Two Recluses in a Wood
Robert drove into Coffs for the supplies he needed, not ready to announce his
presence with a public appearance in the small shops by the Green. All he wanted
for the time being was to keep to himself, to wander in the woods and find
branches and stumps and small trees that might lend themselves to carving or
shaping into some object. This morning he'd set out on one such walk, and had
located several nice pieces which he carried in the crook of his left arm, when
he came out from behind a clump of tall bushes and stopped, frowning. A house.
He had hoped there would be none within such easy walking distance of his own.
It was white, rather oddly-shaped with a cut-off gable, and was nearly buried
under swaths of climbing roses in full bloom. It was also somehow
entirely...female...in its aura. He frowned again, unpleasant memories of how it
had ended so badly with Marion back in England flooding through him, turned on
his heel and headed more deeply into the woods in another direction.
Julie St. John had just filled an antique vase with roses and stood surveying
it, pulling up a rose here, tucking one in more there, then setting the
arrangement in the center of her mahogany dining room table. The moment the real
estate agent had shown her the house, she'd known it was perfect. Isolated,
utterly charming, clean and neat, and filled with antique furnishings the
elderly woman who'd owned it before had left behind. And the best thing about it
was how far it was from London.
Her most recent novel had shot to the top of the best-seller list and her
picture was plastered all over every bookstore in the city. It was the seventh
in a continuing series of novels and by now her name was a household word. The
first three had already been made, quite successfully, into movies. With the
release of her latest book, she found she couldn't go anywhere without lenses
following her, and so had made arrangements to get as far as possible from all
of it and settle in to write her 8th in the series. All she wanted was peace and
quiet and to be left alone. The rose-covered house relatively in the middle of
nowhere, suited her purposes perfectly.
Leaving the dining room she walked to her study, picking up a copy of her book
and staring a moment at the picture of her on the back of its dust jacket. It
was a bit arty for her taste, but she'd gone along with her publisher's request
to use that particular shot. At least the lighting didn't reveal any of the fine
lines that had begun to show at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. A bit
of air brushing, too, and she looked several years younger.
She'd brought at least two weeks' worth of groceries with her from Coff's and,
hopefully, no one would even know she was there in the house she'd come to think
of simply as Rose Cottage. Roses had always been her favorite flower and for a
time she'd even considered naming her heroine Rose, but thought the better of
it. Everyone would probably think it was that girl from the Titanic.
Sitting at her computer, she smiled. No one knew where she was except her
publisher. That was how she wanted it. Not even Reginald, who had pursued her
for the last three years, knew how to find her. She had no intention of ever
marrying him. He was rather much of a stodge and she found him unutterably dull
in his persistence for her hand. Rural Australia was the last place anyone would
think of looking for her.
