She watched as Sandy reached the wedding arch and took her place beside Ben, Jesse’s best man. On her other side, Amy held her aunt’s hand. Then it was Lizzie’s turn to walk down the aisle to get married to Jesse.
The sand either side of the aisle was lined with well-wishers but they were just a blur to Lizzie. She recognised Maura standing by with Amy’s adored Alfie and Ben’s golden retriever Hobo firmly secured by leashes. But the only face she wanted to see was Jesse’s.
And then she was beside him; he was clean-shaven, his black hair tamed, heart-achingly handsome in a stone-coloured linen suit and an open-neck white silk shirt. Any doubts she might have had about him finding her beautiful on her wedding day were dispersed by the look of adoration in his deep blue eyes as he took her hand in his and drew her to his side.
‘I love you,’ he murmured.
‘I love you too,’ she whispered.
‘That’s three thousand and sixty-three times we’ve said it,’ he said.
‘And we have a lifetime ahead of us to keep on saying it,’ she said, tightening her clasp on his hand.
The celebrant called the guests to order. Before she knew it, they’d exchanged vows and Jesse was slipping the platinum wedding ring on her finger and then her diamond ring on top. ‘I declare you man and wife,’ said the celebrant.
‘Now I can kiss my bride,’ said Jesse, gathering her into his arms. ‘Mrs Lizzie Morgan.’
Their kiss should have been the cue for classical wedding music to play through the speakers placed strategically near the wedding arch.
But, as Jesse claimed his first kiss as her husband, Lizzie was stunned to hear instead the distinctive notes of Jesse’s signature tune rearranged for violin and piano.
‘Where did that music come from?’ she asked Jesse.
Jesse laughed. ‘No idea. But I like it. Now you truly are Jesse’s girl.’ He kissed her again to the accompaniment of clapping and cheering from their friends and family. ‘My wife—the best Christmas present ever.’
* * * * *
Marion Lennox
This book is dedicated to Lorna May Dickins.
Her kindness, her humour and her love are an
inspiration for always.
‘DIDN’T YOU ONCE own a house in the Blue Mountains?’
‘Um...yes.’
‘Crikey, Jules, you wouldn’t want to be there now. The whole range looks about to burn.’
It was two days before Christmas. The Australian world of finance shut down between Christmas and New Year, but the deal Julie McDowell was working on was international. The legal issues were urgent.
But the Blue Mountains... Fire.
She dumped her armload of contracts and headed for Chris’s desk. At thirty-two, Chris was the same age as Julie, but her colleague’s work ethic was as different from hers as it was possible to be. Chris worked from nine to five and not a moment more before he was off home to his wife and kids in the suburbs. Sometimes he even surfed the Web during business hours.
Sure enough, his computer was open at the Web browser now. She came up behind him and saw a fire map. The Blue Mountains. A line of red asterisks.
Her focus went straight to Mount Bundoon, a tiny hamlet right in the centre of the asterisks. The hamlet she’d once lived in.
‘Is it on fire?’ she gasped. She’d been so busy she hadn’t been near a news broadcast for hours. Days?
‘Not yet.’ Chris zoomed in on a few of the asterisks. ‘These are alerts, not evacuation orders. A storm came through last night, with lighting strikes but not much rain. The bush is tinder dry after the drought, and most of these asterisks show spot fires in inaccessible bushland. But strong winds and high temperatures are forecast for tomorrow. They’re already closing roads, saying she could be a killer.’
A killer.
The Blue Mountains.
You wouldn’t want to be there now.
She went back to her desk and pulled up the next contract. This was important. She needed to concentrate, but the words blurred before her eyes. All she could see was a house—long, low, every detail architecturally designed, built to withstand the fiercest bush fires.
In her mind she walked through the empty house to a bedroom with two small beds in the shape of racing cars. Teddies sitting against the pillows. Toys. A wall-hanging of a steam train her mother had made.
She hadn’t been there for four years. It should have been sold. Why hadn’t it?
She fought to keep her mind on her work. This had to be dealt with before Christmas.
Teddies. A wardrobe full of small boys’ clothes.
She closed her eyes and she was there again, tucking two little boys into bed, watching Rob read them their bedtime story.
It was history, long past, but she couldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t.
‘Julie? Are you okay?’ Her boss was standing over her, sounding concerned. Bob Marsh was a financial wizard but he looked after his staff, especially those who brought as much business to the firm as Julie.
She forced herself to open her eyes and tried for a smile. It didn’t work.
‘What’s up?’
‘The fire.’ She took a deep breath, knowing what she was facing. Knowing she had no choice.
‘I do have a house in the Blue Mountains,’ she managed. ‘If it’s going to burn there are things I need to save.’ She gathered her pile of contracts and did what she’d never done in all her years working for Opal, Harbison and Marsh. She handed the pile to Bob. ‘You’ll need to deal with this,’ she told him. ‘I’m sorry, but...’
She couldn’t finish the sentence. She grabbed her purse and went.
* * *
Rob McDowell was watching the fire’s progress on his phone. He’d downloaded an app to track it by, and he’d been checking it on and off for hours.
He was in Adelaide, working. His clients had wanted to be in the house by Christmas and he’d bent over backwards to make it happen. Their house was brilliant and there were only a few decorative touches left to be made. Rob was no longer needed, but Sir Cliff and Lady Claudia had requested their architect to stay on until tomorrow.
He should. They were having a housewarming on Christmas Eve, and socialising at the end of a job was important. The Who’s Who of Adelaide, maybe even the Who’s Who of the entire country would be here. There weren’t many people who could beckon the cream of society on Christmas Eve but Sir Cliff and Lady Claudia had that power. As the architect of their stunning home, Rob could expect scores of professional approaches afterwards.
But it wasn’t just professional need that was driving him. For the last few years he’d flown overseas to the ski fields for Christmas but somehow this year they’d lost their appeal. Christmas had been a nightmare for years but finally he was beginning