Maybe the flooding had caused problems. Maybe the Bowra line was out of order.

She’d ring him when she got in. Or then again, maybe she wouldn’t, she decided. It was ridiculous to speak to him on the phone every night. It was just a habit they’d got into.

Malcolm was just a habit.

No. Malcolm was just…Malcolm.

As opposed to Joss?

Now, that was a stupid way of thinking. When the rain ceased and a ferry could be established, Joss would be gone. Malcolm was all she had, so she should take care of the relationship.

She’d phone tonight.

Or tomorrow night.

Whatever.


She was a dark shadow outlined against the sea. The moon was struggling to emerge from behind clouds. There were faint glimmers breaking through, sending shards of silver light across the waves. Amy was tossing sticks for Bertram and Bertram was running himself ragged, wild with excitement.

Joss stayed where he was among the dunes, watching woman and dog. They made a great pair, he thought. Amy was enjoying herself. Her body language as she bent over the dog, as she stooped to lift his stick and throw…she was soaking in every minute of this.

She should have a dog of her own.

Where could he get her one?

That was a crazy thought. For heaven’s sake, he didn’t know that she liked dogs. Maybe she was just being polite.

He didn’t think so.

She was…lovely.

But he was being stupid. Fanciful. This was a Cinderella type of situation, he told himself harshly. He was attracted to Amy because she was deserving and she was beautiful and she was unattainable. Would he be as attracted if she was available? Surely not.

She was committed to living in this dump for the next six years. What man would go near her knowing that?

Malcolm would. Obviously. And it wasn’t such a dump.

‘It’s the ends of the earth.’

‘This beach is lovely.’

‘Look around,’ he told himself harshly. The rain had stopped momentarily and the moon was full out. The beach stretched away for miles, as far as the eye could see. The moonlight played over the sodden sand, the wind whipped the waves into a frenzy and…

And nothing and nothing and nothing. There was only Amy and his dog. There was nothing else for miles.

Why would anyone ever come to this place through choice?

The millionaires did, he thought, looking back up the beach to the show of ostentatious wealth lining the foreshore. But the houses obviously belonged to those who valued their privacy. The millionaires came through choice. The elderly retirees who lived behind the sand dunes had come because they’d been conned.

This isolation must have been why Amy’s stepfather had built the place, Joss decided. It would be why all these mansions had been built. There were no shops to speak of and even the retirees who lived here weren’t provided for. Here there was absolute seclusion.

There’d be no children here spoiling the sand on sunny days-imposing their noisy presence on this super-wealth. In Australia, where it wasn’t possible to own a private beach, this was the best this tiny pocket of elite millionaires could do. They’d built their houses and they were screwing the rest of the population to maintain their fabulous lifestyle. For six weeks a year.

He was getting bitter.

He was also getting cold, he thought, and gave himself a mental shake. He had better things to do than stand here and think about Amy’s problems. He had a conference paper to write.

Ha!

The conference paper could wait. He took a deep breath and turned his face into the wind. Digging his hands deep into his pockets, he went to join his dog.

And Amy.


She saw him coming.

Joss was hunched into an ancient overcoat, and for a moment as he came down the sand hill toward him she had a vision of her father. The man who’d loved her and died, leaving her to her dreadful stepfather.

She’d loved her father. He’d been one special man.

‘What?’ He reached her and found she was smiling, but it was an odd sort of smile, tinged with sadness. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Maybe I have.’ She pulled herself together. ‘It’s that coat.’ She thought about not saying anything but then decided to tell him anyway. ‘It was my father’s-not my stepfather’s but my father’s. My mother kept it and then loaned it to Robbie. Robbie was our gardener.’

‘You were fond of Robbie?’

‘He’s a lovely old man. My friend. I had to let him go-there’s no money to keep him. One of the local farmers puts a couple of sheep on my grass now and that’s the extent of my gardening. Meanwhile, Robbie’s living in a council flat in Bowra and I know he’s miserable. I tried to make him keep the coat but he wouldn’t.’ She gave a twisted little smile. ‘He said to keep it until I can have him back again. As if… But I know he misses me as much as I miss him. And he’s so broke. My stepfather should have set up a superannuation fund for him, but loyalty to his staff wasn’t his style.’

‘You don’t sound like you spend much time polishing your stepfather’s headstone.’

‘I leave that for the nephews.’

‘They loved him?’

‘They loved his money.’ She grimaced. ‘Anyway, it’s too good a night to think about my stepfather. Isn’t this fabulous?’

Fabulous?

It had started to rain again and there was a cold trickle running down his nose. The wind was making a mockery of his hood-it had blown back and his hair was damp and windblown. The smell of the sea was all around them and the breakers were roaring into the night.

It was fabulous, he decided, and he glanced down at Amy and found her smile had changed.

‘You like it, too,’ she said on a note of satisfaction. ‘I thought you would.’

‘It’s great.’

‘There was no need for my stepfather and his cronies to make this beach so exclusive,’ she said reflectively. ‘You could have thousands of people here and still find a spot where you can be alone. There’s miles and miles of beach…’ She put back her arm and tossed Bertram’s stick with all her might along the beach. The dog put back his ears and flew. ‘And it’s all ours. Sometimes…sometimes I feel rich.’

‘Hmm.’

‘How can you bear to go back to Sydney?’

‘I can’t,’ he said promptly. ‘I think I’ll stay here.’

‘And become a beachcomber?’

‘There are worse fates.’

‘You wouldn’t miss your surgery?’

Of course he would. They both knew it. Beachcombing was a dream. Beachcombing with Amy.

‘Do you want to walk out on the rocks?’ she asked, seeing Joss’s face and having enough sense to change the subject. ‘It’s great-though you might get your feet wet.’

‘Wetter,’ he muttered. His shoes had sunk into the wet sand and he could feel the damp creeping into his socks. ‘Well, why not?’

‘Excellent.’ Amy grinned and grabbed his hand. ‘Follow me.’

The feel of her hand changed things.

Follow her…

She was leading him to a rocky outcrop which spiked up out of the breakers. ‘It’s a bit dangerous,’ she warned. ‘If you don’t know where you’re going, you can get into trouble. So hang on.’

How could he do anything else?


A bit dangerous…

She needed her head read, he thought as she clambered over the first of the rocks, towing him behind. There were breakers smashing over the rocks in force. Back on the beach Bertram stood and looked on in concern. There was no way he was following and the look on his face said they were crazy to try.

But she’d done this a thousand times before.

The first few rocks were the worst-the foam from the breakers was surging over the slippery surface and they had to time their way between waves. Even then they didn’t quite make it-Joss ended up on the other side with shoes full of water.

‘Don’t tell me. It’s low tide now and the next wave will carry us off to our doom. Or we’ll be trapped with the tide rising inch by inch.’

‘You’ve been reading too many adventure novels,’ she said severely. “‘The moon was a ghostly galleon, tossed upon stormy seas…” With moonrakers, pirates, chests and chests of jewels, and a heroine chained to the rocks as the tide creeps higher…higher…’

‘I seem to remember,’ he said faintly, ‘that “The moon was a ghostly galleon” started a tale of a highwayman.’

‘Same difference,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Same criminal hero and a dopey heroine abandoning all for love. But don’t worry. The tide’s full now so it doesn’t get any worse than this, and I’m not about to end it all for anything. Look. Clear rock.’

It was, too. The outcrop of rock stretched right out into the bay, a breakwater in its own right. And where she was leading him now… It was a channel of rock. The rocks on both sides formed a barrier.

‘It’s like Moses and the Red Sea,’ he said, stunned, and she grinned.

‘Yep. The parting of the water. This is my very favourite place in the whole world and I love it best when it’s just like this. Wild and stormy and wonderful.’

Joss didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Maybe it was because he was concentrating on keeping his footing on the slippery rocks-or maybe it was that he was just plain bemused.

Finally they reached the end-a vast flat rock perched high above the breakers. Amy released his hand to scramble up the last few feet, leaving him to follow. When he found his feet she was standing right at the end, staring into the moonlight.

The shafts of moonlight were playing over her face. She looked up and he thought that he’d never seen anything so lovely.

‘He makes bright mischief with the moon…’

Where had that come from?

Wherever-from a poem deep in the recesses of his schoolboy reading-it suddenly seemed apt.

Only the pronoun was wrong.

She makes bright mischief with the moon.