And before I knew it, I had been at Nana for a week. I didn't see any more of Quentin; he left the day after I arrived. Apparently he chartered a helicopter and flew to Sydney, all on a whim, and he told no one how long he'd be gone for. Jo was worried, but the fact that he wasn't around did mean that she could speak freely and offload a little. I'm a good listener.

I had, like it or not, my own mixed feelings about Quentin being gone, but I quickly decided that it must be much better for him to be gone than for him to be around, in terms of my own peace of mind. I told my mind this every day, sometimes more than once a day. Told it to stop nagging and enjoy the relative peace. My mind wasn't easily convinced (let alone other parts of me), but in the mean time, I settled into this easy routine.

I walked over to the big house every morning for breakfast, then spent some time with Jo, then went to work on my new novel. The story outline was developing well. I hoped to do a serial, staying in the format of my first book. It was calm, quiet; it began to feel like holidays. I slowly recovered from the dishrag feeling of the book tour and was happy for it. Nana was a beautiful place.

In the afternoons, sometimes Sadie would drop in for a chat - she still hadn't found the copy of my book and was considering ordering a new one at Amazon – sometimes Jo would come sit with me with something to read, or we'd have another quiet talk about, well, mostly about Quentin. About his drinking, his temper, his getting into fights, about how he behaved when I first met him, about Jo's worries and my, erm, gift.

I told Jo about the uninvited vision I got of his emotions, when he came around to pick me up for dinner. I wasn't sure I understood it all, but I interpreted it as best I could. I thought he felt unhappy, empty and unfulfilled and he didn't know how to shake it. He had always been in control, had had a clear notion of where he was going, and for some reason he had lost his direction, his focus. His drinking, his raging, all of it was in the pursuit of some form of relief, however small, from the anxiety this gave him, I thought. But I couldn’t see what lay at the bottom of it all. What had triggered it?

I didn't tell Jo about what had happened after I had the vision, nor did I mention the almost magnetic force that came off him, that made me want to park my body right against his, parking permit be damned. Didn't tell her that, no. Especially not after she started telling me a bit about his past, where relationships were concerned.

He had always professed that he wanted a deep, long lasting commitment and a family, but the reality of his life was an endless string of short, intense affairs, laced with one-night stands. He had built himself quite the reputation as Mr. Legover from Down Under. Jo wasn't proud of it, but she couldn't help giggling as she told me. It made her twenty years younger.

She had had hopes that things could be different with the last woman he'd been with, Brianna Roberts, an actress. From the beginning it had looked like this was the real thing, at least for Quentin. He had been very much in love.

Bree was very beautiful, very talented and very, very driven. Quentin had been happy about the fact hat she was so dedicated a thespian – at least he wouldn't have to explain some of the choices he made, where his craft and his career were concerned. Jo, on the other hand, thought Bree was a little too competitive, and a little too focused on her career, for her liking. However, if she was the woman who could make her son happy, Jo was happy.

To everyone's surprise though, something had gone seriously pear shaped between them. Jo thought that it had actually happened around the time of, or even caused the Incident (she said it with an audible capital I), which referred to the thing Quentin did that got him banned from working in the States as an actor.

And what did he do? He threw a phone. At a hotel clerk behind a desk. The phone in his room wasn't working – he was desperately trying to ring Bree – and the guy behind the desk didn't assist him properly. Quentin had lost it. And Jo was sure there had been something going on between him and Bree that had aggravated him to the extent that he had lost it, even though he was well aware that, in the States, an act like that was an open invitation to get his arse sued off.

Which was exactly what happened. The media ate it up even more than usual, the court had been particularly harsh and it was downhill fast for Mr. Finch after the gavel had fallen and judgment had been passed. But what caused it all was still a mystery to everyone. Quentin wouldn't say. He bluntly refused to speak about it; not to his mother, not to his brother, not even to his niece, who had a special place in his heart. They had all tried and all that they achieved was that at each attempt, he had 'spat the dummy' (an expression that was new to me but descriptively accurate, I imagined) and had withdrawn – when the rage had dissipated - in a morose sulk that could last for days. Sometimes several bottles were involved, as well as hiding out in one of the cottages.

Eventually they had given up getting him to open up, and just hoped that it would wear off. So far, no luck though.

Poor Jo. The fact that she couldn't find a way to help her son was eating away at her. I wasn't sure what I could do to help her other than listen, though I liked to think that having me around to talk to did her some good.

~*~

After some days had passed, one afternoon found me outside my cabin, feverishly typing away at my laptop –the words just ran from my fingers like water. I was in The Zone, and completely oblivious to the world in general, and to the quiet approach of Martin in particular. I was startled into being again when something blocked my sun.

'Arvo,' the something said.

I had come to understand that that was intended as a greeting. It was the first time Martin came down to my cabin; I had a slight feeling he had been avoiding me since Quentin had left, but I couldn't put a finger on it.

'Arvo to you too,' said I, blinking like an owl. 'Erm, want some tea?' I had a large thermos at the ready.

'Beauty!' Martin was a man of few words.

'Come, sit,' said I, and poured. I was wondering if he was going to say anything at all; he just sat down, slurped amiably and squinted against the sun.

'Haven't seen you around for a while,' said I after some time. The silence wasn't awkward, but I just wanted to know where he had been. He hadn't eaten breakfast or dinner with the rest of the family and Sadie had said that he was up before dawn and back in really late, out in the fields all the time, though she didn't know what the problem was. None of the farm hands knew, either. And if they had known, Sadie would have gotten it out of them; they were all madly in love with her.

'I was out,' Martin said, waving in the direction of the mountains far away at the end of the glen.

'Was there a problem?'

'Mm,' said Martin, slurp, 'mm, not really. I just thought I'd bugger off for a stretch. Until my brother, well…'  He sighed.

'Until your brother what? Do you have any clue why he left so suddenly?'

'You mind much that he's gone?' Martin leaned forward in his chair, his eyes intently on me.

'Well, uh, no, I guess not… I mean…'

Wow, that was direct! I had to do some quick soul searching for this one.

'I mean,' I continued, 'I hardly saw him at all. He yelled at me when we first met, remember, and apart from the big dinner on my first night here, I only spoke to him twice. Briefly. He seems very troubled, and I guess there is more… calm, less disruption now that he's gone. So that's good.' I nodded, as much to myself as to him.

He sat back, apparently satisfied with what I said. 'Yeh,' he sighed again, 'that's apples.'

We were both quiet for some time.

'So you're not a fan of his work?' he asked, suddenly. Maybe five minutes had passed.

'What? Who? Oh, Quentin?' Yeah; stupid me, who else. But honestly, I thought we were finished talking about him. Apparently not. 'Well, no, I guess, not really. I know that he was good at what he did but I never… never followed his career, or,' I leaned forward with a quirky look on my face, 'drooled over a poster of him or anything.'

'You haven't.' Martin was deadpan.

'No. I haven't. I didn't even know that it was his family I was going to stay with; I came here because I met your mum, remember?'

'Yeah, righto.' He seemed to think for a bit. 'So tell me.' He leaned forward again and I thought: here it comes, even though I had no idea what 'it' was, exactly.

'Why,' said Martin, his eyes on me, his stare almost matching Quentin's intensity, 'why is my brother waiting for me to step outside after we had dinner on your first night here, to tell me, no, to order me, to stay the fuck away from you?'

I looked at him, speechless.

'Even blopped me on the chin. I thought it wise to stay out of sight until the discoloration had disappeared for the most part. Don't want to give Mum any more worries.'

'He hit you?' My mouth must have hung open. I suddenly remembered Quentin rubbing his hand like it hurt, that last time I spoke to him.

Martin, running a hand over his chin, nodded. There was a faint yellowish glow shining through his tan, but you had to look hard to notice it.  'So there's nothing happening between you and Quentin?'

I shook my head. 'Listen, Martin, I mean, just do the numbers. I have only actually seen him for maybe an hour in total. How fast does he, well, erm, “work”, normally?' I did the quote marks on either side of my head.

'You'd be surprised. He has this thing, reckon he's sort of irresistible to women. Always has been like that, 's long as I can remember. I've seen sheilas fall for him so hard and so fast that I couldn't believe my eyes. One moment he was talking to them, the next he's, well…' Another vague hand gesture.

'I see, ' said I, rather darkly. 'But I thought Bree Roberts was…'

'Didn't we all think that. But hey, she blew him off, and then she regretted it, and then he blew her off, and…' He made a “pffff” sound and looked exasperated. ' I can't keep track of what they're doing. And who they're doing it to. My brother doesn't have a clue either; one minute he's slagging her off and the next he's on the first transport out of here because she's given him a bell.' He fell silent.

So it had been Bree, on his mobile. And he'd left immediately after. Right. What was I thinking, that that kiss we shared meant anything? That what I had felt happening when we got close enough, had impressed him in any way? He was probably totally used to stuff like that, his life was no doubt all intensity.

I had to stop fooling myself, I was a grown woman for God's sakes! So pull yourself together, Taryn Archer, and get your arse in gear. I suppressed a giant sigh and wished the little voice at the back of my head would just curl up in a corner and die.

Martin, in the mean time, seemed to contemplate something. He said: 'You reckon you'd come for a stroll with me? I could show you around the grounds.'

Well what the hell, I thought.

It was just too weird, when you think about it: so apparently Quentin first gave his brother one on the chin to tell him to stay away from me, then came down to my cabin to tell me to stay away from him. This last him meaning Quentin himself, I mean, not Martin. God, I get confused even thinking about it.

So, I decided there and then one last, final, final, final time, to stop thinking about Quentin altogether, to just forget about him, as if he had never existed, and take Martin up on his offer. I went inside, put on my hiking boots and off we went.

The countryside was beautiful and our first walk took us to the foot of the mountain. We walked for hours and I was totally knackered when we got back to the house, just in time for dinner. Martin came in as well, sat down beside me and heaped food on my plate all the way through. He treated me like I was recovering from a severe illness, and being outdoors and eating immense amounts of food were going to cure me.

The first few times we went out for a long walk he hardly said anything. But slowly, slowly, he started to open up and tell me things about himself: about his life and responsibilities at the station, about his childhood, growing up (he hardly ever mentioned Quentin, though he seemed to be fond of his brother, in a sense)… Then, as he gained confidence, he told me about his marriage to Sadie's mum, and how that had failed.

Martin was a man who kept to his own time, and his own plan. He was not to be hurried. He didn't make a move on me but made sure I knew that he liked me and appreciated my company. I was just happy the way it was – I liked him, wasn't sure I fancied him but enjoyed his company very much. No pressure; that suited me just fine. Quentin's impact upon me seemed to slowly fade from my mind – though it didn't disappear completely. My discussions with Jo made sure of that.

And of course, it's so predictable, just when I was almost completely at ease, with myself, my surroundings, with Martin and our walks… when I was enjoying my unexpected holiday at Nana Glen to the fullest… Quentin came back. With a bang. And he wasn't alone.

~*~

Jo and I were at after-breakfast coffees when we heard the chop-chop of a helicopter. The farm had its own small heliport, which in fact was no more than a square slab of concrete with a big H on it and four really bright lamps a the corners, for landing in the dark.

As Jo and I rushed to the window, the four-person glassy dragonfly was just setting down. The door opened and out came Quentin, head down, obviously used to traveling in helicopters. He helped out a stick-thin platinum blonde and held her head down too, as they made their way to the main house. Someone started unloading an amazing amount of expensive luggage – must be hers, I thought.

Jo sighed – happy and concerned at the same time.

'Is that Bree Roberts?' I asked quietly.

She nodded. 'He brought her over once before, but only for a couple of days. I had no idea that she was here in Oz. And no idea that they were on speaking terms again...'

The door flew open and Quentin entered, smiling broadly.

'Oi, Mum, I'm back. And I've brought someone along.' He enveloped his mother in a bear hug.

Jo laughed, clearly it was delight now.

'You remember Bree, don't you?' said Quentin, still wearing a dazzling smile, ushering Bree in with a hand at the small of her back. 'She happened to be in the neighbourhood and…' Then his eyes fell on me and he forgot what he was about to say. 'Taryn,' he said after a short hesitation, much quieter. 'Didn't reckon you'd still be here.'

Was he annoyed? Or relieved? I couldn't tell. And why the hell would it even be important to me? I was supposed to be way over that one bloody kiss, wasn't I? So I shook his hand, politely, like we were old but distant acquaintances. Shook it without thinking.

And whack! Back was the heat, the surprising amount of emotional, well, noise, I guess, coming off him. He seemed almost hysterically happy, but it wasn't quite right. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it seemed, well, off. As if he was balancing his happiness on a needle point – as if it could fall off at any time, plummeting him back into the blackest darkness. My hand, which he was still holding, was a little oven with that strange, irresistible sensuous warmth that made me feel jelly-jointed.

'Quentin,' said I, hiding my confusion – and his impact - as best I could, giving him my happiest smile under the circumstances (and hey, what exactly were the circumstances, I may hear you ask. And with good reason. I had no clue, that's for sure), 'It's really good to see you again.' I turned to his companion, pried my hand loose from Quentin's – he seemed to be unwilling to let go, but maybe I was just imagining it – and stuck it out towards Brianna Roberts. 'Hi, Miss Roberts, I'm Taryn Archer, pleasure to meet you.'

'Do call me Bree,' she said, modulating her lip glossed mouth into a broad smile, her accent clearly American and her voice pitched just a tad too high, 'You're the author Q's been going on about! I was hoping you'd still be here and I'd get the chance to meet you, though Q for some reason didn't think you would be. Q's been carrying your book around non-stop and he practically made me read it – oh don't get me wrong, hon, I thought it was fantastic, so it wasn't a chore or anything. But it did make me curious to meet this woman Q just keeps talking about.'

Q, Q, Q. The way she said it. My hackles rose sky high. Maybe it's my inherent Britishness, but I thought she was just so... unbearably... well, fake. She just looked, and sounded, like a Barbie doll on speed. She was actually extremely pretty – immaculate skin, beautiful thick blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, killer bod – and I took an immediate and rather violent dislike towards her. I could barely suppress a shudder.

Was I jealous? Hell yeah; I felt like something hairy and unwashed that had just crawled out from underneath a stone, compared to her. No wonder Quentin came running soon as she gave the tiniest of squeaks. Never ever could I compete with that. The thing I thought was there between Quentin and me suddenly felt insignificant and, well, worthless. Maybe I imagined it all. Yes. Must have. Oh, I wished I could just sink into the ground, evaporate, disintegrate.

So I stood there, my smile frozen on my face, so uncomfortable that I almost missed what she said. Almost, but not quite. Q's been carrying your book around non-stop… My book? And: this woman Q just keeps talking about… Me?

I was going crazy; I was quite sure that I was reading into, well, into everything that stood still long enough. And what for? What did I expect, or even hope? I don't think I'd ever been as confused in my entire life.

Bree, in the mean time, stretched out an elegantly manicured hand in Quentin's direction. He took it and pulled her in. Wrapped an arm around her, tucked her head under his chin and started to announce rather broadly: 'Mum, Taz,' Then, as an aside, he said to me: 'you don't mind me calling you Taz, do you, luv'? I've been talking about you like that, I guess I got used to it, but come to think of it I never actually called you Taz to your face.'

'Sure, Quent, go ahead,' I said, looking into his eyes. 'Everyone's calling me Taz here, I've quite gotten used to it, by now.' I had called him Quent before to his face, albeit only once, and for some reason I felt like I wanted it to be known. 'Call me whatever you like. Now what did you want to say?'

He broke eye contact and looked away, seemed to be a little confused for a moment. Brianna softly elbowed him back into consciousness again. He harrumphed and resumed – it all looked rather planned, but he nevertheless delivered it with a flourish. He was a professional, after all. 'Mum, Taz, Bree and I… are engaged! Innit great? We finally decided to take the plunge. Reckoned we'd celebrate it officially tonight at dinner, but in the mean time we thought we' d inform the lot here. You know, go for a bit of a tour? The weather is a beauty.' He smiled and beamed, beamed and smiled, but underneath I felt…

Oh God, I was so grasping at straws it was pitiful.

I had had no idea that seeing him again would have such an effect on me. And seeing him again, knowing that what was there between us, what I had felt when I came near him, would never be explored any further; it hurt. Like a bloody bastard. I wanted to cringe, both from the awful, squeezing feeling in my heart region and from the embarrassment that I felt for my idiotic childish fancies. I must have been mad to think even for an instant that...

Jo, in the mean time, stood there with her mouth wide open.

I felt pretty much the same, although I had the presence of mind to say 'Congratulations!' followed shortly by 'so, erm, when did you get back together again, if it's not too personal?'

'Oh, not at all!' chirped Bree happily from underneath Quentin's chin. 'It was just so sudden, and so romantic! You see, I'm over in Sydney for promotion of The Condemned and I just insisted that I would have enough time scheduled in so that Q and I could hook up again. He's been all over the news in the States all the time; even his sudden disappearing and hiding out in the middle of nowhere on the other side of the world,' here she lightly slapped his arm, as if she chided him for it, 'didn't help. Here's a face that's front page news on a daily basis,' she stroked his jaw and giggled, 'and I was just dying to see how he was actually doing. And what does he do, this big, rugged, Australian lover boy,' this in a coochie-coo tone, as if she was talking to a child, or maybe a dog, 'he proposes to me! Isn't it fantastic?'

At that, Jo's slapped her jaw shut and looked rather stern. 'Well Bree, it's lovely that you could find the time to meet up with Quentin, but you know, he does actually live here. In the middle of nowhere on the other side of the world.'

Her mood was lost on Brianna. 'Oh, but he actually lives in Sydney, doesn't he? I mean, this farm is just a hobby, isn't it? Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely place and all that, but...'

'Well it is a working station, love,' said Jo, 'and the livelihood for a bunch of folk. I wouldn't call that a hobby.'

'Oh well, I guess you're right,' said Bree, 'let's not make an issue out of it. I'm just far too happy that Q here came to see me with this hiding in his pocket,' and here she held out her hand. On it was an indecently large diamond ring, that sparkled for all it was worth. 'Isn't it amazing? I of course couldn't say no... Q can be so romantic if he wants to be.'

Jo took her hand and had a good look at the ring. Then she smiled, a bit forced, and congratulated them. I was too dazzled by the ring to say anything so I just stood there like a stupid, hairy, unwashed thing from under a stone. A mute, stupid, hairy, unwashed thing.

Quentin apparently enjoyed the role of dashing romantic lover he was playing. He chuckled and preened and cocked his head, smiling his most charming smile. He had his arm around Bree like she was the most precious thing in the world. I quietly observed him, wondering if he was the same man who had thrown a drunken tantrum when he first met me, the same man who looked at me through his hair, insecure and shuffling his feet... the same man who smelled of sunshine and who made me tingle all over when we kissed?

Oh, I just wished I could stop that damned little voice from bringing that one rotten snog up all the time. How many faces did he have? Who was the real Quentin? I didn't know him, I hadn't the faintest clue who he was. I mean, look at him!

Then he turned his head. Our eyes met and locked, and, to my surprise, he abruptly dropped the act and fell silent. Neither of us could look away and I just felt how it disconcerted him, like it did me.

This man was trouble, big trouble with a cherry on top, and at that exact moment I realized that I might as well give up trying: no way would I be able to stop thinking about him. Ever. Wisdom? Ratio? Mind over matter? Hah, my heart laughed in the face of adversity and it happily went on regardless.

Jo, letting go of Bree's hand, said: 'Engaged. Fancy that! And I thought you intended to marry this bloke from Texas, what's his name... You do change your mind pretty quickly, Bree. I don't mean to sound like a boring mother, but are the two of you really sure that… Then she picked up on how Quentin and I looked at each other, over the top of Bree's head. She shut up again.

Bree, who finally seemed to sense something, moved away from Quentin and said, in her whiney, childish, doll-type voice: 'Q?'

This, apparently, seemed to shake him out of it. He moved his hand through the air between me and him, as if to break whatever invisible thread was keeping us bound, and took Bree by the hand.

'C'mon, we'll go find some other folk and announce the big news.' He sounded over cheerful as he headed for the door, pulling Bree along.

To my eyes it looked like a hasty retreat, but again I had to wonder if I was reading into things. What the hell did I want?? My confusion was so thick I could slice it and serve it on toast.

'Quent…' began Jo, but he didn't hear any more, or pretended not to hear. The door fell shut behind them and Jo and I stood there, awkwardly, looking at each other. Our coffees had gone cold.

'Taryn,' said Jo, carefully, 'I'm sorry to have to say it and I don't want to be judgmental, but I don't think this is entirely right, do you? I mean, they've been on-again, off-again for months on end, and he's been with her again now for only a week and a bit; that's far too short to make such an important decision, even if you're 21 and happy and have not a care in the world. Which he isn't. Hasn't. Well, you know.' She hesitated, looked down at the floor, looked at me again. Then she went on: 'And then you, the way I saw you two looking at each other just now… Did I… like, miss something, before he went off to Sydney? Don't get me wrong, love, I would be thrilled if you and Quent…'

'A week and a bit is a very short time.' I cut Jo short. 'But me and Quent… No. I don't think that will ever happen.' I crossed my fingers behind my back.

Jo looked like she wanted to say something; maybe even a lot of things, but in the end she just nodded and said not another word.

~*~

I was at work again that afternoon, at the cabin, busily clicking away at my laptop, when I saw Quentin heading my way. He was carrying a book. The sun shone behind him and for some reason, there was something so graceful and at the same time so sad about him, the way he walked up to me, that my throat caught and I swallowed and blinked.

'Arvo,' he said. For a moment he sounded exactly like his brother.

'Hi again,' said I, noncommittally. 'I thought you'd be somewhere out there with your fiancée by now...' I waved in the general direction of the mountains.

He shot me a quick, searing glance. I felt it hit me like a brick and looked away, cursing myself for my vulnerability.

'Erm, well' he said, standing there with his hands in his sides, 'Bree's having a bit of a lay-down first, and while she’s kipping, I was hoping to find Sade here. My Mum said she might be with you.'

So he didn't come here for me. I felt instant disappointment well up, so I grinned bravely to hide it. ‘Well, she's gone out riding with... erm... Colin,' I put a lot of meaning behind it and grinned again.

'Who, Mum? I didn't know she had a thing for jackaroos,' Quentin grinned right back, giving me another of those quick darts of a look that made my heart rate speed up. He then held up the book, and I saw it was a copy of The Nixie Cycle. 'Thing is,' he said, 'I nicked this off Sade a while back; I wanted to give it back to her. She'll give me a good ear bashing, no doubt.' Quent looked at me again, longer this time, his eyes suddenly soft. 'It's good to see you again, Taz,' he said, 'I didn't think you'd still be here. But I'm happy you are.' He nodded, almost to himself. He looked at me like he wanted to say something, ask something, but didn't know where to start. 'Erm, Taz?' he finally said, 'Are you OK with… well, with Bree and everything?'

'Am I OK with… Why, I didn't know I was entitled to an opinion on the subject,' I said, and my voice suddenly sounded too loud and too serious in my own ears. 'I don't know what to think, Quent; to me it all seems to go very fast. But then, you already knew each other for some time, uh, so... But don't you think it will be hard to be in a marriage where your wife will be working in the States most of the time, and you banned to work there? You'll not see much of each other, I'll wager. And I thought you always said you wanted a family of your own, so how do you think you'll...'

'Bloody hell, when did you get appointed my fuckin' conscience?' he barked, a big crease in his forehead.

'Well you asked for my opinion,' I said, defensively. Quentin was such a roller coaster ride. Up, down, shake it all about.

'Yeah, I did, didn't I?' he said, much quieter, almost apologetic.

'And why would it even matter to you what I, or anybody else, thinks of your choices?' I shrugged. 'If you're happy with them, that should be enough.'

He breathed deeply, a couple of times, thinking before he continued. 'Yeah, reckon you're right. I guess I do want to hear your opinion about me and Bree though, because it really matters to me. Because I guess it was you who made me realize that I should stop mucking about.'

'I did?' I took a tentative step towards him. 'What did I do? I, erm, we, well, we kissed, but erm, well…'

What could I say? That it didn't mean anything? A lie. That I had forgotten about it already? I wish.

'I read your book, well, Sadie's book,' a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, 'when I first heard you were coming over; for starters I wanted to know who the bloody fuck my Mum had invited over without discussing it beforehand, but after I read the dust jacket, I started reading it for real. Good book. Interesting story. Got me thinking, you know?' He paced up and down in front of me and seemed to be deliberating how to continue. He eventually threw his hands up in the air, as if to say 'oh fuck it', and went on: 'When Bree rang me up I really wanted to go see her, catch up with 'er... But I also needed to get away. Because when I first saw you, when we talked, and, er, well you know,' here, he quirked an eyebrow at me, 'you were so, you made me feel so… Hmph.' He seemed as lost for words as I was; hands were up in the air again in frustration. He sucked in his lip and chewed on it. Ran his hands through his hair. Sighed, and finally let his shoulders hang as he gave up trying to put it into words. 'Well anyway. You know.'

I nodded. I knew.

'I just had to get away and think,' he continued. 'Had a blue with Marty too; that didn't help, me and my bloody temper eh?' He looked at me, all apologetic again. 'So I went to my house in Sydney, thought it over and decided that I ought to pull my head out of my arse, and settle. Take control of my future. And you put me on track, I reckon. So I want your opinion. That's it, really.'

'You… want me to tell you whether or not you're doing the right thing, erm, making the right choices?' I asked carefully.

'Well it's your plan, innit, the whole taking control thing. You wrote about it.'

'But you can't make me responsible for your choices, I mean, it's only a boo…'

'Oh will you bloody well just say how you feel about it?!' He glared at me.

I breathed out through my nose. Unbelievable, how one man can be so wonderful, attractive, annoying, childish, short tempered, rude, sexy, sweet… 'Right, so tell me then, how did you get to popping the question? Or is it a secret?'

'No it isn't,' he said, only a little uncomfortable, 'if you must know, I took her out to a very good restaurant, I drank as much as I dared under the circumstances, I went down on one knee and I asked her. I found it harrowing and I kept thinking as I sat there, that I might not be able to get up again,' he laughed ruefully. 'But thank God she said yes, and I managed to get up without knocking the table over or making a total arse of myself in any other way, and here we are.' He gave me a sunny, plastered-on smile.

'Go on, Quent,' I went, 'I can't imagine that all you were thinking was “I hope I won't knock over the table”.

'Well...' he rubbed his neck and suddenly seemed a little out of his depth, ‘I thought, when she rang me up, that she had come back to me, that my... Well, my thoughts, my wishes had made her come back to me, like you wrote about. You know? Like it had to be fate. So long story short, I proposed, she accepted and that was that.' He ran his hand through his hair, looked at the sky, looked at the ground and sighed.

'Well, you know, if that's how it feels between the two of you, like it was fate, I can only say I'm really, really happy for you.' I smiled, a pinched little smile, stepped towards him and took his hand, hanging by his side.

That heat, and pull. It almost knocked me off my feet. Hit him too, because his head came up quick as a flash and we stood there suddenly drowning in each other's eyes, like we had done that morning. He held on to my hand like he was afraid to lose it.

'Oh, Tazzie, luv' he said very softly, head cocked, as if he felt sorry for a lot of things. He then pulled me into his chest and held me close, stuck his nose in my hair and breathed in and out. I wrapped my arms around him and felt him all around me and in my mind. He shivered and I shivered with him, and we stood there for a while, swaying lightly. It felt so good. I put my nose against his skin, just below his earlobe, and sniffed. Warm, healthy, sweet smelling male. I thought I could happily smell that for the rest of my life. Everything started to tingle again and then, slowly, he moved. His nose roamed over my temple. His mouth searched, lightly touching my cheekbone, and he gave me a soft nudge, like a seal, urging me to come up and meet his lips. I pulled back a little and looked up at him. He had his eyes closed, lips slightly parted, and didn't let go of me, only loosened his grip just a tiny bit.

'Quent, we can't,' I managed to get out, breathlessly.

His head came down and suddenly our lips were only inches apart. He breathed a shallow breath and I thought the tension would be the death of me.

'Quent,' I whispered, not sure if it was a warning or a plea.

His eyes snapped open. 'Uh, God, you're right, Tazzie, you're right, ah, bloody oath… I'm sorry, I just…' He took a step back, blinked, and let me slip from his arms, slowly, regretfully.

I felt like suddenly the world went cold. It felt like, well, amputated is a good word, I guess.

Quentin walked away from me, leaned his hand against the tree and stood there a while, head down, his back to me. He heaved another gigantic sigh.

'Quent? Are you all right? ' I inquired after a bit, when he still wasn't moving.

'I don't know, Tazzie,' he said, his back still turned, 'I honestly don't know'.

Chapter Four

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