CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

They reached the firm track stretching towards Muddy Point with the water's edge lapping only a few feet away. Then, on the higher ground of the turning bay, they spent time in removing sand from their feet before putting on socks and shoes.

Blair grinned at Lynn. 'You've been saved by the tide.'

'Not entirely,' she informed him calmly. 'I still have a little will-power left.'

'You have? Something tells me it's been rocked into a state of shakiness since we've been here.'

She grasped at her dignity. 'That was only on the surface. Beneath it I can be quietly determined.'

'Determination can be broken down,' he reminded her, his arms again enfolding her while he kissed her gently before switching on the ignition.

Little was said as they drove past the beach cottages and parked caravans awaiting their weekend occupants, and as she gazed across the bay towards a distant hilly point Lynn tried to ignore the sensation of dreamy pleasure that persisted in wrapping itself about her. She knew its cause emanated from being with the man sitting beside her, and she was also aware that her feelings towards Blair Marshall had taken on a subtle change. Changed, or advanced? she asked herself.

And if it had not been for the tide, what price would her own will-power have been worth? Closing her eyes, she relived the moments of lying in his arms, his lips on her own, his head against her breast. The memory of her own longing sent a warm flush to her cheeks, a flush that deepened as she recalled his mouth on her nipple, and his words, 'The time will come.'

And then the sound of his deep voice came to her ears, causing her eyes to fly open. 'Have you gone to sleep?'

'No, I... I was just resting my eyes ‑'

'Don't you mean you were just... remembering?' The question came softly as he sent her a rapid glance.

The wide eyes she turned upon him were filled with their own questions, yet she was unable to voice them aloud. What did he feel about those moments of closeness? Had he already shrugged them off? If so she had better steel herself to do likewise. She'd be a fool to allow a few kisses to go to her head.

Again he spoke softly, his voice now teasing. 'You were remembering. It's useless to deny it.'

She spent another few moments in silence then admitted shyly, 'It's left me feeling slightly shaken.'

'Only slightly?' he asked quietly.

She looked away, not willing to reveal just how shaken she had been, and in fact still felt. Then, suddenly irritated by the way in which her emotions were getting out of hand, she sent him a glance that was full of reproach. 'At least you appear to be completely unaffected—but no doubt you're accustomed to such encounters.'

An exclamation of impatience escaped him. 'You appear to be tossing the ball back into my court. Is this because you refuse to let me know anything at all about your feelings?'

'My feelings are my own private business,' she hedged.

'And kept locked away in an icebox,' he retorted. 'Are you always so hard to reach? Is it impossible to draw close enough to learn of your hopes and plans for the future?'

She laughed, refusing to be drawn. 'Plans? I've no intention of ruining these moments by returning to that particular subject.'

'You're enjoying them?' he queried softly, stretching a hand to clasp her own which rested in her lap.

She nodded without speaking, thrilling to the pressure of his fingers before they returned to the wheel. After that she noticed that he appeared to be in no hurry to reach home. Instead he drove at a leisurely pace, giving them both time to observe the purple shadows gathering between the folds of the hills, and to watch the sky becoming streaked with reds and golds above the distant Ruahine ranges.

It was dusk by the time they reached Frog Hollow. The cottage was dark and silent, the empty space in the garage indicating that Max had not yet returned from his afternoon session at the club. However the surrounding area was anything but silent because the frogs had started their evening chorus.

Blair said, 'I'll come inside and check the cottage. One never knows who could be lurking behind a door or under a bed.'

His thoughtfulness pleased her. 'Thank you. I'm afraid Grandy never bothers to lock doors. He declares that even a blind burglar could see there's little of real value in this old place.'

He took her hand as they went towards the cottage, and she felt a tingling thrill from the pressure of his fingers. They entered the living-room where he kissed her briefly, then she knelt to put a match to the open fire while he switched on the lights. She then went to the kitchen to turn on the oven which would heat the previously prepared casserole.

She had not felt nervous about entering the dark cottage, but his action had delayed his departure, and she knew she didn't want him to leave. She sighed, thinking it would have been nice to have spent the evening together, but no suggestion to do so had been made. Then, looking at the casserole, impulse made her call to him from the kitchen, 'Would you like to join us for evening meal?'

There was no reply, and, puzzled by his silence, she returned to the living-room to find it empty. However, the glow of her bedroom light revealed him to be in the room with one of her books in his hand.

He turned slowly as she entered, his tight mouth and slightly narrowed eyes making no secret of his anger as he rasped, 'There appears to be more of interest on the table than behind the door or under the bed.'

'Oh?' She put on a show of nonchalance.

His tone held a ring of accusation. 'You're not struggling to write stories. These books prove you to be a published author of children's literature.'

'Yes, well... so what?'

'Why didn't you tell me?' The question came coldly.

'I don't usually shout it from the roof-tops.'

'You could have told me. The subject did come up.'

'And you were rather amused. You were somewhat patronising, if I remember correctly,' she reminded him in a dry tone.

'I was merely encouraging you to keep trying—and all the time you'd actually reached this stage,' he gritted, almost slamming the book on the table. 'It must have given you a good laugh.'

She felt guilty. 'Of course it didn't. And I would have told you—sooner or later.'

He went on, his anger unabated, 'This is exactly what I mean when I say I can't reach you. You hold out on me.'

'Why should you want to reach me?' She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

'So that I can trust you,' he snapped.

The words were hurtful, but she raised her chin bravely. 'There's no reason for you to distrust me.'

'I'm beginning to wonder about that.' His dark grey eyes held a bleak glint as his brows drew together and his jaw tightened. Then his tone became frigid. 'If you've been so secretive about this project, it makes me wonder what else you have in mind.'

She gave a derisive laugh as she said scathingly, 'Such as a plan to take Tony to England without a passport?'

His voice became hard. 'For your information, the boy already has a passport. The only trouble is, we can't find it.' He looked at her searchingly with eyes that were like pebbles. 'I told you his mother tried to take him with her when she left. His passport was arranged for then, but now it appears to have disappeared.'

She stared at him, her eyes wide with incredulity as his words sank into her brain, then a small gasp escaped her as she demanded, 'Are you suggesting that in some mysterious way this missing passport went hoppity-hop all the way to Frog Hollow?' The idea was so ludicrous it caused a ringing laugh to escape her.

He remained serious, then rasped pointedly, 'You were in the boy's room. His passport—according to Sandra— was in a folder with his birth certificate. She says the folder was lying in a top drawer.'

Icy fingers began to make themselves felt within her chest, then her voice shook as she said, 'You're accusing me of stealing it? Don't you know that Maisie was with me the entire time? How could I search drawers in her presence?'

'Sandra says that Maisie probably left you alone for a few minutes after she herself went downstairs to prepare Tony's evening meal. But I'll admit that Maisie denies this.'

'You sound as if you're reluctant to believe her. Is this because you prefer to believe Sandra?' Lynn's voice held dismay.

His expression became bleak. 'Sandra says that Maisie has either forgotten she left you in the room, or won't admit it. I'm afraid they've had a real quarrel about it.'

Lynn's fury burst forth as she almost shrieked, 'Sandra says—Sandra says—how dare she imply that I'm a thief—and how dare you listen to her?'

'Calm down,' he advised. 'There's no need to burst into flames. Nor can you blame me for wondering what it all adds up to.'

'All what adds up to?' Her voice was still raised.

'Your friendship with Delphine, and towards the boy— and now there's the matter of his missing passport—'

'About which I know nothing. Do you understand? Nothing.' She swung round and left him, returning to the living-room where she threw a log of wood on the fire. For several moments she stood watching the sparks rise up the chimney, then she sank into a chair while a cloak of depression began to wrap itself about her. Well, at least she knew where she rated in his opinion. Somewhere near the bottom of the popularity poll.

He followed her into the room then stood regarding her huddled form in moody silence until he said, 'You look as though you're sitting under a dark cloud. May I pour you a drink?'

'No, thank you. It would choke me. But help yourself.'

'Thank you.' He went to the cabinet, then turned to look at her. 'Are you sure you won't have a sherry? It might help you to think a little more clearly.'

She blinked back the tears, then dabbed at her eyes while his back was turned towards her. 'My thinking is quite clear—thank you very much for suggesting it isn't. I can see the whole situation very clearly without the aid of sherry. I can see exactly why you took me for that drive this afternoon.' Her tone had become bitter.

'You're sure about that?'

'It's more than obvious. Your aim was to gain my confidence. It was part of a softening-up process, and during it you hoped I'd betray whatever plan I had in mind. Only there isn't a plan. As for the rest of the afternoon...' She fell silent as words failed her, while making an effort to control tears.

'You mean when we lay so close together?' he queried delicately.

'Please, don't remind me—I'd rather forget it.'

'Is that something else you're sure about?'

'Absolutely positive. The memory gives me a pain because now I know it was all so... so insincere. I'm sorry I caused you to put on such an act to learn of something that wasn't there.'

He frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, I should have told you about my books earlier. I should have explained they were published only through Delphine's help, so that when she asked me to make a report to her about Tony I felt obliged to do so. I felt I owed it to her. But let me assure you that the thought of taking him to her never entered my head, nor has she ever asked me to do so. That's all there is to the situation—nothing more, nothing less.'

He sipped his drink thoughtfully until at last he said, 'Very well—I'll make an effort to believe you.'

'Don't strain yourself,' she lashed at him wrathfully.

He remained calm. 'I hope I haven't upset you too much.'

She spoke coldly. 'I'm not accustomed to people doubting my integrity to such an extent.'

He stared into his glass. 'What can I say or do to put matters right? I dislike this antagonism between us.'

She ignored his plea for peace. 'You can finish your drink and get out of my sight.' Acute misery dragged the words from her.

'Does that mean you don't want to see me again— ever?'

'You've read the signs correctly.'

'Very well.' He drained his glass, put it on the table then went to the door. Opening it, he paused to turn and look at her, his voice remaining cool as he said, 'Goodnight, Lynn.'

'Goodbye, Blair.' She kept her gaze fixed on the flames, not daring to let him see the unhappiness she feared might be reflected within the depths of her eyes.

His step on the veranda echoed faintly, and moments later the sound of the Peugeot backing out of the drive was barely discernible. As it faded she hurried to the bathroom where cold water was splashed on her eyes before Grandy could see traces of tears.

Fortunately, Max was later than usual in arriving home, and when he eventually walked in the door his mind appeared to be full of a controversy that had taken place at the club—too full of it in fact to notice Lynn's subdued state of mind.

She listened patiently while he expounded upon the argument that had taken place, and at last she was able to escape to bed, where she reviewed her own controversy with Blair. As she did so her eyes filled with tears which trickled unheeded into the pillow.

She'd been a fool, she decided. She should have told him about her books ages ago, and then this situation might not have arisen. Further, she'd reacted too strongly to his suspicions concerning her intentions towards Tony. Why couldn't she have remained calm instead of allowing her anger to bubble and boil out of control?

As for those kisses at the beach—it was now obvious they had meant less than nothing to him, therefore the sooner she wiped them from her memory the better. After all, she was here to take care of Grandy, and to compile a new set of children's stories. She was not here to become emotionally involved with a devastating man like Blair Marshall who—if she was not careful—would only lead her into a vale of tears from which she would never emerge.

So why was she weeping now? Why was she shedding tears over a man who would waft her up into clouds of delight, then drop her to the depths of depression in his efforts to learn of any kidnapping plans she might have?

She thumped the pillow and turned over in bed, but despite her efforts to sleep she lay wide-eyed in the darkness. Outside the silence was broken by the occasional bleat of a sheep, while the croaking of frogs came softly from the large water-filled hollow.

'Work is what I need,' she muttered aloud, then sat up to switch on the bedside light. 'Now is the time for a little progress on that story about the cave in the hills.'

She reached for a pad and pen, intending to scribble whatever came into her head, but even as she stared at the blank page the outline of dark brown hair and brows swam into her vision. She saw the grey eyes glinting at her coldly, and the mobile mouth that had kissed her during the afternoon. Even the feel of his hands seemed to caress her body, the memory causing her nerves to quiver.

And then she recalled his deep voice uttering suspicions that she could have stolen Tony's passport with the intention of taking the boy to his mother. Sandra says this, Sandra says that... All his suspicions, she realised, had been planted and then fanned into flame by Sandra. OK, so let him question her sanity, but how dared he doubt her integrity?

Anger shook her as she flung down the pad and reached for a book, but the words made little sense. The story revolved round an encounter, but even this was something that struck at her troubled state of mind because her association with Blair was proving to be exactly that. Nothing more and nothing less than a brief encounter at Frog Hollow.

Eventually it was sheer weariness that sent her to sleep, although it was a night of restless slumber filled with dreams that caused her to toss and turn. When she woke next morning she felt heavy-eyed, nor did a yawn that escaped her during breakfast miss the sharp eyes of her grandfather.

'You slept badly?' he asked.

'Yes. I kept waking after silly dreams,' she admitted.

He was mildly interested. 'Anything prophetic?'

'Prophetic? No. Like most dreams they were utterly stupid. I seemed to be chasing Tony's grey pony along the beach.'

His eyes twinkled. 'Are you sure it wasn't a certain dark colt with grey eyes? Did you catch him?'

Weariness made her snap crossly, 'I know what you're getting at, Grandy, but you can forget it.. I doubt that I'll be seeing him again—ever—so you can keep your hints to yourself.'

Max's shaggy grey brows drew together while his eyes became piercing. 'Had a quarrel, huh?'

'You can say that again,' she retorted as anger loosened her tongue. 'Would you believe he had the utter temerity, the colossal nerve to suggest I had plans to whip Tony off to his mother in England? Have you ever heard of anything more ridiculous?'

Max continued to frown. 'You can't blame him for wondering why you encourage the boy to come here, and you are friendly with his mother,' he reminded her by way of further explanation for Blair's suspicions.

Her voice rose as her anger became more intense. 'But not so friendly that I'd break the law by illegally removing him from the custody of his father. Good grief— I'd have to be out of my mind. How dare Blair imagine I'd be so stupid? It infuriates me to realise he looks upon me as a complete idiot.'

'Perhaps he's had previous experience with redheads,' Max remarked drily. 'It's possible he realises they can be impulsive and that there's no knowing what rash ideas will take hold of them. You must remember he feels responsible for the boy.'

Her eyes filled with reproach. 'Whose side are you on, Grandy?'

'Yours, of course, but in all fairness I'm trying to see Blair's side as well,' Max said quietly.

'You men sure stick together.' Her words held bitterness.

He went on unperturbed. 'Nor do I wish to see an end to your association with him. He's not like some of those long-haired layabouts you'll find in the city.'

She became indignant. 'I do not associate with longhaired layabouts. My friends are all young professionals with careers ahead of them.'

'Are they, indeed? Well, don't you worry, lass. Blair will be back—just like the black swan out on that water.'

Her green eyes flashed as she stood up and began to clear away the breakfast dishes. 'Get this straight, Grandy. I am not worrying about whether or not Blair will come back.'

'No? Well, that's just splendid,' he retorted drily. 'So what are you plans for today? More letter-writing to that woman in England, I suppose?'

'Certainly not. Delphine has had sufficient information to keep her satisfied for a while. Today I shall concentrate on the cave in the hills story. I've thought of a few mysterious happenings that will help me to stretch it to book length.'

'It sounds as if you'll be glued to your typewriter all day, and tomorrow, and the next day.'

'That's my intention exactly, Grandy. It's high time I got down to real work instead of frittering away hours at places like Pourerere Beach.' The words died on her lips as she recalled those moments on the upper sands when he had dragged her against him, his mouth crushing down upon her own. The memory caused pain to twist at her heart, her eyes becoming so blurred that she was unable to see beyond the kitchen window.

Hastily she became busy at the sink of hot water, lifting the dishes from it and placing them in a draining-rack where they dried within a short time. From the corner of her eye she saw her grandfather go outside to gather kindling for the living-room fire, and as he carried it past her she heard him mutter something about pride being the death of many a fine romance.

She longed to point out that romance between Blair and herself hadn't even begun, but knew her grandfather would not be convinced. Nor would he understand—no matter how hard she tried to explain—that their association had barely advanced beyond the stage of being an encounter.

He would look at her searchingly, and, with his uncompromising frankness, he would demand to know if Blair had kissed her. And she knew she'd be unable to lie to him. The annoying flush that rose to her cheeks so easily would give her away at once. It would tell him all he needed to know.

It was a relief to see him walk up the hill towards his sheep before more questions could be asked. Mick trotted obediently at his heels, and the moment they were out of sight Lynn went to the typewriter where she worked on Cave in the Hills. But despite her efforts to concentrate she found her ears constantly stretched for the sound of a tread on the front veranda, or a knock on the back door.

But it did not come. Nor was it likely to come, she realised sadly. Blair had said goodnight in a polite manner. But she had returned her goodbye with force. And as she thought of it now she knew that the statement had had a final ring to it. It was as if she'd closed a door that should have been left open—or at least ajar— and already she was beginning to regret it. 'Goodbye, Blair'—the words seemed to haunt her by flinging themselves back in her face.

Straightening her back from a slumped position that betrayed her dejection, she left the typewriter and went out to the front veranda. Fresh air was what she required, she told herself while taking in deep gulps of the crisp atmosphere in an effort to clear her mind of all its disturbing thoughts.

Her eyes turned towards the lake where she could see teal and grey duck feeding as they waddled along the edge. And then her attention was caught by the sight of a black swan gliding above the zigzag, its long neck and wings outstretched, its feet ready to paddle the moment it splashed down on the water.

Watching its return caused her spirits to rise, while her grandfather's words flashed into her mind. Could she take it as an omen that Blair—like the black swan— would also return? Perhaps this evening? But there was no sign of him that evening—nor during the days that followed.

It was strange how the passing of time softened one's anger, Lynn thought a week later. She had made good progress with the cave story, mainly because she had used will-power to push all disturbing thoughts from her mind, and she had shared the intrigue and excitement of her young characters. She had also been thankful that Max had been able to supply the necessary helicopter details.

By the end of ten days Blair had still not been near the place, and while she refused to allow herself to think about him there were times when memory became overpowering. During those moments she found herself gazing into space while recalling the intensity of his lips on her own, or the strength of his arms holding her close to his body. Had it all been little more than a sham on his part?

As for Tony, she decided he must surely be riding Taffy each day, and it needed little imagination to see the joy on his face when given his first sight of the grey Welsh pony. Dobbin in the nursery would now be neglected in favour of the real thing.

And then the afternoon came when a knock on the back door announced the boy's arrival, his face beaming as he said, 'Hi, Lynn. I've gotta pony, a real one. I want you to come and see Taffy. He's at the top of the zigzag.'

'You're out riding alone?' Lynn asked, feeling apprehensive.

'No. Sandra's up there too. She wouldn't let me ride down the zigzag. She said it's too steep, but some day I'll do it.' His hazel eyes glistened at the thought.

Lynn was surprised. 'Sandra allowed you to come and fetch me?'

He grinned at her. 'She doesn't know I've come. She didn't see me run down the zigzag because she was talking to Gary. She talks to him every time we go riding.'

Lynn laughed. 'Does she, indeed?'

Tony nodded. 'He's mending the fence near the top of the zigzag so I suppose that's why we came this way. I tethered Taffy a short distance from them and came to find you. Please come and see my pony,' he pleaded.

She looked at him doubtfully, knowing that Sandra would not welcome her arrival, then she shrugged off the knowledge. 'Very well—why not?' she said.

She followed the boy round the end of the lake, Tony racing ahead until they came to the zigzag which they climbed together. A short distance from the top Sandra stood talking to a man who was replacing battens in the fence.

Sandra appeared to be laughing happily but swung round as they approached. She glared at Lynn, then snapped at Tony, 'Didn't I tell you not to go down that zigzag?'

Lynn ignored her anger as she said calmly, 'He came to fetch me to see his pony. Is that such a crime?'

'Blair doesn't want him to associate with you,' Sandra snapped viciously. 'I'm to see he doesn't go near you. You're considered to be dangerous.'

The man working at the fence laughed as he regarded Lynn with interest. 'She doesn't look particularly dangerous to me,' he drawled to Sandra. 'Why don't you introduce us and let me judge for myself?' Then, as Sandra retained a sulky silence, he spoke to Lynn. 'I'm Gary Palmer.'

Lynn smiled at him. 'Yes, I know. Blair told me you're holding the fort for Stan while he's on holiday. I'm Lynnette Nichols. Actually, I've already seen the pony. Blair took me with him when he went to purchase Taffy. He seems to be very quiet.'

'Of course he's quiet—otherwise he wouldn't have been bought,' Sandra said scathingly. 'And he's proving to be the answer to our problem with Tony.'

Gary echoed his disbelief. 'Tony's a problem? In what way?'

Sandra explained acidly, 'Instead of getting off the school bus at the right place, he'd formed the habit of getting off at the wrong place. She encouraged him, of course.'

'Do you think he needed much encouragement?' Gary grinned.

The query served as a fan to Sandra's anger, goading her to lash at Lynn. 'Naturally, you had a reason for doing so—a devious plan in mind. But that plan has now been nipped in the bud by Blur's brilliant idea of purchasing the pony.'

Gary sounded intrigued. 'Tell me more. What sort of devious plan could she have?'

Lynn found difficulty in controlling her temper. Her cheeks burned and her eyes flashed green sparks as she glared at Sandra. 'You've got a nerve to suggest I have a devious plan,' she hissed. 'What gives you such a stupid idea?'

Sandra regarded her coldly. 'It was the fact that I couldn't find Tony's passport. I heard Blair tell Maisie that you're friendly with his mother. It made me wonder if you had plans to take him to her—and that made me realise we should keep an eye on his passport. But when I tried to find it, it was missing. And, what's more, it is still missing.'

'You needn't look at me,' Lynn informed her coldly. 'I've never set eyes on it.'

Sandra continued to glare at her accusingly. 'Blair knows it is still missing. Naturally, I've warned him about your intentions.'

Gary glanced at Tony, who stood listening to the exchange between Sandra and Lynn. He patted the boy's head and said, 'Come along, young fellow—I'll give you a leg up. It's time Sandra continued with your riding lessons.'

Sandra swung round to stare at him. 'That sounds as if I'm being dismissed,' she said resentfully.

He ran a hand through his fair hair while sending her a look of impatience. 'Take it any way you like. The point is that I'm supposed to be hammering in staples and I'd like to get on with the job, so if you'll excuse me...'

Sandra's chin rose. 'Very well—I'll see you again when the place isn't so crowded.' The last words were accompanied by a baleful glare at Lynn, then she placed a foot in the stirrup and swung herself into the saddle of her own mount.

Lynn watched until the two horses and their riders had disappeared beyond the trees surrounding the hay barn, then she turned to leave, bidding Gary goodbye.

He spoke casually. 'There's no need for you to dash away in a hurry. I can talk while I work.'

'I'm sure you can—but I have things to do at home.' She left him and went towards the zigzag.

'See you around,' he called after her. 'I'll be on this job again tomorrow,' he added hopefully.

'That'll be nice for you,' she flung over her shoulder, then caught her breath as she saw Blair leave the shelter of the hay barn and canter along the track towards the boundary fence.

Her heart leapt when she saw him pause only briefly to speak to Gary and then ride towards herself. Did he suspect her of wasting Gary's time with idle chatter— or was he about to accuse her of trespassing? 'Just you keep off my property,' he'd once snarled at her.

And while a rebellious streak that was part of her nature urged her to remain and face him with defiance, another section of her mind prompted her to hasten with all speed down the zigzag. It was the latter reasoning to which she listened.

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