CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

Next morning Lynn made an effort to brush all thoughts of Blair Marshall from her mind. She wasted no time while putting the cottage in order, and the moment her grandfather had left to walk round his flock of black ewes and lambs she began another letter to Delphine. She now had more definite information concerning the circumstances in which Tony was living, and she was anxious to record the details while they were still fresh in her memory.

It was easy enough to tell Delphine about Maisie Bates, from whom Tony could expect kindness, although her mention of Sandra was kept deliberately vague. However, when she tried to tell her about Blair Marshall, her fingers faltered above the keys of the typewriter. And while his handsome face with its dark grey eyes hovered in her mind, she was unable to find words that would not betray her own growing interest in him.

Soon her thoughts became a dizzy whirl of questions she was unable to answer, and it was almost lunchtime before she was able to seal the letter. As she did so she became conscious of a feeling of relief which almost amounted to a sense of freedom. It was as if she had discharged a debt that had weighed heavily on her mind, and she felt there was little more she could do for Delphine, apart from taking a photo of Tony and sending it to her.

Later, as she drove to the township to post the letter, she was forced to admit that her sympathies had undergone a subtle change. They were no longer so strongly with Delphine, but had now switched entirely to the boy, and she found herself becoming increasingly critical of her friend.

Despite her marital problems with Stan, how could Delphine have left her child to the mercy of other people? How could she have shelved her responsibilities by going so far away from him? She had been given access to him, so why couldn't she have remained in New Zealand where she could have at least kept a closer eye on him?

Lynn was still engrossed by these thoughts as she hurried into the post office, and in her haste she failed to see Blair before she had collided with him. His grip on her arm saved her from overbalancing, and as the letter slipped from her hand he bent to retrieve it.

A rapid glance revealed its destination. 'A weighty epistle to your friend, I see.' The comment was accompanied by a wry twist to his mouth.

She looked down at the letter. 'There seemed to be so much to tell her—but I think I've covered most of it.'

'Such as...?'

'Such as Maisie's kindness in knitting homespun jersies for him, and that lovely rocking-horse in the nursery, and... and the care you take of him,' she added, raking in her mind for a few details in the letter.

His eyes became hooded. 'You mean I actually get a mention?'

'Of course.'

'But only on account of the boy?'

She found herself unable to look at him, fearing that to do so would betray her growing interest. 'What other reason would there be?' she asked at last.

'Indeed—what other reason could there be?' he returned, the words being accompanied by a light laugh which had a mocking ring.

'Do you mind if I post it before the mail closes?' Her words held an exaggerated politeness.

'You do that, and then you can tell me more about your association with this woman whom my cousin married.'

'You mean the woman who sacrificed a pleasant career in Wellington for an unsatisfactory life at Marshlands,' she retorted.

'Preserve me from career-minded women,' he said wearily.

'I'm sure you'll be safe,' she snapped.

He ignored the remark as he prompted, 'You said she was with a publishing firm.'

'Yes. I met her at a time when I'd been bitten by the idea that it would be nice to write for children...' She stopped, annoyed with herself for uttering those last words.

He laughed, his amusement evident as his mind jumped to an obvious conclusion. 'Don't tell me—let me guess. You tried and they turned down your efforts.'

She looked away from him, maintaining an aloof silence. Typical of him to look upon her as a failure, she thought, controlling her irritation with difficulty.

He continued in a more kindly tone. 'One has to be persistent in these matters. One has to try, try again. There must be many thousands of unpublished manuscripts reposing in bottom drawers—forgotten and forlorn, and unlikely to see the light of day.'

'Probably millions of them,' she agreed sadly.

The sympathy in his voice deepened. 'Perhaps you could try again some day.'

She suppressed a smile. 'Yes—perhaps I could make further efforts.' Then, feeling a hypocrite, she went on hastily to tell him how she had brought Delphine to Frog Hollow, and of the romance that had developed. 'But it was all too rapid,' she finished sadly. 'Delphine married in haste—and repented at Marshlands.'

'Is that a fact?' He gave a short laugh, then regarded her thoughtfully before he said, 'Suppose you tell me more over a cup of tea. The restaurant is only a few steps away.'

Impulsively she suggested, 'Let's go home. It's my turn to provide the tea.'

He grinned. 'Only if there are wholemeal scones.'

'Baked just before lunch,' she assured him. 'I'll see you at Frog Hollow.'

She left him and made her way to where the Honda stood parked. Her step was light and her spirits rose for reasons she had no wish to examine, but as she switched on the ignition she wondered at the wisdom of the invitation.

Suppose they found Tony waiting for them? With Grandy at his club the boy would be alone—and in trouble because Blair would be furious with him. And then the delicate relations between Blair and herself would suffer another setback. The latter thought caused her to hold her breath as she arrived at the outage, then a sigh of relief escaped her when there was no sign of the boy.

The electric kettle was put on, and by the time Blair stepped into the kitchen the tea had been made, the scones buttered and spread with raspberry jam. Did he recall how he had kissed her in this room? she wondered. Was memory of it the cause of the tight line now hovering about his mouth?

Making an effort to keep her thoughts on an even keel she said, 'There's a clean towel beside the basin, if you'd like to wash your hands.'

'Thank you.' He disappeared towards the bathroom, but when he returned his lips were still slightly compressed as he reverted to their former subject. 'So—what more is there to tell about Delphine?'

Her shoulders lifted in a vague shrug. 'Very little. In any case your tone indicates your complete lack of sympathy with her. I doubt that it's possible for you to see further than a man's view of any question.'

'You know nothing of my views,' he pointed out sharply.

She ignored the reprimand as she went on sweetly, 'Women are no longer the slaves of men, Mr Marshall. There's this thing called Women's Lib. The female of the species has asserted itself ‑'

'And become "more deadly than the male,'" he quoted.

She controlled her exasperation. 'Surely the female is now a more interesting mate for the male? Or do you consider her talents should remain dulled by kitchen chores while she attends to his stomach, his washing and ironing, and to his mending ‑?'

'And to sleeping with him,' he interrupted softly. 'Don't forget that most wives enjoy sleeping with their mates. They love attending to a man's deepest needs, but that is something you've yet to learn.'

Her cheeks began to feel warm as his meaning seeped into her mind. She found herself unable to look at him, and then his next words caused surprise.

'I'll confess that Stan has always been somewhat self-centred,' he admitted reluctantly.

'Heaven preserve me from such a man,' she emphasised with a touch of vehemence.

'Then you have to watch your step,' he advised in a serious tone. 'You must be careful to set your sights on a city fellow: someone who will be happy to see you rush away in the early morning, slave for somebody else all day, then wearily drag yourself home late in the evening. I presume that's what you have in mind for your own future?'

'No, it is not,' she retorted crossly.

'No? Then what do you visualise for yourself?' He smiled.

'That is not your concern,' she snapped, irritated by his obvious amusement.

'Surely you intend to marry sooner or later?'

'Really, I haven't given it a thought.'

'Then isn't it time you did so?' His eyes became penetrating. 'You must be twenty-three at least.'

'Actually, twenty-four. I was seventeen when I was Delphine's bridesmaid,' she told him, recalling the photo she had seen in the nursery at Marshlands.

'That makes you eight years my junior,' he conceded in a manner which made him sound almost fatherly.

'Then isn't it time that you yourself were married? Or haven't you found a suitable person who is willing to— to toe the line?'

He frowned. 'You seem to be determined to quarrel with me.'

'And you seem to be set on delving into my private affairs. I understood it was my association with Delphine you wished to discuss, rather than myself, Mr Marshall.'

A shade of impatience crossed his face. 'You know perfectly well that my name is Blair—therefore I'm warning you that the next time you call me Mr Marshall I shall kiss you.'

'In that case I'll take care not to offend again—Blair.'

'So, is there a strong reason why your plans for the future should not be discussed?'

Apprehension filled her as she sent him a rapid glance. 'My plans? Ah, we're back to that, are we?'

He went on unperturbed. 'Most girls of your age have ideas of overseas travel in mind. You've no thoughts of it at all?'

She laughed. 'My only travel plans consist of driving home to Wellington, although I haven't yet decided when that will be.'

'Good. Then I apologise for my apparent nosiness.' He regarded her in glum silence until he said, 'I must admit I feared you were in the process of hatching other... travel plans.'

Questions leapt into her eyes. 'You did? Such as what?'

'Well, travel tied up with the plans referred to by Max, and about which you've been so secretive.' He left the table to take a few restless paces about the room, then paused at the open back door to stare towards the water.

Watching him, she said, 'I'm afraid your imagination is running away with you—although I must say something appears to be really bugging you. Why don't you bring it out into the open?'

He swung round to face her. 'OK, I'll be frank with you. But first it might be possible for you to tell me why I'm plagued by a strong suspicion that there's more to your interest in the boy than meets the eye. I mean, something more than just sending a report on him,' he added as he returned to the table.

'Perhaps it's because you possess a suspicious mind. I've noticed it before. For instance, there were your suspicions concerning my relationship with Stan—and your suspicions that I was the cause of the marriage breakup.'

'Those thoughts no longer nag at me,' he informed her curtly.

'So now you've switched to suspecting I have an ulterior motive for befriending the boy? Is it a motive which includes travel plans?' she queried as a thought sprang into her head.

'It's possible,' he admitted, staring at her gloomily.

She drew a sharp breath as an inner hurt began to make itself felt, then she spoke quietly. 'Really—I had no idea your distrust of me ran so deeply. What do you imagine I have in mind? A plan to kidnap him?' Her tone had become scathing.

'Delphine wouldn't be the first separated parent to make such an arrangement.' His eyes had become narrowed and watchful. 'Is it possible she's now conniving for you to take the boy to her?'

Lynn gaped at him in shocked fury, then she exploded, 'Do you honestly believe I could be stupid enough to make such an attempt? Even if the request had come up, it's a task I couldn't handle. The first problem would be the matter of his passport.'

'Yes—of course.' Relief flooded his voice. 'Actually, I hadn't thought it through.'

Exasperated, her voice rose in further anger. 'It seems to me that your distrust is surpassed only by your low opinion of my intelligence, which means—Mr Marshall—that you must think I'm utterly and completely daft.'

A gleam appeared in his eyes. He replaced his cup on its saucer, left his seat and moved to her side of the table.

She sensed his intentions and cringed in her chair. Gripping the edge of the table she spat, 'Don't you dare touch me... don't you jolly well dare—'

'I warned you about this Mr Marshall business—and now you've asked for it.'

'I'll scream. I'm warning you, I'll scream ‑'

'You do that. Old Mick out there will think you're learning to bark. Or he might think it's the fire siren and join in the chorus.'

Her grip on the table tightened, but despite her efforts to avoid being embraced his strong arms dragged her out of her chair and held her against him. And, although she tried to whip herself into a frenzy of indignation, her struggles became half-hearted as his lips descended upon her own.

Nor was she able to deny the tingling pleasure surging through her nerves. And to make matters worse her pulses raced, her breath quickened as the kiss deepened, and, although she tried to steel herself against a response, her arms began to creep about his neck. She also knew that he guessed she was anything but unaffected, and this was proved when the kiss was broken while he looked down into her flushed face.

'You liked that,' he jeered in soft, mocking tones. 'You're longing for more.'

'Don't flatter yourself,' she gasped, feeling a denial was necessary. 'If I wanted more it wouldn't be from you.'

He laughed. 'Are you trying to hint it would be from somebody you've left in Wellington? Don't try to lie to me because I don't believe you.'

She glared at him coldly. 'Why shouldn't there be somebody in Wellington? I know lots of men in that city.'

'Of course you do,' he soothed. 'But I doubt that you'd leave anyone who is special for an indefinite period at Frog Hollow. And there's something else...'

'Oh? What would that be, Mr Know-all?'

'If a lover in Wellington filled your mind you wouldn't have returned my kiss.' .

'That's a lie. I did not return your kiss.'

'No? Are you trying to convince me—or yourself? I was sure your lips parted the moment you knew you'd aroused me.'

She could only stare at him speechlessly, knowing that she had been conscious of the sensual call his arousal had sent to her own body, and of the response within herself.

He went on, 'Of course you were well aware that you were sending my blood up through the top of my head— and that you were doing other things to me as well. Do you deny it?'

'I-I don't know what you mean,' she prevaricated in a faint whisper, at the same time hiding her face against his shoulder.

'Come now—you're too mature to be quite so naive. You're an adult and ready to be loved. In fact you're longing for it—and I'm well aware that you're fire below the surface.'

He bent his head and found her lips again, and, as one hand held her closely, the other clasped her breast before moving to knead the muscles along her spine. It made its way slowly, creeping down towards her buttocks while the pressure of his body against her own confirmed the quickening of his desire.

This time she gave up all thought of pretence. Her arms crept up to encircle his neck, and as her fingers entwined themselves in his hair her parted lips made no secret of her response. But even as the world seemed to stand still a surge of common sense caused her fingers to pause in caressing the hair at his nape. She lowered her arms, and, pushing with her hands against his chest, a small gasp escaped her. 'Please... no more... I think it's time you went home.'

'You're sure you want me to leave?' he murmured, his arms making no effort to release her while his lips nuzzled her ear before tracing a line to her throat.

'Yes...you must go. It's—it's time I made a start on— on preparing the evening meal.' Her last words came with a rush.

'Perhaps you're right—otherwise things might get out of hand. Old Max will take umbrage if he comes home to find his cook in bed with the neighbour, and no evening meal ready.'

A shaky laugh escaped her, but it was cut short as a voice spoke from behind them. 'Uncle Blair—is Lynn your girlfriend?'

They froze, then turned to see Tony standing at the open doorway, his hands clasping a small object.

Blair's features became stern. 'What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at home.'

Tony squinted up at him, the late afternoon sun glinting in his hazel eyes. 'I came to see Lynn. I came to show her my frog. Look, Lynn—I've gotta frog'

Lynn tried to lighten the situation. She peered closely at the small green snout and bulbous eyes poking from between Tony's fingers. 'I believe that's Freddie,' she exclaimed.

'You know this frog?' Tony queried in an awed voice.

'I can't say we're close friends,' she admitted, then added with a smile, 'He's probably still searching for the tail he had when he was a tadpole.'

'Very annoying to lose a good tail,' Blair put in. 'You'd better let him get on with the job.'

Lynn said unthinkingly, 'Some day I'll tell you a story about Freddie Frog who took singing lessons, but now you'd better wash your hands and have ‑'

But Tony had already seen the scones on the table. The frog was released, and the boy ran to the bathroom.

During his absence Blair sent Lynn a rueful smile. 'Scones, stories—how can I persuade him to listen to my instructions when you put up such opposition?'

'Only by finding your own opposition,' she suggested.

'What would that be, may I ask? He has everything he needs at home, and I'm sure Maisie and Sandra are kind to him.'

'Oh, yes, I feel confident you can rely on Maisie,' she said, remembering the kindly round face of the housekeeper.

'But not on Sandra?' he queried sharply.

'I'm sure Sandra is doing her best according to her lights,' she said after a few moments of careful thought.

Tony returned in time to hear the last remark. 'Sandra says she doesn't like you,' he reported to Lynn. 'She told Uncle Blair you went nosing upstairs.'

Lynn's brows rose as she turned anxious eyes upon Blair. 'Did she really tell you that? I hope you didn't believe her.'

He shrugged. 'Do you imagine I took any notice of her?'

'How would I know? It's possible you believe every word she says.'

'You must think I'm idiotic. Maisie assured me it was Tony's idea to show you his books and where he sleeps.'

Tony piped up, 'And I showed Lynn how well I can ride Dobbin. Uncle Blair, when can I have a real pony?'

That'll be for your father to decide, old chap.'

'Do you think he'll come back and get one for me?' Tony looked at Blair anxiously.

'Of course he'll come back,' Blair assured him. 'He's merely taking a holiday.'

The boy's eyes still held questions as he said, 'Sandra says he won't come home if I don't eat every vegetable on my plate. Sandra says he'll be like my mother and stay away forever.'

'I'll have a word in Sandra's ear,' Blair promised grimly. 'Now then, you will thank Lynn for her hospitality, and you will set off for home—up the zigzag at a gallop.'

'Like on a real pony,' Tony said gleefully. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then flung his arms about Lynn. 'Thank you for the nice jammy scones!'

The impulsive gesture touched her, and as she hugged Tony she dropped a light kiss on his forehead. A few minutes later she watched from the doorway as he ran towards the hillside track, then she turned to Blair with an anxious question. 'Do you think he's old enough to have a pony?'

'Of course he's old enough. At this age I was jumping at pony club.' A smile crossed his face while a gleam of triumph lit the grey eyes. 'I believe that's the answer.'

'The answer to what?'

'To the question of opposition. A pony of his own could solve the problem of competing with the attractions at Frog Hollow. A pony would get him off the school bus in double-quick time, and that would be a relief to us all.'

'Yes, indeed, a great relief...'

'Naturally, he'll need supervision, and that's where Sandra will shine. She rides really well.'

'She goes riding with you?' The question came casually.

'No, but there are occasions when she rides over the farm with Gary. She keeps her own horse on the place.' He paused, then sent her a glance of enquiry. 'Do you ride, Lynn?'

'No, I'm afraid not. A mere city girl, you understand.'

'Oh, yes—I'd almost forgotten that important fact.' Something that was almost a sigh escaped him as he went on, 'I shall begin searching for a suitable mount for a beginner. They're not easy to find.' His strong even teeth flashed as he sent her a teasing grin. 'Are you ready to recognise defeat?'

She looked at him blankly. 'Defeat? What are you talking about?'

'I'm saying that you'd better get ready to learn that a pony will overshadow anything that Frog Hollow has to offer. Even scones and raspberry jam and loving hugs from you.'

'You're really exaggerating the situation,' she informed him in a lofty tone. 'Please believe I'll be more than satisfied to see Tony in a happy state of mind— wherever he happens to be.'

'Is it possible you consider that place is with his mother?'

The question startled her. 'I did not say that, but if you want my honest opinion I think his mother would give him love.'

'Your honest opinion,' he mused. 'Are you always honest, Lynn?'

'You have your doubts about it?' she queried coolly.

He moved to stand before her, his gaze searching as he took her face between his hands. 'Tell me truly—was your response to my kisses completely honest?'

'As sincere as your own kisses,' she prevaricated, returning his scrutiny without flinching although the feel of his hands was sending a tremor through her.

They remained motionless for several long moments before he lowered his head to brush his lips across her forehead, her cheekbones, and lastly the dimple beside her mouth. Then he left her standing in a daze while he strode through the living-room and across the front veranda.

She heard the rev of the motor as the car was backed towards the road, and even after the sound had faded she remained still, gazing into space until she whispered audibly, 'Blair Marshall—you really are a man to contend with.'

Her fingers touched her face gently, and, while she knew she should press a cold wet cloth to her face before Grandy walked in the door, she was reluctant to wipe away Blair's caresses. Then she shook herself mentally. 'Snap out of it, stupid,' she muttered at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. 'You're behaving like a half-witted teenager. Those kisses mean nothing to him, so don't allow them to seep into your system. Don't allow them to become a drug so that you cry for more—and more.'

And with this sound advice swirling about in her mind she began to prepare the evening meal.

⇐ Предыдущая 1 2 3 4 567 8 9 10 Следующая ⇒