‘Sam Bolte said he saw you at the golf club and you weren’t wearing your ring. I’ve just had a call from Ingrid. Ingrid says Sam says Philip was rigid with anger, and he said it’s all about that stupid dog. Are you out of your mind?’

She laid back on the pillows and listened to her mother’s hysteria and thought about it.

Was she out of her mind?

Kleppy was asleep on her feet.

She could sleep with Kleppy for ever. If she didn’t do something about Raff.

She couldn’t do something about Raff. There was nothing to do.

‘It’s okay, Mum, I’ll sort it,’ she said.

‘Sort it? Tell Philip it’s all a ghastly mistake? You know, if it means the difference between whether you marry or not, your father and I will even keep the creature.’

The creature nuzzled her left foot and she scratched his ear with her toe.

‘That’s really generous, but…’

‘You can’t cancel the wedding. It’ll cost…’

‘No, it won’t.’ This, at least, she could do. She’d figured it out, looked at the contract with the golf club, had it nailed. ‘I lose my deposit, which is tiny. None of the food’s been ordered. Nothing’s final. I can do this.’

‘You’re never serious?’

‘Mum, I don’t want to marry Philip.’

There was a long, long silence. Then… ‘Why not?’ It was practically a wail.

‘Because I don’t want to be sensible. I like being a dog owner. I like that my dog’s a thief.’ She thought about it and decided, why not go for broke; her mother could hardly be any more upset than she was now. ‘I might as well tell you… I don’t think I want to be a lawyer, either.’

‘You’ve lost your mind,’ her mother moaned. ‘John, come and tell your daughter she’s lost her mind. Darling, we’ll take you to the doctor. Dr Paterson’s known you since you were little. He can give you something.’

‘I’m not sure he can give me what I want.’

‘What do you want?’

‘My dog, for now,’ she said, shoving another thought firmly away. ‘My independence. My life.’

‘Abigail…’

‘I’m hanging up now, Mum,’ she said. ‘I love you very much, but I’m not marrying Philip and I’m not mad. Or I don’t think I’m mad. I’m not actually sure who I am any more, but I think I need to find out, and I can’t do that as Mrs Philip Dexter.’


‘Rumour is she’s thrown him over. Rumour is she met some guy at that conference she went to in Sydney last month. Chinese. Millionaire. Loaded. Couple of kids by a past marriage but that’s not worrying her. Rumour is she wants to take the dog…’

Raff spent the morning feeling…

Surprised?


‘Go away. I’m not home.’

She was pretending not to be home. The first couple of times the doorbell rang Kleppy barked, which might be a giveaway, but she fixed that. She tucked him firmly under the duvet, and she put her jewellery box down there with him. Which reminded her…

Should she give the box back to Philip’s grandfather? He’d given it to her as a labour of love, on the premise she was marrying his grandson.

Maybe he was one of those out there ringing her doorbell, sent by her mother to tell her to be sensible.

It couldn’t matter. Go away, go away, go away.

How long could she stay under the duvet? She started working out how much food she had in the place; when she’d be forced to do a grocery run. She thought of the impossibility of facing shopping in Banksia Bay. Maybe she and Kleppy could leave town for a bit.

Where could she go?

Somewhere Raff could find her. If he wanted to find her.

Don’t think of that. Don’t think of Raff. Get this awfulness out of the way, and then look forward. Please…

The doorbell rang again.

Go away.

It rang again, more insistent, and it was followed by a knock, too loud to be her mother. Philip? Go away!

‘Abigail Callahan?’ The voice was stern with authority and it made her jump. Raff.

Raff was right outside her front door.

Panic.

What did he think he was doing, hiking up to her front door as bold as brass? She peeked past the curtains and his patrol car was parked out front. With its lights flashing.

She practically moaned. This was all she needed. Who knew what the town was saying about her, but she did not need Raff in the mix. It was all too complicated.

Kleppy whined, sensing her confusion, and she hugged him and held her breath and willed Raff to go away.

But Raff Finn wasn’t a man to calmly turn away.

‘Abigail Callahan, I know you’re in there. Answer the door, please, or I’ll be forced to come back with a warrant.’

A warrant? What the…?

‘Go away.’ She yelled it to the front door and there was a moment’s silence. And then a response, deep and serious, and only someone who knew him well could hear the laughter behind it.

‘Miss Callahan, I’m here to inform you that your dog is suspected of petty larceny. I have information that stolen property may be being stored on your premises. Open the door now, please, or I’ll be forced to take further action.’

Her dog…

Petty larceny…

She lifted the duvet and stared at Kleppy. Who gazed back, innocent as you please. What the…? He hadn’t been out. How could he have stolen anything?

She’d given back her mother’s friend’s romance novel. Kleppy was clean.

‘He hasn’t done anything,’ she yelled, and then had to try again because the first yell came out more like a squeak. ‘Go find some other dog to pin it to. Kleppy’s innocent.’

‘There speaks a defence lawyer. Sorry, ma’am, but the evidence points to Kleppy.’

‘What evidence?’

‘Mrs Fryer’s diamanté glasses case, given to her by her late husband. It’s said to be worth a fortune, plus it has sentimental value. It’s alleged it was stolen from her bag, which was parked underneath the table you were sitting at yesterday. I have reason to believe your dog was tied under that very table. Circumstantial, I’ll grant you, but evidence enough for a warrant.’

Uh-oh.

She thought about it. Kleppy lying innocently at her feet through yesterday’s lunch. A big table, twelve or so women. Twelve or so handbags at their respective owners’ feet.

Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh.

‘I have more serious things to think about this morning than glasses cases,’ she managed and she heard the laughter intensify.

‘You’re saying there’s something more serious than grand theft?’

‘I thought it was petty larceny.’

‘That depends whether the diamantés are real. Mrs Fryer swears they are. I knew old Jack Fryer and I’m thinking otherwise but I need to give the lady the benefit of the doubt.’

‘He hasn’t got them,’ she wailed. ‘He’d have given them to me by now.’

‘I need to search.’

‘Go away.’

‘Let me in, Abigail,’ he said, stern again. ‘The neighbours are looking.’

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Raff walking in here… If anyone in this town got even the vaguest sniff of what she was feeling…of why she’d been jerked out of her miserable life into something resembling a future…

Her future.

The word somehow steadied her. She wasn’t marrying Philip. She had a future. Okay, maybe she needed to step into it rather than hiding under the duvet.

She climbed out of bed and shrugged on her brand new honeymoon wrap. Where was her shabby pink chenille? She’d got rid of it. Of course she had. That was what a girl did when she was getting married.

So now she was stuck with pure silk. Pure silk and Raff. She shoved her toes into elegant white slippers, pasted a glower on her face and stomped through to the front door. Hauled it open.

Raff was there in his cop uniform. He looked…he looked…

Maybe how he looked wasn’t the issue. ‘Whoa,’ he said, his gaze raking her from the toes up, and she felt herself start to burn. She’d had fun buying herself wedding lingerie. She’d never owned silk before. It was making her body feel…

Well, something was making her body feel-as if it had been a really bad idea to give all her shabby stuff to the welfare store. The way Raff was looking…

Stop it. She practically stamped her foot. Raff was a cop. He was here to search the place. What she was thinking?

She knew what she was thinking, and she’d better stop thinking it right now. Instead, she concentrated on keeping her glower at high beam and stood aside as he came in.

‘I don’t want you here.’ What a lie.

‘Needs must. You say you don’t have a glasses case, ma’am?’

‘If you say ma’am once more I may be up for copicide.’

‘Copicide?’

‘Whatever. Justifiable homicide. Kleppy didn’t pinch anything.’

‘Are you sure?’

She winced at that. ‘Um… No.’

He grinned. ‘Not such a good defence lawyer, then. So what’s with the millionaire?’

‘The millionaire?’

‘The guy you’ve thrown Philip over for.’

The millionaire. If he only knew. ‘I hate this town,’ she muttered, and she didn’t need to try and glower.

‘So it’s all a lie.’

‘What’s a lie?’

‘That you’ve tossed Philip aside and found another.’

‘Yes. No. I mean…’

He caught her hand and held it up for them both to see. She’d been wearing Philip’s ring for two years now. A stark white band showed where the ring had been.

‘Proof?’ Raff said softly.

‘If I ran off with someone else I wouldn’t be here now,’ she snapped. ‘And if he was a millionaire I’d have a rock to match.’

‘But you’ve given Philip the flick.’

‘Philip and I are taking time to reassess our positions.’

He surveyed her thoughtfully, once more taking in the silk. ‘That’s lawyer speak for a ripper of a fight and no one’s speaking. Does this mean Sarah and I get our pasta maker back?’

That was a punch below the belt. But still… The pasta maker and Philip, or no pasta maker and no Philip.

No choice.