‘It’ll all come your way eventually, and nobody needs to get bogged down in technicalities about who owns what. We could even head to Canada while you’re filming at the farm, get out of your hair for a few months, if you like.’
A colleague’s comment from earlier that week echoed through Spencer’s mind.It’s not like you’re even a real farmer, the bee-keeping and farmhand stuff is just a side hustle until the principal’s job is up for grabs.And though he’d denied it then, the truth in those words had kept him up more than a few nights since.
Shaking his head, Spencer turned to Ian.
‘That’s crazy talk, it’s your home. I’m not going to throw you out or strut around pretending it’s all mine. Your opinions about these ladies are important to me. Tell Louisa to put your passports back in the filing cabinet.’
The courts came into view and though they were cutting it fine before the match started, Spencer parked and turned to his father-in-law. ‘I’m tipping these next seven weeks are going to be weird for all of us, but maybe it’ll be worth all the rigamarole. If it were up to me, after everything that’s happened, I’d bunker down with Dolly as the leading lady in my life, but I made a promise.’
Ian nodded, and with a deep sigh, he grabbed his walking stick. ‘And we swore we’d prod you if you stayed in grieving-widower mode too long. So, let’s charge ahead as planned, and pray two cranky old codgers don’t scare those lovely ladies off.’
‘Old? Pffft!’ Spencer grabbed his tennis racquet from the back seat and opened his door. ‘More likely I’ll be the one scaring them off,’ he chuckled.
‘Our Belle’s probably watching from above, popcorn at the ready. She sure liked watching that show, all those wholesome couples and romantic farmers.’
Spencer shut the car door a little too hard, focusing on dislodging the sudden lump in his throat. Ian and Louisa dropped her name into casual conversation with an ease he’d come to envy.
But if Bellewaswatching … he only hoped she’d forgive him for taking a punt on love with a national audience following along every step of the way.
3
The house was cold when Spencer woke on a Sunday morning in early June, and after four weeks of filming, it was quickly clear that spending so many nights in fancy hotels, quaint B&Bs and the jaw-droppingLove on the Landheadquarters had messed with his bearings.
With his eyes half closed and gritty with sleep, he’d walked straight into the wardrobe door.
‘Ouch!’ He put a hand out to steady himself against the Tassie oak panel, still reeling from the impact of the unexpected obstacle in his darkened room.
Had one of the ladies snuck in for a late-night chat again, only to find him fast asleep? And if so, why would they have opened his cupboard doors on the way out?
Spencer flicked on the lamp. It cast a warm glow over his bedroom, one of the few spaces that still felt like his own in this process. Of the eight ladies he’d long-listed and met on the first few days of filming, five had stood out in the speed-dating sessions, and even though he’d watched several seasons before signing up for the program, the juggling ofemotions, personalities and personal space was harder than he’d expected.
A noise came from outside his door. Spencer grimaced. Two of the contestants had already crept into his room. On their first evening at South Giddi Giddi in mid-May, he’d woken to find Hope, the stand-up comedian from Darwin, snuggling into his side, ‘just to warm up’. It wasn’t a coincidence that, shortly afterwards, she’d been the first contestant he’d sent home. And that hadn’t stopped the 33-year-old audiologist, Ginger, sneaking into his room for an early-morning visit last Thursday. Despite gently reiterating his stance about not sleeping with anyone during the show, no matter how appealing the idea might be, Spencer suspected Ginger was as persistent as she was beautiful.
At least it will make tonight’s elimination decision easier,he thought.
But when he opened the door, it was Dolly, not Ginger.
The beagle trotted in and did a lap of the room, sniffing for evidence of intruders.
‘Who was our mystery visitor, Doll?’ he asked, gathering his shaving kit. ‘Someone with enough smarts to reconsider, it seems.’
Previously, shaving had been an ad hoc ‘whenever time permits’ arrangement, but he’d taken to shaving each day since bringing the ladies back to South Giddi Giddi, and now treasured this peaceful part of the morning, one of the few times of the day when there wasn’t a camera pointed in his direction, or five—now four—ladies vying for his attention.
It was an odd time for Clem Crossley to pop into his mind.She’d been right, though; the ‘reality’ aspect of the show was a loose term.The conversation prompts they received from the producers, the one-on-one dates, the dramas between the contestants … it all felt increasingly scripted.
Stepping into the shower, Spencer let the hot water chase away the thought, and once he’d finished shaving, his mind was back onto the practicalities of the day.
It was still dark when he went downstairs and fed kindling into the wood fire, blowing gently onto the crackling bark and sticks to coax it back to a healthy flame.
‘No wonder your signature scent is dark and smoky,’ came a soft voice from behind him. He turned to see Emily Brewington-Major in the doorway, her hands curled into the sleeves of his navy bathrobe.
Spencer got to his feet.
‘Maybe I should shower again after I’ve got the fire going.’ He smiled, noticing the sleep-mussed fair hair falling over her face.
She looked pretty with make-up, her blonde hair smoothed into a bun, dressed in a neatly pressed shirt, but seeing her like this, before she was camera ready, he felt closer to knowing the real Emily.
‘Or maybe I should stock it with redgum before I go to bed, so it burns all night and we don’t wake up to a freezing cold house.’
