Outback Sunset by Lynne Wilding

see yourself as a movie star or a stage actress?’
    ‘The stage will always be my first love, but Kerri says I’d be crazy to knock back any movie making opportunities that come up, providing they’re suitable. The pay and the exposure, providing the movie’s made well, is too good.’
    ‘Do you see yourself doing something else one day, something away from the stage perhaps?’ The second question was asked casually, but Bren held his breath as he waited for her answer.
    ‘Honestly, Bren, I don’t know.’ His question made her think about David, about the plans they’d hadfor her to scale down her stage career to be a wife and eventually a mother. She stifled an internal sigh. That was history now and … remembering … could still bring about a melancholy mood. ‘Who knows what the future might bring? At this point in my life, well, I’m keeping my options open.’
    ‘You are wise, Vanessa Forsythe,’ he responded with a chuckle. He appreciated her honesty and her answer implied that she wasn’t wholly fanatical about her career. Such knowledge gave him reason to hope.
    They gravitated to a park which bordered a small river that wended its way around the village’s perimeter, and because a watery sun had deigned to shine on one of the painted benches, they sat to take in the scene. By a bend in the stream — it was really too small to be called a river — stood a two-storey mill with a water wheel. The mill was very old with its rough cut, lichen encrusted greyish stone walls. And beyond was a single arch stone bridge that spanned the stream, its supports laden with dark green ivy. The couple waved to an occasional holiday barge operator as the craft passed, heading west to Cirencester, Oxford and beyond. In this part of the world many streams had, in bygone days, served as waterways to transport goods to larger towns and to London.
    ‘That would be a nice, leisurely holiday.’ There was a note of wistfulness in Bren’s voice.
    ‘It’s supposed to be. Ronnie Ashton, an actor friend of mine, owns a barge moored in a canal off the Thames. He rents it out during the tourist season for an obscene amount of money. He’s tried talkingme into using it in the low season, such as now.’ Vanessa looked at him. ‘If you’re interested, I could talk to Ronnie.’
    The suggestion was tempting but Bren didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything that didn’t include Vanessa. ‘Maybe later on.’
    ‘You haven’t told me much about yourself,’ he asked, changing the subject. He wanted to know all he could about Vanessa, more than what he’d read about in magazines. ‘What was your childhood like?’
    Her reply was endearingly honest. ‘Poor. My father, like my grandmother, was an actor but roles were few and far between, even though he was very good, according to Gran. When Dad had no stage work he would do anything to bring in money. Labouring on building sites. Once he took a job as a shoe salesman, but he hated dealing with people’s smelly feet!’ She made the appropriate grimace. ‘He worked as a travelling salesman too, and would paint houses or do people’s gardens. Dad was prepared to have a go at anything to make enough to keep us together.’
    She stopped for a couple of seconds to gather the right words. ‘My mother, Rosa, developed a health problem, asthma, when I was little. She was used to the dry, hot climate of Madrid and after a while she couldn’t dance anymore. Dad became the sole provider. We could only afford a cramped, cold water flat in Brixton — you may not know but it’s a pretty tough suburb. I went to school there too.’ Vanessa screwed up her eyes and brought her hands across her chest, hugging herself as if she was suddenly cold.‘The flat was like an ice chest, even with the heat on and, sometimes we couldn’t afford coal for the fireplace. Still,’ a ghost of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth, ‘no matter how miserable the flat was, my parents were happy