Waiting For Michael. Kathy Sr. Sampson

supportive aroma of hops and malt. Jason nodded at the limestone-walled beer garden and said: "Would you prefer something stronger?"

      Estelle's head shook. "Just a very hot coffee - I'm freezing." It was the truth. She hadn't been thinking clearly when dressing that morning - not surprisingly - and it had been reasonably warm then. It was only by sheer chance that there happened to be a light cotton jacket on the back seat of the car and, although better than nothing, it imparted little in the way of protection. A brief, sideways glance found Jason's arm to be invitingly close. Could she slip her own through without compromising the position of either of them? It was doubtful. Pulling the front panels of the jacket together, she fumbled with the zipper.

      The wind hit as they turned onto Market Street. They pushed into it with their heads down, then the rain came. Before she knew what was happening, Jason's hand had enveloped her own. "We'd better run for it," he said, almost having to shout to make himself heard above the whistling squall. "Do you think you can?"

      Did my heart just stop? Isn't it now beating nineteen to the dozen? "Yes, I think so." I know so.

      There was a break in the traffic and they raced across the road, not waiting for the lights to change. "Where do you want to go?" called Jason.

      "I don't care. Anywhere."

      Had he known the recklessness with which she had become temporarily infected, he would have dashed back to the car and driven her straight to that mystery destination 'Anywhere'; but being ignorant of both this and her deep feelings towards him, he guided her to Miss Maude's instead.

      Considering the inclement weather, it was surprisingly busy. Despite this, it didn't have the atmosphere Jason would have preferred. From his point of view, the place had become impersonal since it had ceased to be Pappa Luigi's, but that, he supposed, was progress. Anyway, it was the closest cafe and had saved them from drowning, so it was deserving of a little loyalty.

      They took a table next to the window and while waiting for their order to be brought over, Jason tried once more to change Estelle's mind about the trip. It was strange, but now that they were out of the wind and rain and he had released her hand, the old fears began to return and she felt as if she was standing apart from the rest of the world, being watched by it. A sigh of disappointment said far more than the words that followed. "Honestly, Jason, I can't. I'd love to come, but Michael's expecting me to pick him up from the airport on Friday evening. He'll throw a fit if I'm not there to meet him."

      "If he is planning to skip the country on Saturday," Jason reminded her, "He won't have time to come and look for you - he'll be so busy fitting together the pieces of his dirty little puzzle. The field trip lasts a week. In that time, your sleazy husband will be long gone."

      "And pigs might fly," she mumbled disconsolately. Conversation died when a young waitress approached with the coffees. The uncomfortable silence lingered a few seconds until she had walked out of earshot. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound cynical, but nothing good's happened to me for the past two years and I can't imagine my luck suddenly changing."

      "Not unless you make it."

      Doesn't he think I want to? Jason must know how I feel about him! Not until you tell him, silly, she reminded herself. "I don't see I have a choice. I simply have to meet Michael's plane, even if he is going to run out on me - especially if he is."

      Jason was sipping at his cup as he listened. He paused and looked across at her. "I don't understand. Why especially?"

      A centimetre of froth had attached itself to his upper lip. She resisted the urge to smile. "Because my being there is part of his plan. If I don't show up it might cause a chain reaction which could upset everything. He may not have time to put on his George Truscott hat.” Or a false moustache…? Jason must have picked up on her thoughts, because a napkin rose and wiped away the distraction. That was a relief. Cute, though. Now, back to being serious. “What if he misses the LA flight? You said earlier there was every chance this could blow up in his face. To be perfectly honest, I hope it does, and that has nothing to do with revenge - I don't want to be seen as the one lighting the fuse, not prematurely, not at any time. Michael’s fate has to be entirely his own doing."

      His blue eyes were watching her intently, capturing each movement of her hands, every nervous twitch, but he remained silent. Estelle was glad, because there was more to say. "I've just this minute decided - I will come to Kalbarri, but only after Michael has gone. I don't love him, Jason - I don't believe I ever did - but he has to leave me. If he does, I'll be free of him for good. If I walk out on him, especially now, I can expect to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. You do see that, don't you?"

      An odd sensation was taking hold of Jason, one which heated blood and left a rosy glow tingling on nerve endings. At first he fancied it might be a simple re-emergence of that special love he had known, the once-in-a-lifetime happening thought to be lost and buried along with Helen; but this, surprisingly, was deeper. The only other emotion it could be equated to was pride, and the level was so great that it transcended worldly admiration. This could be compared to the adoration of Saints and Martyrs. She was afraid - no doubt of it - but her courage far outweighed fear and he loved her all the more because of it.

      The buzz of tingling energy which had been slowly building inside began to swim through his system, reached his hands and accumulated there, preparing them to slide across the table and join with hers. A simple touch might be all that was needed to unite two lonely souls in a wonderful, newfound togetherness. A few centimetres was all it would take. A little courage to cross the void. One of his fingers twitched. It was the false start he didn’t need. The coward in him returned ringing alarms. The erstwhile energy cooled and beat a hasty retreat behind the skirts of common sense. He slumped inwardly. Maybe he did love Estelle - dare he say as much as, if not more than Helen? - but at this point in time she was a married woman. No matter how strong, no matter that she felt the same, it was a love forbidden both by convention and conscience. It could not be!

      "Jason?" she urged softly. "Are you okay? You've gone funny." Her hand moved over the table top and rested on his.

      The touch sparked a resurgence of excitement, causing him to feel exposed and embarrassed. Cheeks glowed hot, and ears began to burn. "Er - yes, I'm good, really I am. I didn't mean to be rude. I was listening. I was trying to find an argument stronger than yours, but you seem to have covered all the obvious moves." In particular the one with your hand, he thought.

      Withdrawing his own from beneath hers, he dipped into a pocket for a handkerchief to mop at the droplets of rain on his brow. It was a poor excuse for breaking contact, but uncertainty precluded the invention of anything better. Then something leapt to mind and the hand dived inside his jacket and came out with a wallet.

      Removing a business card, he turned it over, slid a pen from his top pocket and began scribbling. He heard Estelle ask him what he was doing. Instead of replying, he simply raised a hand begging continued patience, then wrote faster. Once finished, he glanced over the card briefly before passing it to her. "Those are numbers where I can be contacted in Kalbarri. The first one is the caravan park where we're staying, and this -," the ball-point indicated the second number, "Is the Ranger's residence. He'll know where we are on any given day - I always notify him when I take a party into the gorges, just in case."

      Sitting back, he leaned heavily into the chair, methodically replacing his wallet and pen to their respective pockets. It was a way of returning to business as usual, disappointing in many respects, but all he could handle at the moment. "I'm setting off early tomorrow morning, but I'll ring you first and again as soon as I arrive at Kalbarri. After that, you won't hear from me until Saturday night. All being well, Michael Ventura alias George Truscott should be out of your life by then. I'll be expecting you to tell me what time you're leaving Sunday morning."

      "Leaving?" She sounded bewildered. "Where am I going?"

      "To join us in Kalbarri," he stated positively. "You said you would and I'm holding you to that." He sat forward again. "If I get no reply, or Michael answers, or you sound the slightest bit anxious, then I'll be straight in the car and heading South before you even get a chance to hang up."

      "That's silly. I'll be okay__"