Christmas Belles (Gillies Ridge)

Chapter 5

B EFORE she could find an answer to her unspoken question they arrived at the end of the bridge and the girls were moving towards them.

Rika went to shake his hand away but found it held firm.

“Friends,” he reminded her softly. “Last time I heard there was no rule against friends holding hands.”

She ignored him. “Richard is joining us for the day. We have a lot to catch up on.”

She felt her daughters’ gazes on her.

“This is your way of silencing the gossips?” Pom looked from Rika to Richard and back again. “He needs to lose the button-up.”

“And the dress trousers,” Ali agreed with an apologetic look at Richard.

Grace nodded at his feet. “The patent leathers have gotta go.” She shook her head. “So last century.”

Rika blushed the sudden vision of a naked Richard beside her. She could feel the rumble of his laughter and knew he was thinking the same thing.

“Give me two minutes.” He looked down at his hand attached to hers. “Make that give us two minutes. If I release your mother's hand, she’s likely to take off without me.” He dragged Rika away before she could form a protest. “I think the museum stocks items of clothing if I remember correctly.”

By the time they returned the girls were watching avidly.

“Perfect choice,” Ali said, grinning. “Tyrannosaurus Rex rides again.”

Rika said nothing, still recovering from the way Richard had ripped off his shirt in the museum shop and pulled the T-shirt over his head.

“They didn't have a bigger size?” Grace asked.

“Your mother always liked my body,” he said with a wicked grin. “Now that we're old friends I see no reason for her not to admire it. In a purely platonic way, of course.”

“Friends don’t flirt,” Rika reminded him.

“I can't put up with you love birds any longer on an empty stomach,” Pom said. “Lead the way, mother, to this mysterious joint you're taking us before I keel over.”

Rika stepped away from the man who was fast driving her crazy and linked arm through Pom’s. “Since you asked so nicely. Follow us, everyone.”

Richard fell in beside Ali and Grace and trio linked arms in the same manner. Richard, with his silly T-shirt and safari shorts clearly enjoying being the squire of two beautiful young women.

It was only as they began to walk that Rika realized he had a full view her of her ass. She knew her jeans clung to her and she couldn't resist a little wiggle. Two could play the flirting game.

But they needed to stop the touching game.

She didn't think their acting skills were good enough to survive both.

The group made their way to West End, taking the path along the river. Richard had caught up with her and they strolled side by side in companiable silence. The girls outpaced them as they discussed the various merits of dive bars versus the more upmarket speakeasies.

“Upmarket means more money.”

“Not necessarily. Cheap and cheerful means more clientele.”

“Why not both?” Ali suggested. “Dive bar at the front. Secret door to the good stuff. We’d need a secret password to let people in...”

The girls’ voices faded, leaving her alone with Richard. He was a surprisingly easy companion. She could almost fool herself into believing they were, in fact, old friends catching up.

If it wasn’t for his blasted thumb rubbing her hand, making tiny circular motions that shot straight to her groin. Add the added friction of the material of her jeans and she was feeling far hotter than the morning with its gentle breeze called for.

She was surprised to find she was enjoying the company of the handsome man at her side. Even if he wore a ridiculous T-shirt.

She’d always loved this part of the city, with its local alternative theatre productions, iconic pubs and the old ice cream factory with its hundred-year history, a history that had not yet gone the way of many of the old buildings being replaced by towering apartment blocks and luxury condos. West End was fast becoming a vibrant hub for the upwardly mobile and some of the locals weren’t happy.

The girls were waiting for them at the back of a set of luxury condos.

Rika recognised the building. The front edifice was all chrome and glass, a signature of the luxury condos Belle Corporation designed and sold off the plan.

The alleyway at the back was another story. Not yet gentrified, it was a place local street artists had taken over as their own.

She shot Grace a private smile. If it hadn't been for Grace's street art Rika would not have known the alleyway was occupied, except she'd been fielding complaints from the landlord for days.

On a red brick wall that had stood for more than a century was one of Grace's signature caricatures, this one of the local mayor. His hairy chest and bulbous nose made him instantly recognizable.

Grace hadn’t stopped there. She’d drawn another body part and covered it not so discreetly with a very small activists’ protest flyer.

“I had a phone call from Mayor Phillips,” Rika said quietly. “I think you need to make his penis a little bigger. You’ve dented his ego and he’s threatening to sue.”

“I have it good authority his penis is that size.”

“That’s not the point. He has the power to influence our future.”

“He needs to stop the rampant development before West End loses what makes it special.”

“Darling, we’re one of those developers. Those are our condos.”

“Then we need to think about what we’re destroying. Mum, I think we owe to Granny Belle to check out what she’s left us. Before we lose that, too.”

“Some things aren’t worth saving,” Rika said quietly.

She pictured the farmhouse on the edge of the mountain, with its garden full of riotous flowers spilling over pathways and brick walls and tumbling around hidden corners and secret nooks.

It had been a long time since she’d thought of the old place. She was surprised to feel a tinge of nostalgia as she imagined her mother’s bevy of cats sunning themselves on the pathways while her mother catalogued the things she grew in a black leatherbound book she called her bible.

Her brewer’s bible.

It had been more important to her mother than Rika had been.

Which was what had made Rika so protective of her own daughters. Neglect was a harsh word and one she’d disassociated herself from long ago.

But maybe she’d gone too far.

Maybe it was time to set her daughters free to choose their own paths. But bootleg brewing?

Over her dead body.

“You need to stop worrying about us and start thinking about your new beau, or old beau, whatever he is. Let us decide if we want to continue with Granny’s legacy. That’s what today is all about.”

Was Grace right? Had she been so busy looking towards the future she’d forgotten where she came from?

Generations of Belle women forging their own paths . She could hear her mother’s voice . You don’t need a rich man, Rika. You have what’s in here. She’d touched her heart and put her daughter on a coach to the city.

Rika had vowed then and there she’d never look back. And she hadn’t until the man who stole her heart at fifteen had gatecrashed her charity auction.

She squared her shoulders and pushed open the nondescript door of the bar, feeling more unsettled than she cared to admit.

The inside of the building opened into a stairway leading down to a basement decked out in low mood lighting. The bar was lit with individual light globes, highlighting ceiling high shelving lined with bottles of spirits of all shapes and sizes.

“I’ll order our cocktails.” Pom made a beeline for the bar, and the mixologist.

“Don’t forget a jug of iced water,” Rika called after her daughter. “It’s hot in here.”

She was hot, but it wasn’t the weather causing it. The walk to West End had taken fifteen minutes. Richard had not let go of Rika's hand the whole way as he massaged the inside of her hand with his thumb.

Which she’d pretended not to notice.

She didn’t think water was going to be enough. A long cold shower more like it.

It didn’t help that she was now wedged between a brick wall and Richard in a booth lined with prohibition posters sporting gangsters and dames, his arm draped casually over her shoulder.

“We’re here to research,” Ali explained to Richard from the other side of the booth where she and Grace sat side by side.

“You're going into the cocktail business?” His fingers brushed the back of Rika’s neck as if by accident.

Like he didn’t know the affect he was having on her.

She placed her hand on his thigh under the table and squeezed. “My daughters think with all the sly grog they’re inheriting they may go into the speakeasy business.”

“We’re working on our reputations.” Pom returned with five Gin Slings in highball glasses garnished with rosemary sprigs and wedges of lemon. “We've decided to run with our forebear’s legacy and try bootlegging.”

Grace picked up her drink. “Consider yourself warned. One false move and you won't leave here alive.”

Rita felt Richard move his arm from around her shoulder as Pom passed him his cocktail.

She let her hand slide off his thigh as she reached for her own cocktail. “We can drop the mob persona. I think he’s unarmed for now.”

There was no room in his T-shirt for any kind of weapon other than pure muscle. Not that she’d been looking.

“So, we’re on a cocktail crawl,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Damn, he’d sprung her checking him out. Again. Cue embarrassing blush.

“This lot will cost you one hundred and twenty bucks.” Pom handed him a receipt. “I started a tab in your name. And we’ve got to order breakfast yet.”

He raised his cocktail to clink with each of theirs. “I'm paying? What happened to women’s liberation?”

“We’re also collecting samples,” Ali said sweetly.

“Bottles and bottles of samples.” Grace didn’t bother hiding her glee. “It's going to cost you to hang out with us today. Consider yourself warned.”

“Warned and happy to pay,” he said, his gaze turning to lock with Rika’s, “for a day with four beautiful women.”

Rika wondered if he knew what he was letting himself in for. The Belle sisters were going to play dirty with the newest member of their mob. Dinosaur T-shirt or no dinosaur T-shirt, they would take no prisoners in protecting their mother.

One word from her and he was toast.

She made a mental note to buy the next round cocktails. She wouldn't put it past Pom to lace his drinks to tip the scales in their favour.

But Pom was otherwise distracted, shooting overt looks at the barman with the tattoos and mohawk. Grace was gazing at the decor, and it wouldn't take her long to gravitate to one of the walls lined with buckets of chalk. Only Ali stayed with Rika and Richard, smiling sweetly.

I’ve got your back, Mumsie.

Thank you, darling. But I’ve got this.

Did she?

Just friends.

She rubbed her jeans clad knee against his bare leg and felt his hand rest over hers.

Maybe she should go easy on the cocktails.

The atmosphere was intimate without being obvious. Upmarket, while having all the trappings of something from another era.

Whoever had done the decorating had created something authentic and she wouldn't mind betting that the luxury apartments would provide an interesting clientele for the speakeasy.

She relaxed back into her chair. Food was what she needed to settle her stomach.

And her hormones.

Being friends with Richard was going to take more of an effort than she thought. With cheery Christmas music and liberal alcohol already flowing, this was one Christmas celebration she wasn't going to forget.

Whereas last night she was on her feet all night and couldn't wait to get out of her gown today she was comfortable and kicked back and surprised she was enjoying herself.

Richard fit into her family in a way she hadn't expected.

Maybe bringing him here hadn't been such a good idea after all. Maybe she was the one who was in for a surprise.

She'd had her armour in place for so long she forgotten what it was like not to wear it.

“Reminds me of old times,” he said softly.

“How so?”

“You and me. You always were easy to be with. I don't need to put on a show with you.”

He'd read her too well. She’d have to be careful if she wanted him to see how different their worlds were.

“You forget none of this is real,” she said. “This is not our usual hangout.”

“I don't know about that,” Ali said. “Pom looks quite at home. And If I'm not mistaken that was Grace's signature work on the wall outside.” She grinned. “I think we fit perfectly. What you think, Richard?”

“I agree.” He was watching Rika through half closed eyes.

Rika met his gaze with a warning look of her own. “Order your breakfast,” she said. “We've got a long day ahead of us.”

Grace returned with a printed flyer. “A speakeasy trail,” she said. “Eat up everybody. We've got things to do, places to visit,” she said with a wink at Richard. “Hope you can keep up.”

“Don't worry about me,” he said easily.

“It’s your wallet I’m worried about,” she said. “I've booked us a tour guide. A friend of a friend from art school. They’re the best but they don’t come cheap. It’s going to cost you a thousand bucks for the day. Per person.”

Rika looked at her daughter. “A tour? Of the speakeasies of West End?”

“Nope.” Grace grinned back at her. “The speakeasies are spread over three suburbs. I booked us a limo. We want to be thorough with our research, right?”

Rika could feel a headache coming on. Crammed into a limo with Richard was one thing. Drinking cocktails at speakeasies and watching him charm her daughters was another thing altogether.

And he a wallet with no bottom.

Had she really thought her plan through? Not only did Richard look totally at ease, but he was also more than a little amused at Grace's plans for the day.

Something told she had walked out of the proverbial pot and into the fire with her efforts to show him how different they were. If the gossip rags didn't eat up the story, she was sadly mistaken.

Her day was fast getting out of hand.