The Rouseabout Girl (4 page)

The odd thing was that, hating him as she did, she had this
awareness
of his nearness, and she had to admit that his attraction was breathtaking. So lithe and muscular, with eyes that said more than his lips (unfortunately for her). And whoever started that mistaken idea that only dark men were attractive? She stole a sideways glance towards him as he swung the vehicle into a long line of city traffic. The clinging fabric of his cream body-shirt revealed the rippling muscles of broad shoulders and his strong profile was worth looking at (that was, of course, if you didn’t happen to know the man!) Oh yes, he was good-looking enough to be any girl’s dream, but not this girl! She admitted he had something, a male charisma that was shattering. Even she could fee
l
it, but fortunately she was forewarned against that particular snare.

Swept by conflicting emotions, she had been all but oblivious of her surroundings. Now, however, she realised they were taking a motorway leading out of the city and bright with its centre strip of flowering shrubs, scarlet bottle-brush and delicately tinted blossoms of oleanders. Presently the suburban homes of pastel shadings clustered on either side of the
toi-toi
-bordered road gave way to sundried paddocks with grazing sheep and cattle, and soon they had left the motorway to take the main road south.

Lanie made no effort to break the silence that had fallen as they left the city boundaries behind. Why should she bother to talk to a man who was so definitely antagonistic towards her? After a while she became aware of Sandy’s enthusiastic tones.

‘You’ll en
j
oy the climate down our way, Lanie. No clouds in the sky, just the clear sunshine day after day. Once you’ve tried our air up in the hills you’ll never want to come back to town!’

Flicking a swift glance towards Jard’s uncommunicative face, however, she wasn’t so sure on that point. Aloud she said smilingly, ‘I’ll take your word for it!’

Sandy went on to describe life in the country region for which they were bound, but Lanie was scarcely aware of what he was saying. There was something about Jard that was definitely disturbing, especially when she found herself pressed close to his lean muscular body, conscious in spite of herself of a masculine magnetism that operated regardless of her positive loathing for the man! With an effort she wrenched her random thoughts aside and tried to concentrate on Sandy’s voice. What was he saying? Something about her new job?

‘You’ll get along fine and if you have any problems, Clara will soon sort them out for you.’

‘Clara?’ she queried.

‘She’s our housekeeper, and a jolly
-
good sort too. She’s been with us for donkey’s years.’

‘Oh!’ Her thoughts were busy. A housekeeper
and
a cook! Somehow it didn’t line up with the cottage on the farm.

‘She’s one of the family, just about,’ Sandy was saying, and Lanie gave a sigh of relief. Clara was no doubt a family friend who had made her home with them and to whom they had given the nominal title of housekeeper. For a moment there she had known a prickle of apprehension.

All at once it occurred to her that she didn’t know anything, not anything, of what she was letting herself in for at the end of this journey, not for sure that is. A glance towards Jard’s clean-cut profile did nothing to ease her misgivings. Plainly he was furious about her being taken on to work for him and his father and wasn’t troubling to hide his displeasure. Lanie wasn’t all that keen on the idea of the new job herself, not since she had learned of the antipathy of Sandy’s ‘partner’. What had he expected? A portly motherly type of woman with her hair in a bun and no make-up? She giggled to herself. At least the last two attributes applied to her! Her mercurial spirits rose. And then there was Sandy, she had a champion in him. Something told her that for some reason she didn’t understand, Jard’s opposition in the matter of her employment had no effect whatever on his father. On the contrary.

They sped on, passing at intervals small townships with their scattering of houses on either side of the main road. The hot sun was making spangles on the windscreen and everywhere was the dry scent of wildflowers and summer. Soon they were in sight of the little town of Te Kauwhata with its roadside stalls of luscious fruit, purple grapes, big yellow peaches, apples and pears. ‘No need to stop here,’ Sandy told her, ‘there’s swags of fruit in the orchard at home—kiwi fruit, avocado pears, the lot!’

‘Sounds fantastic!’ Privately the thought went through her mind that she would need a lot more than a supply of fresh fruit to compensate for working for the man with his hands on the driving wheel.

Presently they dropped down a slope to follow the course of the Waikato river, wide and clear with its moored sand barges and willow-shaded banks.

All at once they were in sight of bush-covered hills piercing the limpid blue of the sky and she knew they were approaching the town of Ngaruawahia with its swiftly-flowing river and high hills. On the highest peak of all was the burial place of Maori kings. It was as they approached the long graceful bridge spanning the swiftly-flowing green depths below that Lanie caught an unusual sound in the car motor. An enquiring glance in Sandy’s direction brought the response that he too had noticed it.

‘It’s been missing on and off for a while,’ Jard told her. ‘Could be the coil’s not doing its job, but it’s more likely to be the ignition.’ He was pulling in to the side of the road as he spoke and cars and trucks sped past them.

Lanie watched as the two men got out of the vehicle and Jard flung open the bonnet to peer inside. ‘Doesn’t look to be anything particularly wrong.'

‘Just what I was thinking.’

At least they appeared to be on good terms again, she reflected. It seemed it was the sight of her that had caused Jard to lash out at everyone in sight. Well, so long as she was warned he would find it no easy matter to push her around. For some reason she couldn't understand, he seemed to have a preconceived opinion of her. If only she knew what had put him in that frame of mind, she would know better how to deal with him—her soft lips tightened, for deal with him she would. It wasn’t for nothing she had been bo
rn
with flame
-
coloured hair.

At last Jard slammed down the bonnet of the vehicle. ‘I’ll take it in to the next garage and let them have a look.’ When they drew in to the garage, however, a mechanic told him that it would be a matter of testing the coil. Everyone in the place was flat-stick today. As he spoke vehicles were crowding in to the small space. It was the busiest day of the year for the garage with the Regatta Day crowds and vehicles needing attention, but he’d do his best. If they could call back in an hour or so?

Of course, Lanie mused, the Regatta at Ngamawahia, the day when the seafaring tradition of famous Polynesian sea voyages came to life again at the annual Maori Aquatic Carnival held on the grassy banks of the Waikato River. It was an event she had never attended, and she had a sneaky wish that the truck repairs, would hold them up sufficiently for her to take in the river races and Maori culture competitions. Even from this distance she caught a glimpse of long canoes paddled by enthusiastic young Maori men. The blare of loudspeakers mingled with the shouts and cheering of the watching crowd gathered on the river banks and brightly-co
l
oured sun-umbre
l
las blossomed like flowers among tents and side-shows. She would like to view the events—and what a welcome respite the visit would be from Jard’s disturbing presence!

The stern set of his jaw told her he had no wish for the journey to be prolonged. She bet, though, that he would have felt differently in the matter had he not been forced to have her along as his passenger on the trip. Sandy’s pleasant tones seemed to tune in on her thoughts. ‘You can drop Lanie and me down at the river. We may as well have a look at the Regatta, seeing we have to fill in time.’

‘Right!’ He spoke with alacrity and Lanie thought, ‘He can’t wait to get rid of me, even temporarily. Well, that goes for me tool’

They merged into the long line of traffic moving towards the small town with its backdrop of bushclad hills, violet-hazed on slopes away from the sun. Presently Jard drew up on the grassy reserve and Lanie and Sandy got out of the vehicle to join the holiday crowds that lined the banks of the swiftly-flowing river.

‘Aren’t we lucky,’ she smiled up at Sandy, ‘to be just in time for the highlight of the day!’ For over a loudspeaker came the announcement of the grand parade of the war canoes, the
waka taua
.

He nodded. ‘Now you can see the clock turn back for
a hundred years
—
’ At that moment his words were
drowned by a wild cheering as the three great canoes swept downriver, the young Maori paddlers working in time to the rhythmic commands of their captain, the
kai-tuki
, standing amidships.

The giant canoes with their intricately carved figureheads at stern and prow jostled for a lead, then, to the enthusiastic encouragement of the onlookers, the leading canoe swept on to victory. A race of smaller canoes followed, and Lanie laughed with the crowd around them as canoes raced over hurdles and occupants were spilled into the water.

Afterwards they made their way among the picnic groups and from a small Maori boy Sandy bought luscious slices of pinky-silver watermelon nestling in a woven flax basket.

Still biting into the crisp cool slice of melon, she strolled on with Sandy and they paused to watch the wood-chopping competition. Afterwards Lanie’s attention was drawn to a barge moored in the clear green river where dark-haired Maori maidens wearing the traditional flax skirts and
taniko
patterned headband sang and danced in rhythmic movements, their quivering hands simulating the shimmering of the summer’s heat haze.

It was really entertaining, she thought, the aquatic events and side-shows, all in this happy holiday atmosphere. She should be enjoying it so much, and she was in a way, yet somehow she saw the events taking
place around her with only half her attention. And why? Because lard’s sardonic face intruded on her thoughts and refused to be dispelled. She couldn’t seem to get him out of her mind.

At that moment, as if conjured up out of her thoughts, she realised he was making his way
purposefully
through scattered groups to come to stand beside them.

‘Well,’ Sandy enquired, 'what’s the verdict?’

His son looked, she thought, more angry than ever, if that were possible. ‘No good ... seems it’s a faulty coil right enough. They haven’t got one to fit in stock, the big day here has seen to that, and they tell me the best they can do is to send to Hamilton and get one out in the morning.’

For a moment Sandy looked worried, then he shrugged his shoulders philosophically. ‘Can’t be helped.
The
only problem is,’ his eyes swept the crowded scene surging around them, ‘there won’t be a motel unit vacant anywhere for miles, not tonight.’

‘It’s okay, I managed to get a cancellation. I’ve left the bags there. I’ll take you over there right now if you like, it’s just over the other side of the river
.’

His tone was tinged with a hidden implication Lanie
couldn’t fathom. Unless
—
Surely he couldn
’
t have
the crazy idea that his father had a personal interest in her, from which he had to be rescued? She brushed the thought away as too absurd to entertain. She became aware that Sandy was saying with a grin, ‘How do you feel about it, Lanie? Have you seen enough of the show for today?’

She nodded in agreement, but underneath her thoughts were churning wildly. It seemed that only one of her male escorts showed some common consideration in asking her if she wanted to leave the colourful scene. As they made their way through the crowd in the direction of the parking area, Jard made no attempt to query her enjoyment of the display of Maori singing and dancing or even the race of the war canoes. He didn’t ask her a thing, but confined his remarks to
Sandy. To Jard, she thought heatedly, apparently I don’t exist! No doubt he wishes I didn’t! If she found herself forced to spend the remainder of the day in his reluctant company she didn’t know how she was going to endure it.

It transpired, however, that the ordeal was to be spared her. For after showing her to her room in the attractively arranged motel unit, he left her with the suggestion that they all meet by arrangement that evening in the dining room.

Later in the day, Lanie changed out of her denim jeans and cotton top. She was having distinct reservations concerning that ‘time to be happy is now’ motif printed on her T-shirt. Whoever thought that one up, she mused crossly, had never met a man like Jard Sanderson, that was for sure! Taking from her suitcase a soft clinging silk dress in the one delicate shade of pink a redhead can wear successfully, she slipped her feet into white high-heeled sandals and surveyed with some satisfaction the effect of her soft green eyeshadow. At the dinner table in the crowded restaurant room, however, she told herself that she didn’t know why she had bothered with her appearance. So far as Jard was concerned, he did his best to ignore her, and she sensed that Sandy, loyally endeavouring to make up for his son’s ill humour, was finding the effort heavy going. To Lanie it was a relief when coffee was brought to the table and the meal came to an end. Shortly afterwards, on the excuse of giving herself an early night, she escaped to her room.

Her cheeks still burned from the touch of the sun beating down on the crowds at the river bank that afternoon and making her now feel drowsy. Tonight she felt that in spite of the upsets of the day she would fall asleep easily. That was, of course, if she didn’t allow herself to dwell on thoughts of Jard. He made her so
mad
!

She took a shower, then slipped into cool cotton pyjamas of a pink-and-white striped pattern. Then settling herself back on the pillow she flung her long plait of hair back over her shoulder and picked up the paperback novel she had brought with her. Somehow, thought, the words danced before her eyes and the story-line failed to hold her interest. Instead she found herself pondering on the fact that invariably in romantic novels when the hero for one reason or another came bursting unexpectedly into the girl’s room, she was always attired in see-through garments of provocative appeal, like a float-away negligee. On neither count would that ever happen to her, she mused, then stiffened as a peremptory rat-a-tat sounded on the door.

‘Who is it?’ she called guardedly.

‘It’s me, Jard!’ she caught the note of suppressed anger in the low vibrant tones, ‘and you’d better let me in! I've got things to say to you,
and
without the old man putting in his say!’

For a moment she hesitated, then ‘Oh, all right, then.’ Moving to the door, she flung it open and he towered above her, dominant, erect and menacing. It was clear that he meant business. ‘You’d better take a seat,’ she gestured towards the bed.

He shook: his head impatiently. ‘I can say what I want to right here!’ At the hostility in his tone Lanie braced herself for the coming attack. This was war!

‘Now look here,’ she said defiantly, ‘if you’re on again about my taking on the job with you and your dad
—
’

His thick dark eyebrows rose satirically. ‘How did you guess?’

She ignored the sarcasm in his tone. ‘It wasn’t my idea!’

He pinned her with his hard accusing gaze. ‘Are you telling me I can’t believe the evidence of my eyes?’

‘I don’t care what you believe!’ Anger was welling up inside her. ‘It was Sandy who offered me the job!’

‘So it’s Sandy, is it? Quick work, wasn’t it, Miss Petersen?’

With an effort she crushed down the black tide of fury that threatened to overspill. ‘We got on fine
together right from the start, and he asked me to call him that.’

His lips curled.
‘I’ll
bet he did!
I
suppose you’ll tell me next that this,’ he swung around to pluck the orchid from its vase on the mantel, ‘isn’t another of his happy thoughts?’

‘
Put that down!’
She snatched the frail blossom from
his grasp. ‘Of all the
—
’ She broke off, lost for words.

‘For your information,’ with an effort she forced her voice to a cool and collected note, ‘it was given to me at the shareholders’ meeting of the flour company when they presented me with the competition prize.’

‘So
you
say!’ He eyed her disbelievingly, but the next moment the indignation blazing her in green eyes must have got through to him, for he muttered a low, ‘Sorry,
I got the wrong idea
—’

‘Yes, you have!’ Swiftly she grasped the opportunity he had handed to her. ‘Just like you’ve got the wrong idea about everything else .
.
. about me.’

‘Really?’ he drawled. ‘You’d better put me in the picture, then. The old man isn’t usually interested in females, young or old. I’d be interested to know just
how you got around him so quickly
—’
His narrowed
gaze swept over her flushed young face, then moved down to the smooth tanned skin at the base of her throat exposed by the deep V of her pyjama jacket. ‘Apart from the way you look, of course, that could account for a lot!’