‘That’s none of your business. Now run away.’
Eric bumped against the door as if he wanted to push it open, but Jo blocked it with her hip.
‘Is he your boyfriend?’ asked Tilly.
‘No, of course not. Now scram, both of you!’
Face aflame, Jo slipped back through the narrow opening, slammed the door shut and locked it again. Embarrassed, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, hardly daring to look at Hugh, but when she did she saw that he was standing in the middle of the room with his hands thrust in his trouser pockets, wearing an expression that was a complicated mixture of amusement and impatience.
‘I do appreciate your efforts.’ He gallantly remained silent about the antics of her siblings. ‘But I think I’d better be off.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Will you take the unicorn?’
‘Are you sure you can spare it?’
‘Absolutely. Right now, I’d be happy if you took all the presents. I might yet disown my entire family.’
He flashed her a smile. ‘Just the unicorn would be terrific, thank you.’
Jo thrust the fluffy toy into a non-see-through pink plastic bag and handed it to him. ‘Done.’
As she hastily transferred everything back into the suitcase and dropped the lid, Hugh reached for his wallet again.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No money. It’s for Ivy.’ Quickly she opened the door.
‘I must say I’m terribly grateful to you,’ Hugh said. ‘I would have hated to turn up at Agate Downs on Christmas Eve without the right gift.’
His smile and his confession, delivered in his beautifully modulated, polite English voice, had the strangest effect on Jo. She had to fight off a weird impulse to bar the door so he couldn’t leave.
‘Well,’ she said, pushing such silliness out of her head and turning briskly businesslike again. ‘I mustn’t keep you any longer, Mr Strickland. I’m sure you need to be on your way and I’d better relieve Bill in the shop.’
He hurried off then. After delivering one last quick but sincere thank you he made a hasty farewell, heading out the front door in record time.
Leaping into his vehicle, he pulled out from the kerb at the same reckless speed with which he’d arrived.
And Jo was left feeling strangely deflated.
Her thoughts returned to where she’d been before he’d arrived. Remembering her friends at the office Christmas party in the city, all having a ball.
While Hugh Strickland, possibly the dishiest man in the world and as close to Prince Charming as Jo was ever likely to meet, was riding off in his glittering coach—well, OK, his four-wheel drive. Roaring down a bush track.
Never to be seen again.
CHAPTER TWO
BINDI CREEK had its last-minute pre-Christmas rush shortly after Hugh left. It seemed to Jo that almost every household in the township, as well as some from outlying properties, suddenly remembered that the shop would be closed for the next two days and that they needed items vital for Christmas.
No doubt it was paranoia, but Jo couldn’t help wondering if some of them had come to the shop just to spy on her. At least two of the local women hinted—with very unsubtle nudges and winks—that they’d heard from Hilda Bligh about Jo’s special visitor. One of them actually said that she’d heard the Martens were expecting a visit from Ivy’s father.
Jo pretended she had no idea what they were talking about.
Apart from these awkward moments, she was happy to be kept busy. The work kept her mind from straying Hugh-wards.
Brad and Nick, two of her brothers who worked further out west on cattle properties, arrived home around eight. They came into the shop and greeted her with hugs and back slaps and they hung about for ten minutes or so, catching up on her news. Then they went back into the house for the warmed leftover dinner Mum had saved for them.
Jo ate a scratch meal at the counter and she was tired when it was time to close up the shop. She went to lock the front door and looked out into the street and took a few deep breaths. It was a hot, still summer’s night and the air felt dry and dusty, but despite this she caught a hint of frangipani and night-scented jasmine drifting from nearby gardens.
Overhead, the Christmas Eve sky was cloudless and clear and splashed with an extravaganza of silver-bright stars. Grace and Tilly would be watching that sky from their bedroom window, hoping for a glimpse of Santa Claus and his reindeer. And Mum would be warning Eric and Bill not to spoil their little sisters’ fantasies.
What would little Ivy be doing out at Agate Downs? Had she received her present? Had she liked the lavender unicorn? For a moment Jo let her mind play with the mystery of Hugh Strickland and this child. She could picture him very clearly as he climbed out of his vehicle with the toy unicorn clutched in one hand. Goodness, she should have put it in something more attractive than a plastic bag.
Thinking about him and his mysterious errand caused an unwelcome pang around her heart. She shivered and rubbed her arms to chase away goose-bumps. What was the point of thinking over and over about Hugh? Perhaps she was getting man-crazy. It was six months since she’d broken up with Damien.
She locked the doors, pulled down the blinds, locked the till and turned out the lights in the shop. It was time to slip into her bedroom to wrap her presents. Once the children were safely asleep, she would have fun setting the brightly wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree in the lounge room.
The Berrys enjoyed a no-frills Christmas Eve. She’d have a cup of tea with Mum and they’d both put their feet up. The older boys would sit out on the back veranda with Dad, yarning about cattle and drinking their first icy-cold Christmas beer, while she and Mum talked over their final plans for the festive meals tomorrow.
She hadn’t quite completed the gift-wrapping saga when there was a knock on her bedroom door. ‘Who is it?’ she called softly, not wanting to wake her sisters in the next room.
‘It’s Mum.’
‘Just a minute.’ Jo had been wrapping her mother’s presents—French perfume and a CD compilation of her mum’s favourite music from the sixties and seventies—so she slipped these quickly under her pillow. ‘I’m almost finished.’
When she opened the door her mother looked strangely excited. ‘You have a visitor.’
‘Really? Who is it?’
‘An Englishman. He says his name’s Hugh Strickland.’
An arrow-swift jolt shot through Jo. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Margie Berry’s brow wrinkled into a worried frown. ‘Who is he, love? He seems very nice and polite, but do you want me to send him away?’
‘Oh, no,’ Jo answered quickly. ‘He’s just a customer. He—he was in the shop this afternoon.’
‘Yes, he told me that. He said you were very helpful.’ Margie looked expectant, but Jo was reluctant to go into details.
Her mind raced. Why was Hugh here? He was supposed to be at Agate Downs. ‘W-where is he?’
‘I found him on the back veranda, talking to Dad and the boys, but it’s you he wants. He asked for you ever so politely, so I told him to wait in the kitchen.’
‘The kitchen?’ Her bedroom had been bad enough and Jo winced when she tried to picture Hugh Strickland in their big old out-of-date kitchen, cluttered this evening with the aftermath of Mum’s Christmas baking. Somehow the image wouldn’t gel.
Jo