Stone Castles Read online

  About Stone Castles

  After ten years pursuing a prestigious career in New York, Pip Martin has returned to the Yorke Peninsula to farewell her dying grandmother. She doesn’t intend to linger – there are too many memories in the small country town and not all of them will stay in the past.

  Like Luke Trenorden, her childhood sweetheart. A man Pip had promised her heart to, until tragedy stole Pip’s family away and a terrible lie tore both their lives apart. Pip cannot deny there is still a spark between them, even amidst the heartache of losing her gran and the demands of her new life. But it may not be enough to rekindle a love that has been neglected for so long.

  When a long-kept secret is revealed, Pip is free to go back to the life she thought she wanted . . . unless Luke can break down the stone castle Pip has built around her heart.

  Contents

  Cover

  About Stone Castles

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About Trish Morey

  Copyright page

  In memory of my darling Dad,

  Max Duffield.

  1.10.1931 – 7.1.2014

  Whose Cornish ancestors sailed into Port Adelaide in 1854

  on board the barque, David Malcolm,

  and whose grandfather was born in a dug out in a creek at Burra in 1859

  and grew up working alongside his father in the Moonta mines.

  Thank you for riding shotgun while I was writing this baby.

  This one’s for you, Dad.

  Also in memory of my brother,

  Chris Duffield.

  4.4.1953 – 17.11.2013

  Gone too soon.

  xxx

  Chapter One

  Adelaide Airport had grown up while Pip was away. There was a shiny new terminal with air bridges now, and disembarking the plane had the same generic feel it had worldwide, so she could almost have been anywhere – if not for the unmistakeable line of hills to the east, with the three towers marking the highest point in the Mount Lofty Ranges.

  That, and the twisting of her gut that told her she was nearly home.

  Home.

  After almost a decade and a half living and working in Sydney and then New York, she wasn’t even sure what that meant any more.

  Her recently turned on phone burped up the messages that had come in since last checking during her connection in Auckland, and Pip held her breath as she scanned them. She smiled at the ‘Missing you’ message from her friend, Carmen, and frowned at the three from Chad but didn’t bother with those now. She was relieved to see there was nothing from her gran’s nursing home. No news was good news, although it didn’t stop her calling as soon as she was inside the terminal.

  ‘How is she?’ she asked, to be told there was no change. She checked the wristwatch she’d already adjusted to Adelaide time and did a mental calculation – one hour at most for the formalities of immigration and customs and to collect the keys to her rental car, and another two for the drive to the town of Kadina – and told them she’d be there by lunch.

  Easy.

  Her business class ticket meant a short queue at immigration, so she beat her luggage to baggage collection, the carousel still stationary. It wouldn’t be long once it did kick into action, she knew, courtesy of the blue priority tag her suitcase was wearing. But still she felt impatient to keep moving, her stomach wringing itself tighter and tighter the longer the wait continued. Needing desperately to see her gran, but knowing that visiting her home town for the first time in almost a decade was going to shake things up, things she’d sooner leave right where they were.

  Like questions from the past she didn’t know the answer to.

  Like other stuff.

  Like . . . Luke.

  God, she didn’t want to think about any of that, least of all Luke. That was history. So ancient, it shouldn’t even figure. And then a siren sounded and a light flashed and the carousel kicked slowly into motion. A few bags in, her suitcase appeared through the rubber strips. She almost sighed as she hauled it from the carousel. She’d still be out of here within the hour. Thank god she had nothing to declare. Another ten minutes or so and finally she’d be free.

  It was when she turned that she noticed the sniffer dog, trotting its way between legs and luggage. It was a beagle and cute as a button and for the first time in hours she managed a smile. Until it took one sniff in her direction and plonked itself down in front of her, and cute as a button turned into the incoming passenger’s worst nightmare.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she pleaded, as the dog’s handler asked to see an incoming passenger card that clearly stated she was carrying nothing that should be of any interest to a sniffer dog or its handler.

  ‘Are you sure there’s not something in your bag?’ he asked, as curious heads craned towards her. ‘Some food from the plane, perhaps?’

  She shook her head, the cold sick fear of what-if curdling the aeroplane breakfast in her stomach. What if someone had stashed something in her luggage en route? What if any one of a thousand other scenarios had happened? But she had done nothing wrong. She knew she had packed nothing that was contraband. She tried to smile. Tried to look confident. Tried, and failed. ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’

  Of course, there was nothing else for it but to search her bags. As her hopes of a quick getaway faded, her sigh of exasperation didn’t win her any friends.

  ‘This won’t take long,’ said the stony-faced official.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, trying not to aggravate the man any further. Not that anyone seemed fussed about not aggravating her. ‘It’s just, I’m kind of in a hurry.’ She licked her dry lips and wondered if they’d give her a break if she explained why she needed to get through customs and immigration as quickly as possible. ‘You see, my grandmother’s dying and I promised to be at her bedside by lunch.’

  The official paused, latex sheathed hands poised over her suitcase, and for just one moment Pip thought that maybe he might actually let her go. ‘That’s too bad, miss,’ he said, deadpan but with a glimmer in his eye that told Pip she’d probably made the biggest mistake of her life by playing the dying grandmother card. He was sure she was trying to hide something now. ‘And now, if you’ll kindly unzip your bag?’

  After twenty minutes of rifling through her things, twenty minutes of excruciating embarrassment as his big hands sorted through her knickers and her bra
s and the stuff she hid in her toiletries bag specifically so it wouldn’t spill out if her suitcase came undone en route, twenty minutes of questions during which she realised the beagle had likely smelled a banana she’d taken to work in her handbag the day before she’d left, she was free to cram her belongings back in and go hunt down her rental car.

  She sighed with relief at the agency as she gave her name and the attendant pulled out the paperwork. Finally something was going right. Finally she’d be on her way.

  Or not . . .

  ‘Hang on,’ she said to the car rental agency attendant, who seemed to be having a lot of trouble with her booking. ‘I don’t want a sports car!’

  The man rolled his eyes and glanced meaningfully over her shoulder at the queue of mums and dads and kids and luggage already building up behind her. ‘But you booked a cabriolet. It says so right here on the form.’

  She shook her head, knowing that the last thing she wanted was a sports car. Her plan was to get in and out of Kadina making as few waves as possible. There was no way on earth she’d have asked for a damned sports car – or for that matter, any car that might draw attention to herself. ‘I want an ordinary car. Something nondescript and plain. Haven’t you got something boring? A Toyota or something?’

  The attendant smiled. If you could call it a smile. More a baring of his teeth. ‘That’s actually a little awkward right now. We’re fully booked with the Christmas holidays starting. And after all, you did book the cabriolet.’

  Pip sighed. Clearly someone had stuffed up. ‘Martin,’ she said again for good measure. ‘M-A-R-T-I-N. Can you check again please? There must be some mix up.’

  ‘There is no mix up.’ He didn’t even pretend to smile this time, all attempts at the pleasantries over. ‘This is your name on the rental document, yes?’

  She glanced at the papers. ‘Well yes,’ she conceded, ‘but for the last time, I didn’t book –’

  And with a cold shiver of realisation, it hit her. She hadn’t booked it at all. While she’d been in a panic about packing, Chad had offered to do it for her, using his firm’s corporate code because it offered a better discount than hers. ‘Just a car,’ she’d told him when he asked what kind she wanted. ‘Any old car.’

  Shit . . .

  ‘Hang on,’ she said, reaching for her phone, scrolling through the messages she’d ignored earlier, clicking on the first.

  Figured you would have landed by now.

  She deleted that and moved onto the next.

  Thought you might be missing me.

  Weird. She frowned and sent that one to the trash as well. It was the third message where she hit paydirt.

  So surprise! Enjoy the wheels. Think of me every time you put your foot down.

  What the hell? She’d think of him, all right. She’d imagine pushing him under her pedal and pressing her foot down hard. Dammit, why the hell had she ever trusted him with her booking?

  She sucked in air and looked back at the attendant and gave a weak smile. He had no trouble lobbing a wide one right back, and she knew that whatever expression had been on her face when she’d read those messages might as well have been ringed with neon lights. He was loving every minute of this. ‘All sorted then?’ he asked smugly, and without waiting for the answer pushed the rental agreement closer to her. ‘So maybe we can finish off the paperwork. If you just sign here . . . and here.’

  Pip sighed. ‘Okay,’ she conceded, holding up one hand. ‘Apparently someone did book that car in my name. But it was actually a misunderstanding. Are you sure there’s nothing else available? Nothing at all?’

  He blew air through his teeth and gestured to the queue behind her that was growing longer by the minute, full of fractious kids and their exhausted looking parents. ‘Not a sausage. I’m sorry, these people have booked all our boring cars.’

  Ouch! She glanced over to the other agency desks, wondering if she should threaten to take her business elsewhere, but those desks looked just as crowded.

  ‘So there’s really no alternative?’

  ‘There’s always an alternative,’ he told her, and when she looked back at him, halfway interested, he continued. ‘There’s always public transport.’

  All the way to the Yorke Peninsula? In what – a bus? And meanwhile she was supposed to be halfway there already, at her gran’s bedside. Oh god, Gran! Two hours after landing she was still stuck here at the airport. ‘Okay,’ she said, scrawling her signature on the paperwork. So much for trying not to be noticed. ‘I’ll take the damned convertible. Please just tell me it’s not red.’

  The attendant looked studiously at the papers and didn’t say a word, but still she caught the curve of his lips. She could only hope it was because he was happy to be finally seeing the back of her.

  Five minutes later she knew it wasn’t the only reason.

  She surveyed the car. Her nondescript rental designed to fly under the radar and go unnoticed in her home town.

  It was all kinds of red.

  Look-at-me red.

  Trouble-on-wheels red.

  Sex-on-wheels red.

  Enough!

  Whatever the colour, she would have to deal with it. She would just have to cope. She wrestled her bag into the trunk – boot, she reminded herself – and opened her door, staring blankly for a moment at the missing steering wheel before she realised.

  ‘Damn!’

  She slammed the door, disgusted with herself as she rounded the car and found the driver’s seat.

  She was in Australia now. Driving on the other side of the car, and the road. She’d better not forget that again.

  Chapter Two

  The last thing Luke needed in the middle of harvest was to have to head into town. But the fuel filter had clogged in the harvester he’d been nursing and the whole thing had finally sputtered and died and he couldn’t put off a visit to the local John Deere dealership any longer. Besides, it wasn’t like he had nothing else to do while he was in town. The running repair he’d made to the back sheep paddock fence wouldn’t last forever, so he might as well get those extra droppers he was short of, not to mention pick up the mail and grab a few groceries into the deal. A pre-Christmas ham in the fridge made meal preparation easy, sure, but even he was getting sick of ham sandwiches.

  By the time he’d talked himself into the inevitability of it, he was almost happy to forget the inconvenience of leaving the harvest unfinished and load up Turbo alongside him. For a couple of hours they’d leave the troubles of the farm behind. Just the thought of chicken and chips for lunch for a change improved his mood. And god knows, he could do with a bit of company.

  The dog whimpered and laid his head on his paws where he was sitting on the seat beside him, and Luke almost wondered if he’d spoken out loud. Then again, his dog had always been uncanny in picking up on his moods. ‘Sorry Turbo,’ he said, curling the fingers of one hand around his ears. ‘Nothing personal, but a bloke needs a bit of human company every now and then.’

  Turbo snorted his disagreement and sulked into a restless doze as the ute headed down the back roads towards the highway to Kadina.

  Luke smiled. The dog was right. Turbo had seen him with human company – of the female variety at any rate – and hated every mismatched minute of it. And most of the time he had no need for two-legged companionship anyway. Turbo was a better companion than just about any friend he’d had. Honest, hardworking and loyal to a fault. If only the dog could learn to rustle up a steak sandwich or a feed of chicken and chips for them every now and then, he’d be just about perfect.

  Luke changed his plan of attack as he drove by the local agricultural supplies dealership. The Ag store car park was in gridlock, a combination of harvest needs and pre-Christmas shopping. Forget waiting in line, he’d come back after lunch when there might be more chance to catch a minute with his mate Craig, the manager. He neede
d to check the details for Sunday’s christening – it wouldn’t do to turn up late, not given he’d agreed to be Chloe’s godfather.

  The supermarket welcomed him with air-conditioned comfort, canned music and the occasional nod from other customers, none of which he minded as he made his way around the aisles filling his basket. Until Sheila Ferguson bailed him up in the frozen food section, her trolley blocking the only part of the aisle her ample body didn’t. And damn it all, she was between the potato gems and him.

  ‘Did you hear the news?’ she crowed, bright-eyed and delighted, holding her ground after exchanging the usual pleasantries. Luke raked fingers through his hair, scratching for a clue. Sheila headed the local native animal rescue network and was famous for her work adopting orphaned wildlife. There was hardly a week went by when Sheila and the latest orphaned babies weren’t featured in the local newspaper. Maybe she’d finally been awarded an Order of Australia for her efforts and he was the only one who hadn’t congratulated her for it?

  His seeking fingers gave up, drawing a blank. ‘Sorry, Sheila. I’ve been busy with the harvest. What did I miss?’

  The woman’s eyes widened, as if she’d just hit the mother lode. ‘You really haven’t heard? Then it’s lucky I found you. Priscilla Martin is coming home.’

  He blinked. A really slow blink. To give his gut a chance to deal with the shock and move on before any hint of surprise might show in his eyes. Before any hint could be transmitted that he might actually be interested in the news. Because he wasn’t – interested, that is – he just had to get used to the concept.

  And he was glad he’d taken his time, because when he opened them he found Sheila Ferguson examining him much like he imagined she’d examine one of her marsupial roadkill victims. Closely. Intently. Studying them for any signs of life before she plucked whatever newborns were hanging around the pouch waiting to be rescued.

  He grimaced. Lucky for him he wasn’t brandishing a pouch. The woman did good work, it was true, but he wouldn’t fancy Sheila’s gnarled hands rummaging around his nether regions.

  ‘That’s nice,’ he lied, as nonchalantly as he could. And, after all, why shouldn’t he be nonchalant? It was long since he cared what Pip Martin did. So long ago it was ancient history. ‘So, what brings her back?’