Mr. Unforgettable Page 2

  She stiffened. “I didn’t stand for the mayoralty to keep your seat warm.” Was that why he’d wanted her to run? Because he’d perceived her as someone who’d be easy to displace?

  “So you haven’t been a councillor, so what?” he’d argued at the time. “You were working in local government when you met Harry and you were his mayoress for five years. People know and trust you.”

  Wily politician that he was, he’d then used the one argument that could sway her. “Otherwise, that right-wing bastard, Cully, will win by default and undo all Harry’s good work.” Liz had been swept to power on a wave of public grief and nostalgia for the district’s favorite son. An easy victory followed by a heavy responsibility—filling Harry’s shoes.

  “Of course not,” Snowy soothed her now, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. “But you haven’t initiated anything, have you?”

  “Because I’ve been learning the ropes, riding shotgun on Harry’s numerous projects. Although you know I’m advocating a new community center.”

  “Very worthy.” For the first time his paternalism felt patronizing.

  “Yes, it is. Dammit, a community needs a heart and that clapped-out hall hardly qualifies.”

  He reverted to his old impatience. “Without wanting to undermine your accomplishments, Liz, people elected you on Harry’s reputation. Now the district needs a professional politician with a new vision. I mean this kindly—” his eyes took on a steely glint “—if you really want to protect his legacy, then quit while you’re ahead.”

  He knew her fears and he was deliberately prodding every one. The realization saddened Liz, and made her decision easier.

  “You’re right about looking to the future.” Snowy relaxed back into his chair. “I’ll stand on my own merits.”

  “You’ll get more votes under Harry’s aegis,” he said bluntly. “And that’s the last advice I’ll give you. But you can’t beat me.”

  He was probably right. “I have a heap of work to do,” she said, smiling.

  Disgruntled, Snowy heaved to his feet. “I won’t announce my interest until tomorrow so you can reconsider overnight.” He stopped at the door. “What would Harry want, Liz?”

  “Probably to still be alive.”

  Snowy’s face reddened. “Flippancy isn’t appropriate.”

  “Neither is emotional blackmail.” Liz kept her voice very steady. “Harry was too dear to both of us to be used as a political football.”

  When he’d gone, Liz took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t just lost a mentor, she’d lost one of her few friends.

  And another link to Harry.

  Pushing back her self-pity she tried to think rationally. Was Snowy a better person for the job? Kingpin of the old boys’ network, his concerns reflected his interests—land management, sports clubs and business.

  Services and facilities for young families, teens, the aged—these were areas he’d give lip service if he won.

  Liz pulled out her diary and wrote Reelection Priorities then underscored it. Her most pressing need, now Snowy had deserted her, was finding a campaign manager. She wrote it down, added Possible Candidates? then chewed her pen. It had to be someone she trusted.

  Ten minutes later her pad was still empty.

  BLUE MOON? Blue gum? What the hell had the mayor said? Blue bird? Yes…it was a bird. While his independent planner, Caroline Newton, read her report to the Resource Consents Panel, Luke racked his brains. “Blue sparrow? Blue finch? Blue—”

  Caro’s knee nudged his, and he realized he was muttering aloud. Glancing at her statement, he saw she was only up to page twenty of twenty-five.

  Why she still had to read it out loud when everyone had had the documents for a week was beyond him. He studied the three men who make a ruling.

  Two of them had an elbow propped on the circular table and were supporting their heads with one hand, barely awake. Councillor Bray looked more like a basset hound than ever with his wrinkles pushed up around his deep-set eyes; fluorescent light flagged the bald spots in Councillor Maxwell’s coiffed gray hair.

  Only the council’s new planning officer, John Dunn, looked as though he was following the proceedings, glancing up occasionally over his reading glasses and making notes in the margins. But it was the other two who worried Luke.

  Bray’s cousin owned one of the properties adjoining the camp. He’d appreciate any delays Bray could get him before “the hordes” as he disparagingly called them, arrived.

  And Maxwell was a NIMBY. Said all the right things about helping the underprivileged but only associated with affluent retirees with low golf handicaps, and always voted Not In My Backyard.

  Dammit, Luke needed every edge he could get. Blue tit…blue jay…his gaze settled on Delores Jackson, furiously scribbling notes in the observer gallery…blue bat…no, wrong species. At least she couldn’t speak during this hearing.

  As Caroline started reading page twenty-three, he drummed his fingers lightly on the table. For an athlete, long periods of inactivity felt like slow death. Still reading, Caro nudged his knee again and he stopped tapping. This time her warm thigh stayed pressed against his.

  Casually, Luke broke contact. This wasn’t the first time his planning adviser had signaled her interest, but the Beacon Bay population was too closely knit for transitory relationships, and since his failed marriage he wasn’t interested in any other kind.

  Caroline turned another page. Under the table, Luke’s left foot started to tap. Celibacy had only intensified his restless energy. His gaze fell on the portraits lining the opposite wall and gravitated to Elizabeth Light’s, one of only two women to hold the office of mayor.

  She smiled directly into the camera but her eyes were remote. Yet in the elevator…

  He wondered if the mayor missed sex now that her husband was dead, but decided no. Sex would have been a duty to such a restrained woman, something messy to be ticked off her list.

  Idly, he scanned the row of pictures until he found her late husband. A good man, dignified and judicious, Harry Light had more than made up for rejecting the hotel project by his later support of the camp.

  Luke tried to imagine Harry and Liz in bed together, then realized what he was doing and winced. Sorry, mate, rest in peace.

  “In conclusion,” said Caroline, “I ask that the moratorium on construction be lifted.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Newton.” John Dunn took off his reading glasses. “We do have some questions for you and Mr. Carter.”

  Luke straightened in his chair. Let the games begin.

  THE PHONE RANG as Liz hunched over her solid-oak desk, and she pushed her blank pad aside with relief. “Elizabeth Light speaking.”

  “Hi, it’s Kirsty.” The friendliness in her stepdaughter’s tone still thrilled Liz every time she heard it. “Just checking that nothing’s come up to stop you from taking Harriet this afternoon.”

  “Are you kidding?” Liz stood and walked to the window, closing the Venetian blinds against the glare. “Nothing takes priority over that baby.” She added wryly, “Not even a coup attempt.”

  “Ooh, that sounds interesting. Tell me what’s happening in the world of paid work.”

  Liz hesitated. “Snowy’s challenging for the mayoralty.”

  “But he’s the one who made you run last time…Aaah!” Kirsty had inherited her father’s political astuteness and prior to starting a family had worked in public relations. “Good old Uncle Snow,” she said disgustedly. “Well, he won’t be kissing my baby on the election trail. You’re going to need one hell of a campaign to beat him.” The fact that Kirsty gave her a chance of winning heartened Liz, until she added, “Who’s your campaign manager?”

  Liz picked up a paperweight. “I was going to ask you for recommendations…would any of your former colleagues be suitable?”

  “Hmm,” Kirsty intoned thoughtfully. “Actually I can think of someone. Dynamic, intelligent, politically aware, good experience in PR. Looking for a part-time jo
b that would exercise a diaper-soggy mind.”

  “You?” Liz’s brain started racing. “I didn’t think you were ready to go back to work,” she hedged. Their friendship was too new, too precious to risk losing, and campaign disagreements were inevitable.

  Volatile and passionate, Kirsty had been nineteen when Liz married Harry, and had hated her relentlessly until the day he died. Kirsty had been Daddy’s girl, a relationship that had grown even closer with her mother’s death when Kirsty was fifteen.

  Harry’s marriage to a woman only nine years older than she was had been a profound shock, and nothing Liz did softened Kirsty’s dislike. Ironically his death brought them together; no one else mourned his loss like they did.

  “I’m worried about jeopardizing our friendship,” she admitted at last.

  “Lizzy, we’re not friends.”

  “Oh.” She dropped the paperweight.

  “We’re family.”

  LUKE CRUMPLED his notes, aware for the hundredth time that he had staked too much—personally and financially—on this damn project. “If you want to preach responsibility, gentlemen, maybe we should discuss council’s negligence in not raising the skink issue earlier.”

  He paused, letting the threat of legal action wake everybody up.

  Beside him, Caroline scribbled a hasty note and pushed it in front of him. Don’t antagonize!!!

  Screw it, he’d been listening to Bray and Maxwell paying lip service to environmentalism for thirty minutes. “This isn’t about skinks anymore,” he said. “It’s about two—” with difficulty he stopped himself saying skunks “—councillors getting off on their power.”

  Bray’s basset-hound eyes widened; Maxwell got so red even his bald spots went pink. But the new guy, John Dunn, snorted, then covered his lapse with a cough. “I agree we’ve had enough discussion,” he said. “The decision seems clear-cut to me.”

  “Well, it’s not to me,” Maxwell began.

  “Hear, hear,” Delores boomed from the public seats.

  Luke raised his voice. “And let’s not forget Blue—” please God, let this be it “—Heron Rise.”

  Dunn looked blank. “Blue Heron Rise?”

  “Blue…Heron…Rise.” Luke started to sweat.

  Bray and Maxwell had their heads together whispering furiously; then Bray leaned over to Dunn, and muttered something behind his hand.

  Caroline wrote, I wish I’d thought of that!!!

  Maintaining his grave expression, Luke scrawled back, I expect a discount!!!

  “It seems we’re all in agreement.” John Dunn had a twinkle in his eye. “Building resumes.”

  He walked down the stairs with Caroline and Luke afterward to avoid being ambushed by Delores Jackson, confirming Luke’s opinion that Dunn was a smart man.

  Turned out he was another Aucklander looking for a slower pace of life and, by his accent, which had a rougher edge when he wasn’t officiating, Luke guessed they hailed from similar neighborhoods. Dunn was effusive about the facilities Triton was now moving ahead with, less so about the future inmates.

  “They’ll trash the place.”

  “Careful.” Luke put out a steadying hand. “Wouldn’t want you tripping on that prejudice.”

  John looked at him blankly for a minute then reddened. “Sorry, mate, but—” his gaze swept over Luke’s expensive suit “—you don’t have any idea what you’re taking on.”

  “Oh, I’ll soon have them singing Gilbert and Sullivan and calling me sir.” Luke opened the stair door, gallantly gestured Caroline and Dunn through into the council foyer. “And I’m looking forward to learning how to rap.”

  John looked at him closely. “You’re having me on.”

  “I’m sorry.” Losing his temper wouldn’t help anybody. “Look, most of these kids aren’t bad, just without choices or role models. And we’re not expecting quick fixes. Every kid comes back to camp at least twice and there’ll be follow-up scholarships for those willing to take them.”

  Luke became aware that his voice was ringing through the foyer, and shut up. The other two were staring at him, embarrassed. God help me, he thought, I’ve become an evangelist.

  “Your heart’s in the right place, mate, but…” John’s gaze slid over Luke’s suit again. “I grew up around kids like that and they don’t change.”

  “I was a kid like that. And I did change.” Luke thrust out his hand. “Give them a chance, that’s all I ask.”

  John shook it. “Chance. Guess that explains the name of the camp. Well, good on you for giving something back.” With a nod to Caroline he turned toward his office.

  “I never knew that about you.” Her curiosity rescued Luke from painful memories.

  With a shrug, he followed her out of the building. “It’s not something I broadcast. But if it helps change prejudices, I guess I should use it.” He looked down at the new permit in his hand, then kissed it. “Yeah, baby.”

  Caroline laughed. “Come over for a drink tonight to celebrate.” Her invitation implied more than a drink and for a moment Luke was tempted, but these days moments were all he allowed himself. “Thanks, but I need to work.”

  “You know what they say about no play…”

  “Makes Jack a dull boy. Yep, that’s me.”

  Driving back to the building site to break the good news, he wondered if dull Jack was the same Jack who sat in a corner saying, “What a good boy am I!”

  If it was, he reflected dryly, Horner had been misspelled.

  THE HOUSE, when Luke got home midafternoon, was stifling from being closed up on a day when the beach shimmered in a haze of heat, and even Beacon Bay’s white sand could scorch the soles of bare feet.

  Opening all the doors and windows, he stripped to a pair of running shorts and a loose T-shirt, then leaped off his deck, down the sand dunes and onto the beach. It was too damn hot for a run but fitness was engrained in him so he picked up his stride, his trainers digging into the soft sand.

  Besides, he’d be stuck in his home office all evening catching up on Triton business. While he’d delegated his day-to-day responsibilities in order to set up the camp, as a partner he still had a strategic role.

  His property was at the less populated end of the three-kilometer beach, close to a tidal lagoon. But it took the length of the beach and back before Luke had run out the day’s frustrations.

  Panting, he walked the jelly out of his legs alongside the green lagoon, with its shady overhang of gnarled pohutukawas.

  Kids had recently created a deeper swimming hole by damming the sea end, but to counter protests from parents of toddlers they’d also formed a smaller, shallow pool between the sea and the sandbank.

  On an incoming tide it made a perfect wading pool, but today only one mother—wearing a modest lime swimsuit, a big straw hat and sunglasses—stood knee deep supervising a blond baby.

  In addition to wearing yellow water wings, the girl had a bright pink blow-up ring around her solid little middle and looked like the Michelin Man in drag. But she had a yummy mummy. Luke allowed his libido a quick scan.

  A golden Labrador tore past him and thundered into the water with a joyful bark, sending spray over the woman, who yelped and then laughed. “Go home, Tolstoy, or I’ll have you impounded,” she warned and Luke realized he’d been admiring the mayor’s shapely legs and beautifully rounded rear.

  Tolstoy was a well-known sight on the beach; his elderly owner let the dog walk himself.

  She turned back to the splashing baby, gently floating on the ripples over the sandbank and into the main lagoon. “Oh, shit!”

  Luke grinned. So the mayor hid a great body and swore when she thought she was unobserved. The Lab swam to shore where it shook itself off in a whir of flying golden fur and raced up to Luke.

  Giving him a cursory pat, Luke watched, amused, as the mayor gingerly waded in up to her armpits and grabbed for the baby, who floated just out of her reach.

  Obviously, Her Worship didn’t want to get her hair wet.
As the baby drifted away from her, she made another grab and went under, her hat bobbing to the surface. Luke laughed until Liz’s face broke free of the water and she tore off her sunglasses. She was terrified.

  He exploded into motion, hit the water as the mayor went under for the second time, reaching her in three fast strokes, then hauled her, coughing and spluttering, into the shallows.

  “Harriet,” she gasped, all her attention on the child.

  “She’s fine.” He retrieved the spinning tube with the splashing baby, the hat and the sunglasses. Liz grabbed Harriet, and the plastic squeaked under the pressure of her hug.

  Rivulets of water streamed off her dark blond hair and down her face, splashing on the child, who began to whimper. With a shock, Luke realized the mayor was crying.

  She thrust out the baby, and he took Harriet awkwardly and walked away, instinctively giving Liz privacy and himself space. The baby stopped fussing and stared at him with wondering eyes. He ventured a smile. The baby stared at his teeth.

  “Can you talk?” he asked. The baby didn’t answer. She was older than his goddaughter…Maybe two? He freed her from the inner tube and water wings conscious of the big brown eyes that traveled, fascinated, over his face. Now he understood the safety-gear overkill.

  She seemed much younger and smaller without all her floaters, and he wished he’d kept them on.

  “I’m sorry.” Liz came over and took the kid from him. She looked pale. Barefoot, she was level with his shoulder. She tried to dry Harriet with a towel but her shaking hands made her clumsy. The baby’s lower lip started to tremble.

  Luke took Harriet back. “My house is nearby, let me make you a cup of tea.”

  As she hesitated, a group of beachgoers trudged into view, heading their way. Mayor Light jammed on her sunglasses. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  BEACH BAG IN HAND, Liz followed Luke Carter up the dunes, focused on pulling herself together. Slowly, the shaking stopped and she became conscious of her wet swimsuit, her rat’s-tail hair and the freckles on her nose, normally covered by makeup. Of having fallen apart in front of a ratepayer.