“Hey. Slow down, darl. I’m not sure you actually need caffeine.” She laughed in a friendly tone that wasn’t mockery.

I took a deep breath and thanked her.

“I’m Beatrix, coffee connoisseur,” she said. “This is my place.”

“Oh. Hi. I’m Jules.” I rarely introduced myself as Jules. Always Juliette or Juliette Salinger. I just felt instantly comfortable with this girl. “I like to think I’m a coffee connoisseur too.”

“Well, Jules, if that’s the case, you can call me Bea.” Her smile was warm and genuine. “I sell my special blend beans if you wanted to take some home.” She pointed to a table on the wall to the left of the counter. “I can grind them for you if you like.”

“Thank you.”

I walked over to the table to check out the various beans and coffee machine accessories she was selling. Above the antique wooden table was a corkboard jam packed with hundreds of flyers advertising local events and services. There was an ad for the amateur fight night I would be competing in at Lilydale, which was close by. I still couldn’t believe I was actually going to do it.

My eye was drawn to a collection of framed photos next to the cork board. One of them I could have sworn was Gwendolyn—the stone farmhouse—in immaculate condition.

“Here’s your coffee,” Bea said from behind me.

Startled, I turned and took the coffee from her hands. She looked to be about my age and was ridiculously pretty with short blonde hair, green eyes and a heart-shaped face.

I smiled. “Thank you.”

“So you’re not from around here, then?” she asked.

“Oh no. I live in the city.”

Bea perched herself on a stool. “I couldn’t live anywhere but here. I’ve been here all my life.” Her face was pure contentment. “So what brings you out this way, then?”

“Your coffee, for one thing.” I didn’t want to talk about my mother’s charity or the fact I was running late for Richard’s speech rehearsal. I took a sip of my coffee and let out an involuntary moan of pleasure. “This may be the best coffee I’ve ever had. Puts George to shame, and that’s saying something.”

“George is your city barista?” she asked, smiling broadly.

“Nope, and don’t laugh. He’s my coffee machine. I call him George.”

Bea threw her head back and laughed. When she stopped, she pointed to her coffee machine, grinning. “Meet Charlie.”

I liked this girl, and I didn’t have many friends I could be myself around. It was hard being friends with those who knew me only as the society princess.

“So why do you have a picture of that house in here?” My curiosity needed a little fuel.

“One of my best friends grew up there.” She rubbed her forehead lightly as she spoke, and a flash of sadness washed across her face. “It’s still his family home, but no one lives there anymore.”

I had so many more questions, but before I could ask anything else, the door opened. A tour bus had stopped out front and a line of customers filed in. I glanced at my watch and nearly dropped my coffee. I was late and would incur my mother’s wrath. Richard would be annoyed with me too, for upsetting her and not listening to his speech.

“Sorry, Jules,” she said, stepping down from her stool. “I’d better get back to it. It was lovely to meet you.”

“You too.” I held up my empty coffee cup. “Best coffee ever.”

“Thanks. Coming from someone who names their coffee machine, that means a lot.”

I put my cup back on the counter, waved to her and headed for the exit.

I held the door open for a few stragglers from the bus. “Bye, Bea.” I waved again when the exit was free.

I had to drive back past the stone farmhouse and couldn’t resist pulling over again, even though I was now horribly late. This time, I was looking at it in a different light. I started envisaging it as a family home full of laughter and noise. I imagined the lawns mown and the flower beds flourishing with colour. I wondered what state the inside was in, and I wondered why no one lived there anymore.

I wanted to lose myself in that house in the countryside, miles from my life in the city. If my mother could read my thoughts at any given moment, she’d have a heart attack. She felt it was a matter of time before Richard and I got married and moved in together. It would kill her if I disrupted her fragile world in any way. My fierce determination to help maintain her illusion was taking its toll, but the alternative was unthinkable.

My phone’s ringtone broke the silence. I knew who it would be before I looked at the screen.

“Hello, Mother.” I closed my eyes and rested my chin on my chest with my shoulders slumped forward.

“Where on earth are you, Juliette? You should be here already. You’re being very disrespectful. I’m disappointed in you.”

I wondered if it had occurred to her to be worried about me. I could’ve been in an accident and lying injured in a hospital, or worse. Instead, her concern was keeping up appearances.

“I’m sorry. I got lost, but I’m on my way.”

“I was relying on you and you’ve let me down.” She sniffed.

She was crying. Of course she was.

I sighed. “It’s okay, Mum. Tonight is going to be a huge success. I’ll be there really soon.”

“Well, hurry up,” she said, still sniffing. “Are you wearing the dress I bought you? I brought an option for you just in case.” She went silent for a moment before she screamed, “Not over there!”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“The help can’t follow my simple instructions either.”

“Right. Well, I’ll see you soon.”

She hung up without saying goodbye, and I just stared at my phone as it disconnected.

I was exhausted. I didn’t want to turn the car back on. I wanted to stay right there in the middle of nowhere, where I felt completely at home. The object of my fascination shimmered in the late afternoon sun, highlighting the yellows and browns of the crumbling sediment.

I had a feeling deep in my gut that I was meant to find that house, and that it somehow held the key to my freedom. I had no idea how long I sat there, but when my thoughts came back to the present, I was aware of the darkening skies. I turned the key and floored it.

Chapter Nine

Leo

“Sure thing, ma’am,” I replied through gritted teeth and a fake smile. Mrs Fontaine, the woman running the charity event, was a ball breaker.

She had changed her mind about the exact placing of every table no less than five times. I had to keep reminding myself this woman paid her event staff almost twice the going rate. I was just grateful I didn’t have to associate with the type of people who attended her functions in my everyday life.

“That’ll do,” she said finally.

The event was being held on the lawn behind the homestead of the most luxurious estate in the Yarra Valley. It was a cocktail party and everything was black or white. How original, I’d thought. The setting, however, was unique. Situated at the top of the hill, the guests would be overlooking the rows of vines and the mountains beyond. It was wine country at its best.

The Estate homestead was impressive—an old white weatherboard with plantation shutters and a full wrap-around veranda.

“Is there anything else you need?” I asked politely.

She gestured towards the veranda. “I’d like a wet bar set up over there. Make sure my guests’ glasses are never empty. I’ll leave it up to you to—”

A man appeared out of nowhere and interrupted, “Where the hell is Juliette?”

Instead of being irritated by his rudeness, Mrs Fontaine tried to appease him. “I’m so sorry, Richard darling. I’ll give that inconsiderate daughter of mine another call. Come with me. We’ll find somewhere private to run through your speech.”

The rude son of a bitch had stood directly in front of me as if I didn’t exist. I supposed in his world, I didn’t.