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  ‘I hope I’m not keeping you from anything important. I wanted to talk about the websites. I’m taking your advice and starting a blog that links to all of our sites. It should be a bit of fun and drum up some business at the same time.’ She smiled at him, a warm friendly smile.

  ‘That’s great, Belle, I’ll set up an account and send you the details tomorrow.’

  She brushed a hand over the knee that was leaning against the gearshift. ‘What would I do without you?’ Her eyes sparkled at him.

  He lifted her hand and pressed a light kiss into her palm as she continued to talk about her day. He sat and listened and tried not to think about what he would do to her if, one day, she presented him with a room key to one of the suites that sat only meters from his car. She liked to meet him here because her boutique was in the lobby and it was convenient.

  ‘But what about you, Si, how was your day?’

  ‘Oh, just another day at the office, nothing exciting. We won the Ferguson account the other day though, Byron is wrapped.’

  ‘You should be wrapped too. You worked so hard on that pitch.’ She lifted her heavily jewelled hand and glanced at her watch.

  Time’s up, he thought.

  ‘Thanks Simon.’ She kissed him lightly on the cheek and held her hand where her lips had been. He always thought she was letting the kiss soak into his skin.

  She slipped out of his car as effortlessly as she arrived. Her car was parked two spaces down. He waited until she was safely inside and on her way before he started the engine. He felt a warm glow inside and hummed along to the music on the radio as he drove home.

  Chapter Eight

  Meg looked out over the lush paddocks and fields in front of her, mentally recapping the events of the past few days. With one hand cupping her camera, the other idly running over the long grass which had weaved up around the fence posts. She wondered what the sheep and cows thought of, other than the grass they ate. She wondered if they obsessed over creativity, self-worth and relationships. And if they ever felt so insignificant that they sat and looked at humans wanting to trade places.

  She spotted a lamb in the distance and was distracted from her self-pity long enough to appreciate the small wonder of nature. The diversion was enough for her to leave the dark train of thought she was riding behind.

  Yes, there was evil in the world, but she believed there was enough good to counteract it. So don’t be so anxious all the time. She thought. After all, it’s rare for lightning to strike in the same place twice. Plus Byron and Simon seem nothing like Patrick.

  Meg was struggling to accept the notion that Byron and Simon may want to work with her on a more permanent basis, simply because she was a good photographer. Not for any other, more sinister, reason. She didn’t doubt her skill as a photographer, most days. She doubted her intuition. She wanted to trust Byron. Her gut was telling her he was a good guy. But didn’t she believe Patrick was once a good guy too? More than anything, right now, she wanted to have faith in her own judgement again.

  The sound of an excited dog in the distance signalled Avery and Chadwick weren’t far away. Enough wallowing, Meg scolded herself. Instead, she focused on the sunshine flooding the poppy fields, bringing out the rich colour and texture while adding shadow and depth. Clicking off some shots to keep her hands and mind occupied, Meg focused on the task at hand.

  When she turned around, Meg saw Chadwick bounding towards her with great big clumsy strides, as Avery called after him to slow down, struggling with her easel and paint box. Meg crouched in an overgrown part of the paddock. As Chadwick came into frame, she clicked a number of shots, filled with swaying grass and smiling dog, before her subject was too close to focus on and, too excited to stop, bowled her clean over like a pin.

  The afternoon went by in relative silence, with Avery painting the landscape around them and Meg shooting the elements in macro detail. Being in the rural setting reminded Meg of the bushfire she had witnessed in the summer. With the vivid memory of the adrenaline rush and excitement that had coursed through her veins, Meg now felt dormant by comparison. She’d always loved her macro nature shots. In moderation, between other more social and challenging work. For the first time in six months, she’d had a hint at corporate work again, thanks to the Cassidy’s, and it was making her restless and wanting more. Maybe it was time for a new focus in her life.

  ‘Do you think I should get a dog,’ Meg suddenly asked.

  ‘No.’ Avery answered without hesitation. Unaware of the soul searching Meg had been doing while behind her cameras.

  ‘That was a very definitive answer.’

  ‘Well.’ Avery took a deep breath and thought, here goes. ‘I don’t think you’re in the right place to be getting a dog right now.’ She didn’t dare glance up from her canvas. She’d lose her nerve if she looked her friend in the face.

  ‘I own my own home. It has a yard, of sorts. I don’t mean a large Chadwick sort of dog,’ Meg protested.

  ‘I mean, you’re not emotionally in the right place.’ Avery started softly then thought, fuck it, and continued with more conviction. ‘Ever since the bloody Patrick debacle, you doubt everything you do and everyone you meet.’ Except, for some reason, Byron and Simon, Avery thought to herself. ‘You’re even doubting that you deserve to keep that beautiful home you live in. I think you need to talk to someone about the incident, so you can move on and take control of your life again.’ Avery looked up for the first time, wondering if she had gone too far.

  ‘I see.’ Meg scratched Chadwick behind the ears. ‘Can’t I just talk to you?’

  ‘Of course you can but you don’t. You’ve barely talked about it at all. Apart from the bare facts, which I could get off the internet anyway.’ She softened. ‘You shouldn’t be ashamed, Meg. Though I’d understand it if you do feel that way. I just wish you wouldn’t blame yourself, as if there was anything you could have done to see it coming or stop him in anyway.’ Avery hoped what she was saying was right.

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. You’re my friend; you’re supposed to believe in me,’ Meg replied. She was taking this a lot better than Avery thought she would.

  ‘I know, but it should help that I mean every word.’

  ‘Yes, it does. I do feel a bit stuck at the moment. But I’ve saved a bit of money to get things semi-normal again. I just need a little more time to find out what’s right.’ And who I can trust, Meg added silently. ‘But I do know I’m getting sick of the pity-party and I want to feel good again. That’s got to be a positive step, surely.’

  Avery smiled and nodded at her friend. Relieved at how easy the conversation was flowing after so much anticipation. She was tremendously glad she had opened the door to this discussion. She felt they had turned a corner and, by meeting it head-on, were finally able to talk openly about it all.

  Awhile later, Meg got to her feet and stretched. ‘I think we’ve earned a drink, don’t you?’

  Avery laughed at the turnaround in Meg’s mood. ‘Let’s drop Chadwick off and go to the pub.’ Meg rubbed the dog’s belly.

  They hadn’t been out to a pub or restaurant for months. With Meg always opting to stay in. Thank heavens for small mercies. Avery smiled at the sky.

  While Avery ordered their drinks at the bar, Meg checked her voice mail.

  ‘Meg – it’s Byron. I just wanted to thank you so much for your insightful advice on the Ferguson account. They were thrilled with the brochure and web design. Mrs Ferguson was present at the meeting and she adored the subtle new colour pallet. We honestly couldn’t have pulled it off as successfully without you. Hope to see you again soon. Bye.’

  Meg smiled at the genuine enthusiasm in Byron’s voice. She was glad it had gone well for them. Though she didn’t feel she contributed that much, it was just a bit of fun – dabbling in the corporate world again.

  ‘What a glorious day,’ Avery said, as she settled into a deep armchair opposite Meg. There were several rooms making up the boutique brewery, all
separated by small archways making each space cosy and intimate. Meg thought it was probably an old house converted into a drinking hole. The relatively dark room Meg and Avery were in, at the back of the venue, was a welcome contrast from the bright sunshine they had been basking in all day. From her vantage point against the back wall, Meg noticed she had a glimpse at three other rooms through different arches and doorways. The room to the left was dominated by the old wooden bar, full of patrons pursuing the vast variety of beers on offer. In the front room, the evening sun was streaming in through old-fashion windows. Men sat drinking lager and ale as though their thirst would never be quenched. Through the arch to the right, Meg observed what she assumed was a group of uni students, laughing and telling stories of great interest and intrigue. After realising she had missed such simple pleasures lately, she pulled her focus back to what Avery was explaining.

  ‘So you see, I can’t possibly agree with them, it rubs against my morals,’ Avery finished with a sigh.

  A sudden crash of glass on the old floorboards caught Meg’s attention in the front room. Everyone fussed jovially around and the waiter stopped, on his way past, to survey the damage and make sure no one was hurt. Through the laughter and commotion, Meg vaguely registered a still figure sitting on the deep window sill. She continued her conversation with Avery about a friend they know who was about to have a baby. But soon, Meg felt her eyes and attention drift back to the front room. She glanced at the figure - only a silhouette against the window that framed it. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity and awareness, though she couldn’t make out the man’s features, she could have sworn his warm face was smiling. At first Meg cursed herself for tracing the outline of the man’s shoulders, looking to reconcile with silhouette with Patrick’s. She was relieved when she didn’t find any similarity. But she remained aware of the man as she and Avery sat and finished their first beer. The experience felt intimate, which was silly, given the lack of proximity. For a moment she felt like one of the uni students, tingling with anticipation and wondered if the guy was going to come over and ask her out. But reality soon swopped in.

  ‘I have to break the seal,’ Avery announced and got up out of the armchair.

  ‘I’ll get the next round.’ Meg fished her wallet out of her bag and glanced up at the now empty window. She wandered through to the crowded bar and ordered two more beers. Just as she was contemplating a bowl of hot chips, a familiar voice behind her said, ‘Hello, Meg.’

  Meg turned and was face to face with Byron Cassidy. His usual clean lines and crisp shirt was a ruffled mess, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows and a hint of stubble on his jaw.

  ‘Byron, hi.’

  As someone pushed passed Byron he moved even closer to Meg and she was suddenly very self aware and no longer contemplating hot chips. He just stood there smiling a lazy, beer drenched smile at her.

  ‘Can I get you a beer,’ she asked, trying desperately to remember if she had removed the grass from her hair and the dog fur from her clothes.

  ‘That’s ok, it’s my shout.’ Byron remembered and ordered five lagers and paid for Meg and Avery’s drinks before she could protest. ‘Did you get my message?’

  Meg was busy appreciating this new, dishevelled Byron and hesitated before answering.

  ‘Yes, thank you. I’m glad it went well for you.’

  She fell silent as Byron lifted his hand and touched the back of his fingers gently on Meg’s rosy check, smiling as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. Just then the bartender announced his order. Byron turned to the solid bar, gripped the tray that held his beers and smiled at Meg one last time. Just like that – he was gone again.

  Meg sat the glasses on the table between their armchairs and took a breath, exhaled. ‘I didn’t know if you wanted to grab something to eat.’ Meg pulled herself back to reality and smiled at Avery.

  ‘Hell, yeah. I’m starving.’

  As Avery signalled a waiter, Meg glanced up at the window in the front room, where the silhouette figure sat, once again bathed in sunlight, and grinned a silly grin to herself.

  Chapter Nine

  Simon was engrossed in a client’s website when Byron and their sister walked through the door, chatting animatedly and teasing each other in their usual fashion. Grace walked up behind Simon’s chair and hugged him around his neck.

  ‘What have you got on the go today, little brother?’

  ‘Just tweaking a website which keeps malfunctioning.’ Simon saved his progress and swivelled the chair to face his siblings. ‘How was brunch?’

  ‘Boring.’ Grace sighed at the same time Byron answered, ‘Productive.’

  ‘Ha, you only found it productive because you got a lead on a great promotional idea for the business. Terry talked my ear off about his nieces modelling, sorry deportment, coaching.’

  ‘Well, you are in the game yourself, Grace, throw the man a bone.’ Byron chuckled at the connotation of his comment.

  ‘I shudder to think that’s where he may have been going, on more than one occasion. Anyway, fill Simon in on the promotional idea.’ Grace expertly changed the subject.

  As Simon rolled his shoulders to get the kinks out, Byron explained that Terry Limerick, an old business associate of their fathers, had just opened up a new wine bar on The Strip. He shamelessly picked Byron’s brain about marketing and signage, without enquiring into their services or asking for them to quote for any work.

  ‘He was doing his own sales pitch, too,’ Grace added. ‘That wine bars are all the rage, et cetera, et cetera, and how successful businesses regularly held cocktail functions, product launches and other media events in just such venues these days.’

  ‘Sounds feasible, but what’s so important for us, if we’re not doing any work for the place,’ Simon asked.

  ‘While Terry was ranting on about acrylic bar tops and fabric walls, I started to think about our last promotional function, for Cassidy Designs,’ Byron said. ‘It was the grand opening and was basically the couple of clients you poached and a bunch of our sophisticated friends to bulk it out.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember. It was a bit tame really, but kicked off Cassidy Designs with a flourish, never the less,’ Simon remembered.

  ‘So I think it’s high time you had another shindig, but do it properly.’ Grace added. ‘We were thinking a cocktail networking function to promote your latest software upgrade, slash multimedia functionality, but pitch it as a new arm to Cassidy Designs.’ She used her hands to emphasise her pitch. ‘From concept and design to innovation and initiation. Energise your business with Cassidy Designs!’

  ‘Okay but...’

  Grace cut Simon off. ‘We hire a classy venue, not Terry’s wine bar, send out stylish invites to all clients, as well as distributers and contractors. We send a short sales pitch brochure with the invite so we appear to have a reason for the event. Then, on the night, we offer special promotions for any new business that’s drummed up there and then, as well as in the weeks following the event via word of mouth.’ Grace finished, very pleased with herself.

  ‘It all sounds like a big hoo-hah for nothing. But I like hoo-hah’s, so I’m keen.’ Out of habit Simon put his cold coffee to his lips and quickly remembered how long it must have been sitting on his desk. ‘Where are you thinking we have this soiree,’ Simon asked thinking of the function rooms in Belle’s hotel.

  ‘Yeah, By, what tone did you want to set? Venue is very important for this sort of gig,’ Grace added.

  Knowing where Simon’s train of thought would lead, Byron thought fast. ‘I was actually thinking an art gallery. Not full on, in your face, controversial gallery. But a local place with colourful art and sculptures, maybe.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Grace agreed quickly. ‘Do you have any clients who would cut the cost if they could do some promoting themselves?’

  ‘I’ve got a couple of leads worth pursuing.’ Byron ignored Simon’s questioning gaze. ‘Anyway, we’ve got plenty of t
ime to sort out all of the details. Now, show us those headshots you want photo-shopped.’

  *

  The following day Byron asked to meet Meg for a coffee and catch-up regarding Bella’s new skincare product labelling. Meg chose the cafe which, to Byron’s mind, suited her perfectly. It was quiet and somewhat tucked away off the main strip of trendy, minimalist cafes and boutique shops. The cafe itself was cosy - that was the only word Byron could use to describe it. Its deep couches and armchairs were spread around an open fireplace with little side tables between them. The walls were covered in large oil paintings alive with vibrant colours and rich textures. Byron chose a couch that had a decent sized coffee table in front, so they could spread out any proof sheets Meg bought with her. He’d just settled in to a deep couch and was engrossed in a large painting on the wall, of a bushfire raging through a forest, when the door creaked, announcing Meg’s arrival. Byron’s gaze instantly changed focus and watched Meg make small talk with a waitress whom she obviously knew. There was that genuine smile, he thought, the one that didn’t always accompany the curve of Meg’s lips, but was so captivating when it did. Byron wished, just for a moment, that he could make that smile shine every time. He thought he knew a little now what Meg must have gone through in the last year to make her eyes so sad when she thought no one noticed. If the pages found on Google search was anything to go by, Byron thought she had good reason to be so guarded.

  Byron greeted Meg and had a sudden flash back through his beer addled thoughts. ‘Did I see you at the brewery down on The Strip last week,’ he asked.

  ‘Umm, yes, come to think of it. I think I ran into you at the bar.’ Meg didn’t know why she was playing coy, Byron obviously didn’t remember touching her cheek.