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It came as no surprise to realise that Karl might have had his own reasons for so philosophically accepting Nina’s loss of memory for a period that might well have included a stint in prison for him.
Was that why he had taken so long to respond to the first postcard she had sent him a couple of months after her arrival on Shearwater? He had said it was because he was travelling so much in his new job, but perhaps it was because he was ashamed of what had happened and welcomed the chance of a clean slate. Certainly, he was much less reckless and more disciplined than the hot-headed twenty-year-old she had remembered him to be.
The sound of voices and footsteps on the creaking planks of the front veranda had Nina straightening up, snatching the creased business card off the counter and stuffing it into the pocket of her jeans.
She hastened back to the front door, stepping out into a patch of sunlight that momentarily dazzled her vision.
‘Hi, Ray, I…’
She stopped, raising her hand to shade her eyes as she saw the dark outline of his much taller companion. Her pupils contracted to pinpoints as she took in the pleasant expression on the lean, smiling face.
‘I guess today I’m allowed to greet you with a “good morning”,’ Ryan said as Zorro trotted forward to sniff at her laces.
Nina’s head whirled. She had no idea how to react. Should she just blurt out that she had finally recognised who he was?
‘You came racing over here for nothing,’ Ray cackled. ‘Ryan’s already beaten you to it!’
‘What?’ Nina’s gaze zigzagged violently between the two men. Had Ryan now remembered the rest? So far, all he had managed to dredge up were fragments of his childhood.
‘Saw him walking along the beach with Zorro, so I called him in. He told me all about your rescue effort,’ Ray expanded, shuffling over to the bench seat against the blistered weatherboards and lowering himself stiffly onto it with an audible creak of his arthritic bones. He sighed with relief, his knobbly hand resting the smooth kauri walking-stick against his spindly knee.
‘Cooked up some bacon and eggs for me, too, while we had our chat. Almost as good as yours! I was glad to hear you had a bit of company—I worried about you in that big blow. Thought I might come back to find you picking through a pile of matchwood, the way they were talking about it on the TV!’
‘It wasn’t that bad here…’ Nina began, instinctively playing down her fear.
‘Bad enough, according to the fishermen I met on the wharf,’ Ray muttered gruffly, a scowl crossing his whiskery, weather-beaten face. ‘And I can see it around here. Some of my roofing iron around back is flapping loose and I’ve sprung a few weatherboards. No use thinking I’ll ever get round to fixing it, not with these hands the way they are.’ He held up the gnarled fingers, distorted by the disease in his joints. An ex-fisherman, he had spent most of his working life in the open, and now he chafed at the fact that his hardy, work-toughened body was letting him down. ‘I’ve been thinking it’s about time this place had a general spruce-up anyway….’
‘Perhaps you’d better see if you can get Bill Sawyer to come and take a look—’
‘And get charged an arm and a leg for knocking in a few nails? No thanks!’ Ray was generous in many respects, but he hated spending an unnecessary dollar. ‘Not when I have Ryan here offering to do it for nothing but a shared crust and a roof over his head.’
‘Ryan!’ Nina’s chin jerked around. Sitting on the wide veranda rail, his arms propped on the cracked wood on either side of his hips, he looked amused at her stunned reaction. In the pale ivory trousers and indigo cashmere sweater, which were among the clothes he’d had to wash from his bag, he was infuriatingly attractive, and his cocky grin seemed to imply he knew it.
‘Yep. He’s gonna be my handyman for the next few days,’ Ray said. ‘So you’ll have your temporary tenant for a bit longer. Naturally, I’ll adjust your rent since he’s gonna need meals—’
‘Handyman! But—you can’t do that! He can’t stay here,’ Nina squawked. ‘He has to get back!’
