Father Grant’s speech had been about. So that at least hadn’t been her doing. A soft blush crept across her cheeks—a pretty blush, seriously becoming, distracting enough for him to forget what he was accusing her of in the first place. ‘That had nothing to with me,’ she said, giving his hand a light tug. ‘Though I have some idea who to blame.’
Realising her hand was still in his, he let go, the feel of smooth skin slipping across his palm momentarily unsettling. Enough! he scolded himself. He stood, determined to get them back on an even footing.
‘It’s a meeting secreted away from the one person for whom the meeting is most important,’ he said, his voice stern and implacable. ‘Make a time. Set a date. Now. Or I may decide not to believe all your promises that you do want me to meet Chloe. How about tomorrow morning?’
She blinked, and he saw the moment her ticking mind switched into overdrive. ‘Tomorrow is Monday. She has school.’
‘What about after school?’
‘Pony club. Then violin practice.’
Violin.