do.’
‘But why?’ Clara asked, utterly bemused that anyone could run out on Kell. ‘Why would she leave when he was going to propose and everything?’
‘She just couldn’t deal with it,’ Ross said, tightlipped. ‘She belongs in the city—’
‘He’s coming back,’ Timothy interrupted, ‘so now might be a good time to change the subject.’
An awful silence followed as every one struggled to come up with something, until the baleful eyes that had silenced Timothy earlier begged him for help as Kell returned with a tray of beers.
‘We have pints in England!’ Timothy started, and Clara groaned into her wine at his dreadful efforts at conversation, but, as it turned out, Timothy was spot on. A lengthy discussion ensued between Kell and Timothy on the merits of pints versus schooners, warm versus icy cold and the alcohol content of either, giving the collective table enough time to exhale their held breaths and at least look as if a bombshell hadn’t been dropped.
It was a great evening.
People often wonder what committees do, how one little ball could take so many months of preparation. But all their work, all the painstaking attention to detail paid off a hundredfold as midnight struck and the lights dimmed a further notch, the bush music slowing to love ballads matching the mellower mood of the crowd.
‘What’s going on, Clara?’ Kell mumbled into his beer. ‘The Flying Doctors wouldn’t have needed an escort for Bill—you know that as well as I do. I’ve been trying to get you on your own all night to find out what’s happening. Please, Clara, I need to know.’
Blinking rapidly, trying to choose her words carefully, Clara put a tentative hand across the table, opening her mouth to speak and praying she’d say the right thing.
‘Time for that dance, I think.’ Never had Timothy’s timing been more appalling. Turning her angry eyes to him, she shook her head.
‘Not now, Timothy,’ she said, the irritation in her voice evident. Couldn’t he see this was a private conversation?
‘No excuses,’ Timothy responded cheerfully, pulling her reluctantly to her feet as Clara turned and gave an apologetic shrug to Kell.
‘Hold on a second.’ Making her way back to the table, ignoring Timothy’s obvious impatience, she met Kell’s eyes. ‘I’ll speak to you outside after this dance.’
‘What was that about?’ Timothy asked once they were on the dance floor.
‘Nothing.’ Clara shrugged, grateful the dance floor was so packed and she could bury her flaming cheeks in Timothy’s chest. She really was a useless liar.
‘Because it really wouldn’t be very sensible to tell Kell tonight.’
Startled, she looked up, surprised that he knew her secret.
‘It would probably sound better coming from Ross.’
Relief flooded her veins, pleased that he didn’t know her ulterior motives, but her relief was short-lived, turning instead into anger. She damned well wasn’t about to take advice from Timothy, he hadn’t even been in Tennengarrah a night yet. As if he knew what was best for Kell!
‘Just leave it, Timothy,’ she snapped. ‘You don’t know all that’s gone on.’
‘Keep your hair on.’
Rolling her eyes, Clara prayed the music would stop. OK, he was good-looking, funny at times and, yes, she admitted reluctantly he was a great dancer, but she hadn’t heard the saying ‘keep your hair on’ since high school and she certainly wasn’t going to let this overgrown teenager thwart her one stab at happiness tonight.
Abby had gone. Kell was devastated.
Why shouldn’t he hear the news from someone who cared?
‘Looks like they’ve made up,’ Timothy commented as Ross and Shelly floated by. Shelly’s eyes closed as she rested her head on Ross’s shoulder, a dreamy smile on her face as they drifted along out of time with the music.
‘It’s the first time I’ve heard a cross word between them,’ Clara admitted. ‘Mind you, Shelly was pretty excited about tonight, she wants the world to be as happy in love as she is.’
‘That’s a nice thing to want.’
Clara didn’t respond. Instead, she leant against Timothy, letting him lead, and perhaps for the first time that night she actually relaxed and enjoyed the fruits of the nine months of preparation that the ball had taken as she ambled along in time with the music, just enjoying the moment, enjoying the heavy throb of the bass and even revelling for a moment in the delicious spicy spell of his aftershave.
Timothy really was a good dancer, she thought almost reluctantly as the music stopped and they stood apart.
‘I love this song.’ Timothy smiled as the band started up again. ‘Can I persuade you to join me for a second dance?’
Clara hesitated. She loved this song, too, and if truth be known she’d actually enjoyed dancing with Timothy. It hadn’t been awkward like it was with some of the guys, hadn’t been the duty dance every man in Tennengarrah felt compelled to have with the trusty Clara. Timothy had actually made her feel like a woman, not some annoying little sister, but she’d promised to meet Kell.
‘Better not,’ Clara said, the reluctance in her voice surprising even herself. ‘But thanks, that was nice.’
Making her way across the room, she longed to dart into the toilet, desperate to check that she looked OK, to be sure she looked her best for the most difficult conversation of her life.
Gulping the night air into her lungs, she stared out into the darkness. The throb of music coming from the barn sounded a mile away as she stared up at the twinkling stars and begged for inspiration, her heart rate rising alarmingly as she heard heavy footsteps. Turning expectantly, forcing a smile, she stared into the darkness as he approached, not quite ready but determined not to miss her moment.
‘Timothy!’ The shock in her voice was evident. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Getting some fresh air.’ He shrugged. ‘The same as you.’
Clara raked her mind. She didn’t want to be rude, didn’t want to be obvious, and she definitely didn’t want to explain to Timothy why it was so important he left right now, but really he was leaving her with very little choice.
‘Please, Timothy,’ she started, her eyes turning frantically to the barn, her ears straining at the sound of approaching footsteps that she knew this time were definitely Kell’s. ‘I really need you to go.’
‘Why?’
‘I just do,’ Clara whispered loudly. ‘I really need to be on my own right now.’
‘No, you don’t.’
Aghast, she watched as he folded his arms and eyed her thoughtfully.
‘In fact, I’d say the best thing you could do right now is get yourself inside and have that other dance with me.’
‘Timothy, please, you don’t understand…’ she begged.
‘Oh, but I do,’ Timothy replied, and for the first time since she’d met him his voice was serious and there wasn’t a glimmer of humour in his green eyes. ‘You like Kell, don’t you?’
‘Of course I like Kell,’ Clara spluttered. ‘I’ve known him for—’
‘I don’t mean as a friend, Clara. You like Kell and you’re hoping that when you tell him about Abby, he’s going to realise just how much he actually likes you!’
Her shocked expression only confirmed his diagnosis.
‘You’re looking at a guy whose best friend was the captain of the rugby team,’ he offered