Elisabeth Rose - romance author

Brady, eyes red rimmed, leaden and rasping against the lids, scanned the tiny Moruya airport building for his mates. Didn't take long to ascertain they weren't there. The waiting area was the size of a large living room, with about six chairs-- two occupied-- a deserted car hire booth on the left, and one man in official grey shirt and shorts lounging behind a small check-in counter on the right. Three fellow passengers were greeting friends enthusiastically as they headed for the open door. An athletic looking elderly couple, also on his flight, had already disappeared.

He lifted his own bag, replaced his dark glasses and stepped into the barrage of sunlight and heat bouncing off concrete and tar. The grey haired pair finished stuffing themselves into the rear of a cab. The only cab. It took off, leaving Brady standing in the sun scowling at what resembled a paddock but was really the parking area. The other three arrivals, two young men and a woman were stowing gear into a large red four wheel drive, shouting and laughing with their mates.

His body had the strength and vitality of chewed string, a persistent triangle player had taken up residence in his ears and his sinuses were clogged with the after effects of breathing hours of recycled air. Plus there was the aching molar that had started up somewhere along the way. A sensitivity to cold food had developed into an annoying, constant, background pain. He probed with his tongue. Tender gum.

Every flight had been late except this last one from Sydney to Moruya, but because of the delays he'd had to scramble for the connection. His brain had been left behind en route. Maybe in Singapore. His body? Who knew?

Where was Alex? The least he could do was turn up to collect his Best Man after a crippling twenty eight hours of travel. What a nightmare planes were. Give him the sea any day.

He dumped his bag close to the dirty beige painted wall in the shade of a lone palm tree and folded his arms. Apart from the airport terminal which was really not much more than a shed, and other hangar type buildings behind the perimeter fence, there were no other permanent structures in sight. Tents from the beachside camping ground he'd seen from the air as they came in, were just visible between a row of Norfolk Island pines a few hundreds meters away beyond the parking lot.

Doors slammed on the four wheel drive. He had no idea where this house was they were all staying in. Moruya was the closest town. He had to go further south to Narooma. Should he cadge a lift to Moruya or wait? The decision was suddenly made easy by a lung collapsing burst of black diesel exhaust as the four wheel drive blasted off. The girl waved to him as they shot by.

Phone. In his bag. He unlocked, unzipped and felt about in an inner pocket. Got it. Rezipped. Yawned a face cracking yawn, blinked and stretched his eyes wide to focus, yawned again, concentrated and pressed the right buttons. After many rings Alex answered. He sounded worse than Brady felt. He sounded terminal.

"Brady," he croaked. "You made it. Sorry, mate, I'm half dead with flu. We're still in Canberra." A burst of coughing. Brady winced and held the phone away from his ear, grimacing until the wheezing subsided. "Sorry. Phoebe's collecting you. Isn't she there?"

"No, you sound terrible." Who on earth is Phoebe? Had they met?

"She won't be long. We'll be down as soon as I can travel." Another burst of coughing followed by a wheezing groan. The end of Alex? Was his bride fated to be widowed before she was married?

"Brady?" A woman's voice in his ear suddenly. "Hi, it's Lindy. I'm so glad you made it safely. As you can hear Alex is really sick and we're praying to every god known to man he'll be better by the weekend." She laughed but it crackled and snapped in his ear like breaking ice. Girl on the edge.

"He'll be fine. He's tough as old boots."

She surged on. "Phoebe Curtis is picking you up and taking you to the house, so make yourself at home. Dave and Angela are arriving on Thursday, and Sophie and Kate are coming with us-whenever that is." Her voice wavered. "I wanted this to be such a fun week together before the wedding and now . . ." She sniffed.

Brady grimaced. What could he say? Before his fuzzled brain could come up with something suitably reassuring, sympathetic and consoling Alex's scrapy voice came back on the line.

"Lindy's having kittens here. On top of this flu, the caterers want to change the menu . . ." Cough, cough, cough. ". . . from a salmon mousse starter to melon and avocado. Five days before the wedding. It's tough doing everything long distance."

"I bet," Brady said helplessly. He had no idea what was involved with organizing a wedding. How hard could it be? Wasn't it basically a party? All you need is someone to tie the knot, booze, friends and a barbeque. Or maybe he'd been at sea too long.

"Make yourself at home. We'll be there in a day or two. Ciao mate."

"Right," said Brady to a dead line. Poor Alex. But salmon? Melon? Who cared? And what did Phoebe Curtis look like? More to the point, where was she?

He rubbed his hands over his face. Sniffed. The warmth of the morning sun was bringing out the staleness in his clothes, very noticeable in this fresh clean, country air. He needed a shower and coffee. And sleep. With any luck his tooth would settle down when his body was rested. He'd give Phoebe five minutes then go inside and organize a hire car. Better to be independent anyway. A means of escape may become a necessity if confined in a few days time to a house full of women intent on fussing about the wedding. Nothing worse than a freaked out bride worrying whether her guests ate salmon or melon. Why didn't they elope and get the technicalities over with, then throw a monster party? Much more fun and stress free for everyone.

Two minutes later a bright yellow VW Beetle screeched to a halt in front of him. A woman in big round dark glasses and a white tank top bounced out of the driver's side, stared for a moment with her mouth open then called over the roof of the car between them, "Are you Brady?"

"Are you Phoebe?"

"Yep. Jump in." A smile as bright and sunny as the day. A swathe of burgundy and copper hair swung as she disappeared into the car. The engine roared. Must be in a hurry. He hoisted the suitcase and opened the passenger door.

"Toss it in the back," she said.

He pulled the back of the seat forward and wrestled his bag into the rear. Awkward. The knuckles of his right hand jammed against the door post trying for the right angle. He swore vile things in Portuguese under his breath.

Phoebe grinned at him from the driver's seat. "Good flight?"

"No." He gave the bag an almighty shove and slammed the front seat into place. It wouldn't click into position properly. More Portuguese.

"You didn't push your bag in far enough. It needs to go further across." She sprang out, leaned into the back and pulled at his duffel bag. "There."

He slumped into the newly positioned seat and buckled his seat belt. She gunned the engine and he glanced at her with a frown as it skipped a few beats then settled into an unhealthy sounding roar.

Unfortunately she caught the expression on his face but it was impossible to pretend he was relaxed and happy and excited about a wedding. He was too wrecked to do anything much. The smile flashed on and off again while she manipulated the gear stick and clutch which appeared to be as temperamental as the engine. "Beetles are real characters. They all have individual personalities. Have to keep Fred revved up or he stalls."

He gripped the seat as she accelerated round the parking lot dodging the few parked cars in a wide arc, and careered onto the road to the highway. Fred needed a complete physical and then probably, euthanasia. "Thanks for picking me up."

"No problem. Alex and Lindy are knee deep in wedding stuff as it is without him being sick. Rotten timing." She tossed him another cheery grin. "Lindy's super organized though so everything will go perfectly, I'm sure. It's so exciting, isn't it?"

He grunted. Tiredness coupled with the freshness of the air and the heat of the afternoon had stupefied his three remaining, relatively alert brain cells.

"I love weddings. They're so romantic and everybody's always happy and ready to have a good time."

Another grunt.

"Don't you think so?" She sounded surprised and when he glanced at her the smile had faded. He blinked hard, couldn't prevent a yawn but roused himself to be sociable.

"Not particularly. They're all right. So long as one of them's not mine."