achieved what none of Hollywood’s fancy doctors had been able to give her: a good night’s sleep. Until now.
Groaning, she groped for the phone. She’d bet a good bottle of wine that Jaxon had somehow tracked down her landline number, having given up on her ever answering her mobile messages. Since her escape, her California agent had left fifteen voice mails and sent a dozen texts, but Blaze had been enjoying her solitude too much to let the real world back in. Now it was intruding, noisily, at 6:10 a.m.
‘Jaxon, do you know what time it is?’ She yawned, and listened to static on the line. ‘Jaxon, I know it’s you. Who else would it be at this unearthly hour?’
Silence.
‘Hey, I know you’re pissed off, but I was no good to you in that state. I told you I needed to get away.’
Static.
‘Jaxon? Can you hear me?’
Click. The line went dead.
Blaze groaned again and slumped back on to the pillow. If there was one thing worse than a phone call at this hour, it was a wrong number.
A kookaburra cackled noisily from the waterhole where they liked to play in the early morning. Sparrow fart, the locals called this time of day. The expression made her grin as she shoved open the attic window to let in the fresh morning air. No doubt the working day had already begun on stations like Macauley Black’s to take advantage of the relative cool.
Macauley Black.
She really didn’t want to have to contact him, but she was out of options as far as finding someone to remodel the house was concerned. She’d even checked the supermarket’s notice board to see if any handyman advertised there, without luck. The only other possibility was the local paper, which meant another trip into town today. She didn’t relish the drive, but Paddy had nearly chomped through the dry food she’d bought, and there were other things she needed, so she could kill two or three birds with one stone.
First things first, though. The day didn’t officially start until she’d had coffee. In the kitchen, she switched on the kettle, opened the veranda door and found Paddy on the other side. At her greeting, he jumped to his feet and sidled over with a woof of welcome.
‘Hello, boy. You’re early.’
She knelt down for his lick, and gave him a good rub until he lay down in sheer pleasure, inviting her to rub some more. Blaze indulged him, taking the opportunity to check that his wound was continuing to heal. It was, so she removed the makeshift bandage to allow the fresh air to continue the process.
When she went into the kitchen, Paddy followed her, venturing inside for the first time. He sniffed at the skirting board, then lapped at the water she put down for him. Blaze poured her coffee and leant against the kitchen bench, watching him. Feeling generous, she got a bone from the fridge and gave it to him, and Paddy disappeared back outside.
Armed with her coffee and a slice of toast, Blaze jotted down her shopping list, then reluctantly checked the series of increasingly frustrated messages Jaxon had left on her mobile. The first ones, from ten days ago, were relatively benign. Hoped she was feeling better, did she realise the Oscars were just days away, had she read his emails and please call. In the last one left yesterday, he was screaming and pleading.
‘For God’s sake, Blaze, this could be the role you’re waiting for. Call me back or Natalie Portman will have it wrapped up!’
He’d emailed the script to her. She’d seen it in her inbox the other day.
Siren
. But as yet she wasn’t ready to think, let alone talk, about work, and Natalie Portman would do a fine job.
There were a couple of calls from reporters running stories about her escape to her homeland after the scandal, and another from a journalist she knew well saying that he’d heard something she needed to know. Cal Marsden was pretty fair as far as entertainment reporters went, but right now she was on leave from Hollywood.
At least there were no messages
Groaning, she groped for the phone. She’d bet a good bottle of wine that Jaxon had somehow tracked down her landline number, having given up on her ever answering her mobile messages. Since her escape, her California agent had left fifteen voice mails and sent a dozen texts, but Blaze had been enjoying her solitude too much to let the real world back in. Now it was intruding, noisily, at 6:10 a.m.
‘Jaxon, do you know what time it is?’ She yawned, and listened to static on the line. ‘Jaxon, I know it’s you. Who else would it be at this unearthly hour?’
Silence.
‘Hey, I know you’re pissed off, but I was no good to you in that state. I told you I needed to get away.’
Static.
‘Jaxon? Can you hear me?’
Click. The line went dead.
Blaze groaned again and slumped back on to the pillow. If there was one thing worse than a phone call at this hour, it was a wrong number.
A kookaburra cackled noisily from the waterhole where they liked to play in the early morning. Sparrow fart, the locals called this time of day. The expression made her grin as she shoved open the attic window to let in the fresh morning air. No doubt the working day had already begun on stations like Macauley Black’s to take advantage of the relative cool.
Macauley Black.
She really didn’t want to have to contact him, but she was out of options as far as finding someone to remodel the house was concerned. She’d even checked the supermarket’s notice board to see if any handyman advertised there, without luck. The only other possibility was the local paper, which meant another trip into town today. She didn’t relish the drive, but Paddy had nearly chomped through the dry food she’d bought, and there were other things she needed, so she could kill two or three birds with one stone.
First things first, though. The day didn’t officially start until she’d had coffee. In the kitchen, she switched on the kettle, opened the veranda door and found Paddy on the other side. At her greeting, he jumped to his feet and sidled over with a woof of welcome.
‘Hello, boy. You’re early.’
She knelt down for his lick, and gave him a good rub until he lay down in sheer pleasure, inviting her to rub some more. Blaze indulged him, taking the opportunity to check that his wound was continuing to heal. It was, so she removed the makeshift bandage to allow the fresh air to continue the process.
When she went into the kitchen, Paddy followed her, venturing inside for the first time. He sniffed at the skirting board, then lapped at the water she put down for him. Blaze poured her coffee and leant against the kitchen bench, watching him. Feeling generous, she got a bone from the fridge and gave it to him, and Paddy disappeared back outside.
Armed with her coffee and a slice of toast, Blaze jotted down her shopping list, then reluctantly checked the series of increasingly frustrated messages Jaxon had left on her mobile. The first ones, from ten days ago, were relatively benign. Hoped she was feeling better, did she realise the Oscars were just days away, had she read his emails and please call. In the last one left yesterday, he was screaming and pleading.
‘For God’s sake, Blaze, this could be the role you’re waiting for. Call me back or Natalie Portman will have it wrapped up!’
He’d emailed the script to her. She’d seen it in her inbox the other day.
Siren
. But as yet she wasn’t ready to think, let alone talk, about work, and Natalie Portman would do a fine job.
There were a couple of calls from reporters running stories about her escape to her homeland after the scandal, and another from a journalist she knew well saying that he’d heard something she needed to know. Cal Marsden was pretty fair as far as entertainment reporters went, but right now she was on leave from Hollywood.
At least there were no messages
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