Australian Secrets. Fiona McCallum

do have TV, you know, and even mobile phones – though the coverage is still a bit patchy.’

      ‘I didn’t mean to …’ Nicola started, blushing beetroot.

      ‘Forgiven. I know we’re a long way from the big smoke but it’s a great place – you might even get to like it.’

      Nicola raised her eyebrows. ‘Not likely.’

      ‘There’s a lot more to do out here than you’d think. But I want to know why Life and Times has sent their star reporter to Nowhere Else – anything I should know?’

      ‘Well, nothing major, just a piece on the drought.’ Nicola hoped it would turn out to be more, but wasn’t really feeling at all optimistic. At least with the plane crash there had been specific leads to follow up.

      What she needed now was an angle, no matter how tenuous; just a starting point of some sort. ‘Actually, I could probably use your help.’

      ‘Angle?’

      ‘Not yet.’ Nicola bit her lip. She hadn’t actually given any thought to the story. She was still coming to terms with the fact she was actually here to work; she’d been too busy dreaming of facials, mud wraps, and quaint shopping strips.

      ‘Hmm, come out to my office – better for thinking.’

      ‘Sure you’ve got time; I’m not imposing?’

      ‘No worries, I’m really just pottering around enjoying the peace I don’t get at home. Would never have believed two small children could make so much noise. Though I suppose they are boys,’ he added, directing her into a chair.

      ‘Oh,’ Nicola blurted, unable to hide her surprise.

      ‘So,’ Richard said, leaning back in his chair, ‘what really brings you here?’

      ‘Well I was actually looking for an internet connection – my motel room doesn’t have one.’

      ‘No, Nicola. I mean, what’s a city girl like you doing in the sticks?’

      ‘I told you – the drought.’

      Richard’s raised eyebrows told Nicola he didn’t believe her. ‘What?’ she snapped.

      ‘Nothing. So, I know you got your career on track, what else has been going on – husband, boyfriend, kids?’

      ‘Fiancé actually. Scott; we’ve been living together almost eight years now.’

      ‘So when’s the big day?’

      ‘What? Oh … that … No plans as yet – too busy to even think about it,’ she lied.

      The truth was she’d spent plenty of time browsing bridal magazines and dreaming of her perfect day. She’d hoped Scott would make the first move – if he really loved her he would. But he hadn’t said anything about it since brushing off her last enquiry twelve months ago.

      At the time she’d accepted his, ‘Honey, I’m really too busy with the research on this new listing – maybe when it’s finished we can discuss it, but right now I don’t have the headspace’. But since then at least three new listings and five major clients had diverted his attention. She’d given up dropping hints.

      ‘Ah, so you’re escaping.’

      ‘What?’ Nicola asked, genuinely confused.

      ‘The trip out bush,’ Richard said, flapping an arm.

      Nicola had forgotten just how nosy Richard was – the trouble with time and a selective memory. Now she was finding him damn annoying.

      ‘And you can talk – avoiding the wife and kids,’ she snarled. ‘Ouch, walked into that one,’ he said, grinning. ‘Anyway, this is different. Do you have any idea how rowdy kids are on polished boards with their …?’

      ‘Tell me about your wife,’ Nicola cut in. ‘Though I’ve gotta say, I never really pictured you as a family man.’

      He’d said as much to her all those years ago. For a few months there Nicola had thought she might have one day become the mother to his children. Their university days seemed to have been yesterday and another lifetime ago. They’d once been highly competitive students, each desperate to beat the other with grades and then into the cauldron of a cadetship.

      Both had been equally passionate about becoming great journalists and spending their lives enlightening the public. And of course there’d also been the other sort of passion … She remembered how it ended.

      Richard had decided he was leaving for London at the end of the year and didn’t want the complication of a relationship. Why did men and women always seem to view relationships differently? According to him, theirs was only casual; the occasional bonk as reward for an assignment well done or other drunken celebration. Why hadn’t she had the guts to tell him she had fallen in love?

      Something tugged inside – regret, longing, guilt – Nicola couldn’t identify it.

      ‘What? Oh sorry, kids? No, wouldn’t know,’ she stumbled.

      ‘Actually, we’d moved on – I was telling you about my wife, Karen,’ Richard said, sounding annoyed. ‘Where were you?’ he added.

      ‘Nowhere Else?’ she said, an attempt at wit to change the subject.

      Richard rolled his eyes at her.

      What had he said about his wife? Was he happy? ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

      ‘Your turn, what’s this Scott fellow like?’

      ‘Oh, you know,’ she said, waving a dismissive arm. ‘Tall, dark, and handsome.’

      ‘So, what does he do for a crust that makes him too busy to make an honest woman of you?’

      ‘I’ll have you know I’m a very honest woman, thank you very much, and it has nothing to do with Scott.’

      ‘It was just a figure of speech, Nicola. You know I’d never question your integrity.’

      ‘Well, since you asked; he’s a stockbroker. Very busy and quite wealthy as it happens,’ she added defiantly.

      ‘So he’s too busy off making money to make you happy by putting another ring on your finger, huh?’

      Nicola coloured slightly. ‘I didn’t say that.’

      ‘You didn’t have to. And being wealthy isn’t just about money, Nicola.’

      ‘Someone sounds like they’re a little jealous.’ ‘And someone else sounds like they’re in denial about gilded cage syndrome.’

      ‘And when did you find time to do a Masters in psych? It might have escaped your attention, but I actually have a fabulous career all of my own. I’m hardly a candidate for the gilded cage. And anyway, we’re not married,’ she snapped.

      ‘All right, I’m sorry. You’re right; I had no right to judge,’ Richard said, showing his palms in surrender.

      ‘I’m sorry too, I’ve had a tough week. Then I get sent out to a dump called Nowhere Else, which really is like nowhere else, to do a story on dirt. I’m allergic to dust, flies and crappy motels. Don’t know what I was thinking …’

       Well actually, I do, but I’m not going to make a fool of myself by telling you.

      ‘So where’s the fabulous Scott right now?’

      Nicola checked her gleaming gold watch.

      ‘Probably sitting by the pool sipping something green and foamy with a pink umbrella sticking out of it.’ ‘Gone on holiday without you?’

      ‘Conference – his fourth one this year,’ Nicola said sulkily. ‘Speaking of green,’ Richard muttered. Nicola shot him a scowl.

      ‘Sounds