CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

Blair led them to a nearby restaurant where he ordered a pot of tea, sandwiches, a milk shake and a cream bun for Tony. He watched while Lynn filled their cups, then commented in a sardonic tone, 'Your hand is shaking. Why is that? Do you feel nervous—or guilty?'

It was true, she realised. Her hand was unsteady, but his remark was sufficient to bring control of her nerves. Her eyes swept a look of disdain over the man sitting opposite her, and her chin rose as she said, 'Your sarcasm doesn't even move me, Mr Marshall—therefore I shall ignore it.'

His expression remained icy. 'But I do not intend to ignore the fact that you've brought this boy to town.'

'As it happened I had a few purchases to make, and I must say it doesn't appear to be an everyday occurrence for him.'

'So you decided to give him a treat,' he snapped, making no attempt to conceal his anger. 'You're already aware of my request regarding your association with him. Do I have to spell it out again?'

'Spell it out as often as you wish,' she retorted. 'I am not bound by your requests.' Then, sending a smile across the table, she asked, 'What makes you imagine your wishes are my priority?'

'It's not so much my wishes that are at stake—it's what is best for a certain party,' he pointed out with infinite patience.

'And you think that doesn't concern me?'

'What is best for the boy doesn't seem to have got through to you, Miss Nichols.'

'You're completely wrong,' she snapped impatiently. 'I do have his interests at heart. Besides, I did come along at the right time.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Oh, nothing much.' Loath to make an explanation, she brushed the question aside, then smiled inwardly as Tony began to make things clear.

Busy with his milk shake, he made loud gurgling noises at the end of his straw in the bottom of the glass, then looked up and spoke with suppressed excitement. 'Uncle Blair, I saw a fight today.'

The dark brows rose as the grey eyes questioned Lynn. 'What does he mean? Has old Max shown violence?'

Laughter escaped her. 'No, my presence has not yet antagonised him to that extent. Unlike some people I could name, he has not yet indicated that he'd prefer I was on my way home to Wellington.'

He glared at her in silence, obviously searching for a suitable answer, but before he could find one Tony's voice piped up with an explanation.

'It was at school, Uncle Blair. Two big boys punched and kicked each other. They rolled on the ground and got all muddy because it had been raining, and all the kids stood round to watch. Some of the girls began to cry. One girl hit them with her schoolbag.' The memory caused his eyes to become round.

'A real ding-dong, by the sound of it,' Blair commented. 'I presume it took place at what's commonly known as playtime?''

'No, it was after school,' Tony continued. 'Two teachers came out to pull the boys apart, then told everyone to go home.'

'Which included you,' Blair commented.

Tony nodded as he bit into his cream bun.

'I must admit to being slightly puzzled,' Blair went on. 'How did you happen to witness this bout of fisticuffs if you were on the school bus? I know it leaves the moment school comes out.'

Tony gave vent to his indignation. 'It didn't wait for me. When I got to the gate it had gone. Uncle Blair, you've gotta tell that bus driver he's gotta wait for me ‑'

'Especially if you're watching a fight. I'm afraid you'll have to take that as a lesson, old chap. The bus—like time and tide—waits for no man.' He paused while frowning thoughtfully at the boy. 'So what did you do?'

'I started to walk home.'

'A long trek at a snail's pace,' Lynn put in.

Tony said, 'And then Lynn saw me. She stopped her car and I got in and we went to the supermarket for groceries.'

'Wholemeal for scones,' Lynn murmured, sending an amused glance towards the nonplussed expression on Blair's face.

Tony concluded, 'And we posted a letter, and then we saw you, and you brought us here. Uncle Blair, I want to go out to the swings and the slide.'

'OK, off you go, but don't leave the play area until we come to fetch you,' Blair commanded as the boy slid from his seat and vanished through the door.

Lynn watched Blair stare into his cup, his brow now creased by a thoughtful frown. And, while she longed to release the laughter bubbling below the surface, instinct warned that this would be unwise. She knew that most men hated to be laughed at, and she doubted that Blair would be an exception. Besides, it would only give him further reason to be mad with her. Nevertheless, she said sweetly, 'Light is about to seep through the murkiness of your wrong conclusions and unjust suspicions, Mr Marshall?'

His tone became accusing. 'You knew about the fight. Why didn't you tell me you'd found him walking home?'

'Because it would have been so disappointing for you,' she said, smiling.

'Disappointing? What the devil do you mean?' The words were snapped crisply.

'It would have denied you further reason to be cross with me.'

'I still don't know what you're talking about.'

'Don't you realise that every time we've met you've found reason to be annoyed with me? It would be a pity to break the pattern.'

His expression betrayed amusement as he pointed out mockingly, 'I seem to recall a few moments yesterday when my annoyance appeared to have evaporated slightly.'

Her cheeks became pink as she found difficulty in meeting his eyes while recalling those same moments when his arms had held her against him. Nevertheless her face remained serious as she sent him a direct look, and although it was an effort to keep her voice steady she spoke calmly. 'That was merely your over-inflated ego at work, Mr Marshall. Like so many men you imagine you can kiss a girl whenever the whim strikes you. Well, I suppose there's a first and a last time for most things.'

'Are you offering me a dare?' he asked softly. 'Is it possible you'd like a repeat of yesterday's performance?'

She was startled by the suggestion. 'No, certainly not.'

'I didn't notice too much protest on your part,' he drawled.

'That was only because I decided to let you get it over and done with,' she retorted haughtily. 'Besides, how could I possibly struggle against the strength of your, grip?'

'You mean when I held you closely against my body? If memory serves me correctly, that was when I felt your lips move beneath mine,' he jeered softly. 'Why can't you be honest and admit you loved every minute of it?'

'Because there's nothing to admit,' she lied in a cold voice, at the same time feeling a hypocrite. She had enjoyed his kisses and the feel of his arms about her, but was not yet ready to acknowledge this fact, not even to herself.

A smile played about his sensuous lips, then his eyes narrowed as he surveyed her. 'I can see there's only one course to take. Next time I'll have to put more effort into the experiment.'

'Experiment? Is that what it was?' Her voice echoed indignation. 'What makes you think you can experiment with me? Doesn't it matter to you if my emotions become involved?' Her lips curled as she went on disdainfully. 'Really, you're exactly like Stan.'

His tone became curt. 'Explain yourself. How am I like my cousin?'

'Your attitudes towards women appear to be very similar. Stan couldn't care less how much he hurt Delphine, while you—obviously—couldn't care less how much you hurt me.' Her voice held a faint tremor caused by a small lump in her throat.

'City girls appear to be perfectly capable of climbing over emotional obstacles,' he commented nonchalantly.

'That's what you think,' she snapped, thoroughly irritated. 'If I were not so... so uninterested, I might even begin to hate you.' But this, she knew, was untrue. He might dislike her, and indeed appeared to do so, but she could never hate him.

He gave a light laugh. 'Is that so? I trust you're not forgetting that hate is akin to love?' The last words came silkily.

A derisive laugh escaped her. 'Love, Mr Marshall? Men who think only of themselves know little of love.'

His mouth tightened while a muscle flexed in his cheek. 'Considering that you know so little about me, Miss Nichols, you're not in a position to judge whether or not I know anything of love.'

'Nor have I any wish to be in such a position,' she returned smoothly. Then, glancing at her watch, she added, 'Thank you for the tea, but it really is time I went home. Dare I ask if you'd like me to take Tony with me—or would you prefer to remove him from my doubtful company?'

He ignored her ironic tone as he queried, 'You'd take him straight to the homestead?'

'Naturally.'

'Then I'd be grateful if you'd do so. I have an appointment with my accountant.'

'Which would make coping with a small boy difficult—and which also means you don't mind his being with me when it suits you. May I suggest you phone from your accountant's office to make sure he has definitely been returned to Marshlands?'

'I doubt that it'll be necessary,' he informed her gravely, then, raising one dark brow, he queried, 'Is it your habit to keep your indignation on the boil?'

She forced a smile. 'Only when people are continually antagonistic towards me. And distrustful as well. I'm inclined to take umbrage when people look upon even my simplest actions with suspicion. So, shall we go?'

'Yes. I dislike being late for appointments. And thank you for taking care of Tony this afternoon—'

'Mr Marshall—you positively amaze me.'

He ignored her tone. 'I'll see you later,' he said casually.

These words also surprised her. 'Oh? When will that be?'

'Possibly this evening. You're right when you say there's antagonism between us. It's like a black cloud hanging over our heads—a cloud that should be swept away.'

His statement caused her spirits to lift. 'How do you propose to remove it?' she asked lightly.

'By trying to know you better. I see no reason why we shouldn't be friends.'

Friends being the operative word, she decided, noting his emphasis. Was this his way of telling her he was fancy-free and intended to remain in that happy state? Well, that made two of them because she also intended to remain fancy-free—or so she told herself. And then his next words continued to surprise her.

Casually, he said, 'This evening I shall take you out— that's if you'll accompany me, of course.'

She looked at him wordlessly, waiting to hear more.

'We'll go to the opening of a local arts and crafts exhibition. I'm a member, although not an active one, and I may take a guest. Will you come?'

'Yes, thank you. It sounds interesting.'

'Good. I'll call for you at seven forty-five.'

They left the restaurant and walked to where the nearby playground equipment was surrounded by lawns. The sound of squeaky swings rang on the air, and while some children swept back and forth others spun in circles of various-sized roundabouts.

They discovered Tony climbing the steps for yet another slither down the long slide. His dark hair blew in the wind, and when he reached the bottom Blair called to him, 'You've had a fair innings, old chap. You're going home now—with Lynn.'

She held her breath. He'd actually called her Lynn. It must have been a slip of the tongue. She then watched as he strode away.

The drive from town took only a short time, and as they drew near the Marshlands entrance Tony looked at her with eyes full of appeal. 'I don't want to go home. I want to go to your place.'

She stared straight ahead. 'Sorry, Tony. I promised Uncle Blair I'd take you home. Besides, hasn't he said you're not to go there?'

Tony nodded. 'Last night he sat on my bed and said that Frog Hollow is a dangerous place for little boys-rand for big boys too.'

Lynn slanted an oblique glance towards the boy. 'He said that?'

Tony nodded again, this time vigorously. 'He said that sometimes ladies with red hair are really witches—and you've gotta run for your life.'

A surge of indignation assailed Lynn. 'Are you sure he said that?'

'Course I'm sure. And he said they're real bad if they've got green eyes that go all sparkly when the sun shines on them.' He turned to regard her seriously. 'Are you really a witch, Lynn?'

'Do I look like one?'

'No.' He thought about it then said, 'All the witches in my books have big noses and long teeth.'

'Who buys books for you? Daddy, I suppose?'

'No. Uncle Blair said it was time I had new ones. Sandra makes me keep them in my room. She says I gotta be tidy.'

Lynn said, 'I'd like to see your books. And your room,' she added as an afterthought. 'Do you think you could show them to me?'

'If—if Sandra will let me,' he said doubtfully.

'Then we'll just have to wait and see what sort of a reception you get. Something tells me that Sandra won't be particularly pleased with you.'

He caught the meaning of her words. 'She's going to be real mad with me. She's always a bit mad with me.'

Lynn did not pursue the subject. The last turn in the road had taken them up a short hill towards the Marshlands entrance where a cattle-grid was set in the ground between ornamental concrete pillars. Above it stretched the branches of oaks and elms, their gnarled trunks indicating they had been planted many years previously.

The metalled drive curved in a gradual rise towards the house on the hill, the green pastures on either side being grazed by ewes and lambs which scattered at the car's approach. Beyond the drive the homestead was a wide, two-storeyed timber-built structure, its white walls and contrasting deep blue roof giving it an air of distinction.

A second cattle-grid prevented livestock from entering the house enclosure, and after crossing it the drive skirted the front garden to sweep around to a spacious back yard edged by a vegetable garden.

Lynn followed the drive until she stopped the car near the steps of a back veranda. As she did so a door opened and two women emerged, one roundly built and middle-aged, while the other was blonde and not many years older than Lynn herself. Mrs Bates and Sandra Walsh, she thought, regarding them with interest.

Sandra hurried down the steps, her face pink, her prominent blue eyes flashing with anger as they glared through the driver's window at Lynn. 'I suppose you're old Max's granddaughter,' she hissed.

Lynn was taken aback. 'Yes, I am ‑'

'You've got a nerve,' Sandra went On. 'You know that little imp has been told he's not to go to Frog Hollow. Why didn't you bring him home before this late hour?'

Lynn took a grip on her patience. 'He hasn't been to Frog Hollow—at least not today.'

'You're lying,' Sandra accused loudly.

Lynn drew a sharp breath, her own anger rising. 'How dare you ‑?'

Maisie Bates hurried down the steps, a worried frown on her round face. 'Don't be too hasty, Sandra,' she advised. 'There could be a mistake—and you know you're very good at jumping to the wrong conclusion.' She smiled apologetically at Lynn. 'I'm afraid Sandra is inclined to become upset.'

Tony put in, 'Mrs Bates, I saw a fight. Two of the big boys ‑'

Sandra silenced him. 'Shut up, Tony. Just get out of that car and go inside at once.' Then, as Tony made no move to do so, she turned to Maisie Bates. 'Please see if you can get him out of the car. We don't want an exhibition of kicking and yelling while I try to get him out. Perhaps Bert would come and help.'

Lynn looked at her curiously. 'Why do you take this attitude with the boy? Are you always so unpleasant to him?'

'Yes, she is!' Tony shouted, then leaned towards Lynn as though seeking protection from the wrath hanging over his head.

Lynn decided it was time she told Maisie about how and where she had met Tony, and as she did so the boy left his seat in the car and moved to stand beside the older woman. Looking up into her face he said, 'Mrs Bates, I want to show Lynn my books. I want to show her where I sleep.'

Sandra's voice cut in sharply. 'Certainly not—we don't allow strangers into this house.'

Her words brought a storm of tearful protest from Tony.

Lynn made an effort to comfort him. She regretted that the request had ever been made, and she now said, 'It doesn't matter, Tony. Perhaps there'll be another opportunity.'

But this suggestion did not satisfy Tony, who sat on the veranda steps and began to sob piteously.

The sight of his anguish was too much for Maisie Bates, who gave a resigned sigh as she said, 'Very well— I doubt that it can do any harm, and we must have peace at any price.' Then she smiled at Lynn as she added, 'Come with me. I'm sure Blair won't mind. He's a very understanding man, as you've probably noticed for yourself.'

Have I? Lynn wondered. At the moment she wasn't sure what she felt about Blair Marshall, although she realised there was something about him that made her pulses quicken.

She left the car and followed Maisie into a kitchen which needed only a glance to show it was equipped with almost every modern appliance. A door from it led into the thickly carpeted hall, and from there they went up the stairs. Tony raced ahead, his tears having miraculously vanished while he chattered with excitement, and Sandra lagged behind in sulky silence.

At the top of the stairs a hall ran the length of the house, and as Maisie ushered Lynn into one of the rooms leading from it she said, 'This is where Tony sleeps. I understand it has always been known as the nursery, although there have been precious few children in it for many years. That rocking-horse belonged to Blair's grandfather and later to his father and aunts. It's really an antique.'

'Stan must be the son of one of Blair's aunts,' Lynn mused.

'That's right. He's Blair's oldest cousin,' Maisie informed her. 'Are you saying you know him?'

'I've met him,' Lynn admitted briefly, then changed the subject by turning her attention to the large dapple-grey rocking-horse with its arched neck, cream mane and tail, and its red saddle complete with small stirrups. 'It's a beauty,' she said, causing it to move backward and forward on its swingers. 'Can you ride it, Tony?'

'Course I can ride it,' he declared indignantly, scrambling up to its high back and proceeding to rock vigorously. 'It's name is Dobbin, and see—it has a saddlebag too.'

Maisie said, 'Only heaven knows when future riders for it will appear—but I'm afraid the thought of marriage has little or no interest for Blair.'

Lynn was not to be drawn by Maisie's remark. Instead she spoke to the boy. 'You promised to show me your books, Tony.'

He ceased his strenuous rocking and clambered down from Dobbin. 'I have to keep them over here,' he said, leading her towards a bookcase on the other side of the room.

Sandra spoke acidly. 'See that you leave them in a tidy stack. We can't have the room in a continual shambles.'

'He's only a little boy,' Maisie protested. 'Sometimes I think you're too hard on him.'

'He must be disciplined,' Sandra retorted acidly.

'He's had so much to contend with,' Maisie went on. 'What with his mother leaving him and now his father away on holiday ‑'

'He appears to be surviving,' Sandra pointed out coldly.

'That's because he still has Uncle Blair to care for him,' Lynn said, pausing in the examination of one of Tony's books. 'No doubt his uncle feels responsible for him.'

'Which is why he has forbidden Tony to go near Frog Hollow,' Sandra put in. 'I trust you're well aware of that fact.' The blue eyes held a cold glint as they stared at Lynn.

But Lynn scarcely heard her. A photo which had inadvertently become lodged between the books now fell to the floor, and as she bent to pick it up she realised it was one of the casual photos taken at Delphine and Stan's wedding. The smiling Delphine looked happy, while Stan wore a satisfied grin. Beside them stood Lynn herself, her cloud of red hair complemented by the green dress she had bought for the occasion.

Sandra saw her staring at the photo. 'Is that thing still lying about the place?' she said crossly. 'It's got his mother in it. I'll put it out of sight.'

There was a shriek from Tony. 'No! No! It's mine ‑'

Maisie spoke sharply. 'You will leave it alone, Sandra. It belongs to the boy. And, what's more, I think it's time you attended to his meal.'

Tony spoke loudly. 'I'm not going to eat spinach or carrots ‑'

'You'll eat what's given to you,' Sandra snapped as she flounced from the room.

Lynn watched her go then turned to Maisie. 'Is she always so cross?'

The older woman gave a small apologetic smile. 'I try to make allowances for Sandra because I suspect she's frustrated. I think she's keen on a certain party but appears to be getting nowhere.'

Lynn's brows rose as the obvious question leapt into her mind. 'Do you mean she has hopes of becoming emotionally involved with... ?'

'With Blair? Oh, no. As I said, he doesn't appear to be looking at anyone.' Then, lowering her voice, she whispered, 'The poor girl seems to have set her heart on Gary Palmer, who works here, but he treats her so casually.'

The mention of Blair caused Lynn to recall that she was going out with him that evening. She also realised she must do something about her hair, therefore she glanced at her watch and said, 'I must go home, otherwise my grandfather will think I've left for parts unknown.'

'Just like the boy's mother,' Maisie said in a voice too low for Tony to hear. 'However, I've yet to see a marriage breakup where there aren't faults on both sides, although the female usually gets the worst of it.'

Tony, who had caught her last words, looked up at Lynn. 'What's a female?' he asked.

She smiled at him, then said impulsively, 'I'm sure Uncle Blair will be able to explain. He'll probably tell you it's rather like a witch,' she added as they went downstairs.

During the drive home Lynn memorised details of the nursery, the focal point which kept leaping into her mind being the rocking-horse. But instead of seeing Tony swing back and forth she visualised a juvenile Blair riding gleefully to wherever his little boy's imagination was taking him.

And then she recalled Maisie's remark that heaven alone knew where the future riders would come from. Blair appeared to have little thought of marriage, she had. said.

So what of it? Lynn asked herself. It didn't mean he lived the life of a recluse, and suddenly the thought of Blair with other women set off a whirl of strange turbulence in her mind. It was enough to warn her of the danger looming ahead if she allowed her own emotions to become involved.

When she reached home she moved quickly to prepare the evening meal, then, after showering with rollers in her hair, came the problem of knowing what to wear. Nothing too formal for an arts and crafts exhibition, she thought, eventually deciding upon a woollen skirt and top in pale apricot, and as she attached her gold earrings she heard Max open the door to Blair.

She sent a last glance towards the mirror before going out to meet him, then, as she surveyed his handsome appearance, she became vitally conscious of the male aura that seemed to reach out and touch her. It was enough to send her pulses racing.

Blair looked at her for several moments, his eyes betraying a glint of admiration as they took in the way she had done her hair, and the curves beneath the subtle draping of the apricot top. But all he said was, 'You'll need a wrap of some kind.'

'I have this.' She lifted a cream handwoven cape from a chair.

He took it from her, placed it about her shoulders, then attended to the diagonal fastening of buttons. As he did so his expression remained grave.

Looking up, Lynn found herself unable to drag her eyes away from his face, and she was also aware that her grandfather watched them both with interest. It was almost as if Grandy expected Blair to kiss her, she thought, and confirmation of this came when the old man whispered in her ear, 'Don't forget to tell him about Queen of the Frogs.'

Fortunately Blair had gone ahead to open the door of his grey Peugeot, and this fact enabled Lynn to say in a low voice, 'Will you please stop jumping to conclusions, Grandy?'

The journey to the exhibition took less than ten minutes, and as they drove through the darkness Blair told her a little about the society, which had been formed twenty years previously. The sound of his deep voice was pleasant in her ears, causing her to wish the journey could have been much longer.

'It functions in an old school consisting of four large rooms and a central hall,' he told her. 'They have equipment such as kilns, pottery wheels and easels for oil-painters, although I understand the spinners take their own spinning wheels.'

'You appear to know a great deal about it,' she remarked.

'Only through Maisie Bates. She's a member of the wool group and is sure to be here this evening.'

There would be nothing to make the evening wildly exciting, Lynn realised, yet she was more than aware of the exhilaration growing within herself. And while she tried to tell herself its cause lay in the fact that this would be something different for her, honesty forced her to admit that it was because Blair Marshall had invited her to attend the function with him. After all, there must be numerous others he could have asked to accompany him, but instead—he had chosen her.

The old school proved to be a high-gabled timber building, its red paint and white facings showing up in the blaze of light streaming from every window. A large number of cars were parked in the vicinity, and after finding a space among them Blair took, her arm while they crossed the road towards the entrance.

The pressure of his hand caused her breath to quicken, and although she felt the colour in her cheeks deepen, she was unaware that his touch was causing her eyes to sparkle. Nor was she conscious of the people who turned to stare as they entered the hall, nor of the eyes that were full of curiosity.

They found the rooms filled with people, who chatted as they sipped wine while examining the numerous exhibits of paintings, knitted and woven garments, ceramics, pottery, patchwork and porcelain dolls. Blair seemed to know so many of them, introducing her to people whose names she was unable to remember, and it was while admiring the array of patchwork quilts that a hand on her arm caused her to turn to find Maisie Bates standing beside her.

Brown eyes smiled into her own as Maisie whispered, 'Several people have asked me who you are.'

Lynn felt startled. 'Oh? Why should 1 interest them?'

'Because you look so lovely, and because you're with him, of course. He knows so many women, but doesn't make a habit of taking them out. It's almost as if he has you on show.'

'His own personal exhibit?' Lynn queried with a laugh, her eyes resting upon Blair, who had stepped aside to converse with friends. Dressed in formal clothes, he looked so handsome that she felt proud to be with him, and again she felt something stirring within her.

Maisie's tone became confidential as she laid a hand on Lynn's arm. 'My dear, most of these people know he's an eligible bachelor, therefore they can't help being interested.'

'It's possible they also know that he's allergic to city girls, therefore they'll not make too much of it,' Lynn returned.

Blair rejoined them at that moment and, looking at Maisie, he said, 'I'd like you to show Lynn your own work.'

Maisie looked pleased as she said modestly, 'Oh, well... there's nothing special about it.'

They returned to the wool room where the knitted and woven garments were displayed, and where red spots on labels indicated that several of Maisie's caps, scarves and shawls had already been sold. All the work was in the varied greys and creams of the natural wool, and Lynn was unable to resist buying one of Maisie's Fair Isle caps for her grandfather. And then her attention was caught by a fluted bed-cape, knitted in finely spun cream wool. She visualised it about her mother's shoulders; therefore, to Maisie's delight she purchased it.

Blair looked smug as he said, 'You could make all these things for yourself, if you learn to spin. I'm sure Maisie would teach you. She has taught several people— isn't that so, Maisie?' The dark brows were raised as he turned to her.

Maisie's brown eyes widened to betray her surprise. 'Yes, of course I'd teach you—in fact it would give me much pleasure to do so. I have a spare wheel I could lend you, and there's plenty of wool.'

'Especially with shearing just round the corner,' Blair put in. 'Max would be delighted to see his granddaughter spinning wool from his own sheep.'

Lynn said nothing as she looked from Maisie's smiling face to Blair's enigmatic expression. She had the uncomfortable sensation of being suddenly bulldozed into an activity to which she had given no previous thought, and she also knew that her spare time must be devoted to her manuscripts. However, she had no wish to give a blunt refusal, and therefore she was thankful when the arrival of coffee and savouries enabled her to side-step the issue.

They drove home a short time later, and as they turned the corners of the quiet country road it became clear that the question still hovered in Blair's mind. 'Well, what did you think of the exhibition?' he asked casually when they had almost reached Frog Hollow.

'To be honest, I was amazed by the quality and variety of the work,' she admitted.

'All achieved by country women,' he pointed out drily. 'Some of them living away out in the backblocks.' As he spoke he reduced speed, drew to the wide grassy verge of the road and switched off the motor.

The action caused her to send him a glance of surprise. They were still a short distance from home, and it seemed as if he intended to take her in his arms, and while waiting for him to do so her heart began to thump.

But instead of reaching towards her he merely twisted in his seat and turned to face her. 'All women should have a hobby of some sort,' he said.

She remained silent, realising he had more to say on this subject. Nor was she mistaken.

'You can see the scope that was open to Delphine,' he went on. 'Despite her academic tendencies she could have learned new skills.'

'Yes, I can see what you mean,' she said quietly, while pushing the feeling of anticlimax from her. Then she turned to face him squarely as she asked, 'Is this why you took me to that exhibition this evening? Was it to show me what Delphine could have done?'

'Not exactly.' He hesitated, then admitted, 'I was really hoping to show you what you yourself could do.'

She felt puzzled. 'For what reason?'

He looked away from her, staring into the darkness beyond the windscreen. 'Because I think you should become interested in some of these activities enjoyed by country women.'

'Aren't you forgetting I'll be going home to Wellington?'

'The call of the city is loud and clear?' His tone was sardonic.

'Not yet. I've been too busy to hear even a whisper from it. Also, I like being with Grandy. I won't have him forever.'

He turned to face her again. 'Didn't he say you have a plan of some sort? Is that what keeps you so busy?'

She kept her voice cool. 'I suppose you could say so.'

'But you've no intention of telling me about it.'

She remained silent, disliking the direction in which the conversation was heading.

'Is there a great need to be so secretive?' he persisted.

'Why have you such a great need to learn about it?' she parried, realising that Grandy's remark about her having a plan had been most unfortunate. It had roused Blair's curiosity, and now her own reluctance to confide in him had caused suspicion to raise its head.

'Would it surprise you to know I'm wondering if it involves the boy?' he rasped.

'I've already told you that I intend sending Delphine a report,' she reminded him. 'Apart from that...' Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug.

Why didn't she tell him about her other activities? she asked herself. The answer was plain enough. She feared his derision. If you must write, why not write for adults? he'd be sure to ask in a voice full of sarcasm. Or would that be beyond your capabilities?

And then the silence between them was broken as Blair's voice hit her ears. 'OK—I've got the message. You're telling me to mind my own damned business,' he gritted, switching on the motor.

The remainder of the journey home was completed in a tense silence which filled Lynn with dejection. She sensed that Blair was really annoyed with her, but, after all, what was so different about that? He'd been annoyed with her on several occasions, hadn't he?

When they reached Frog Hollow she sent him a wan smile as she said, 'Thank you for taking me to the exhibition. I enjoyed it.'

His response was as casual as it was cool. 'I'm glad Maisie had such good sales.'

The words seemed to tell Lynn that his thoughts were hardly with her, and that if she imagined she was about to be kissed she could think again. Then, as he made a move to open the car door for her, she forestalled him by lifting the handle and sliding from the seat. By the time she reached the veranda the car had already been backed on to the road and was heading away with a flare of red tail-lights.

Later, as she lay in her bed, she was overwhelmed by an acute disappointment. She had looked forward to going out with him this evening. She had hoped she would be kissed, she acknowledged to herself. She had longed to feel the strength of his arms about her, but not one of these things had happened. Instead, the furthering of an amicable relationship had ended in disaster.

Even more disturbing was the fact that his irritation seemed to be mingled with distrust—and that distrust had evolved from a casual word let fall by Grandy. For heaven's sake, what plan could Blair imagine she had in mind? Lynn wondered, her mind in a state of confusion.

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