The Rouseabout Girl (7 page)

‘So it’s you again!’ He was leaning against the door jamb, thumbs hooked in his low-slung leather belt, his tone deceptively indolent. How could it be, she wondered, that he contrived to give the
impression that she was doing something wrong?

‘That’s right,’ she said lightly, and muttered under her breath, ‘You didn’t really imagine that Paula would be working in here cleaning up the mess, did you?’ She endeavoured to make her voice sound carefree. ‘Just getting things cleared up ready for a good start in the morning!’

She was unaware of the bright cloud of hair tumbling over her white candlewick gown as she swung back to her task. ‘I’ll soon be finished.’ Something in his narrow-eyed appraisal was disconcerting, very, and to escape his glance she nonchalantly wiped dry a dish for the second time.

‘I was having a session with some book work in the office,' he was saying. ‘I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard someone clattering away down here at this hour in the morning.’

Heavens, she wondered wildly, what was the time? In her haste to get on with the job she hadn’t even glanced at her watch in the bedroom. ‘I’ve only got another half hour or so’s work,’ she murmured.

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he drawled, and even without glancing in his direction she was aware that he hadn’t moved his position. ‘Knock it off. Lanie. We’re not slave-drivers around here!’

She didn’t look around. ‘If it’s all the same to you—’

‘It’s not!’

‘I
want to tidy up here so that I won’t waste any time in the morning. That is,’ she added in a voice sparked with anger, ‘if you want a cooked breakfast to come along on time!’

He came striding towards her, lips compressed and eyes dark with anger. ‘Finish it tomorrow.’

She wielded a sponge mop furiously on a plate. ‘No!’

‘Listen to me!’ The hidden anger and suspicion she had sensed in him throughout the day surfaced in his low, grated tone. Even without turning around she knew that he was furious with her for daring to disobey the boss's orders.

His tone was dangerously quiet. ‘Do I have to carry you away?’

Lanie pushed the bright hair back from her forehead and turned a flushed, defiant, face towards him. Why was she trembling? ‘You just try!’

‘Right—you’ve asked for it!’

She tensed herself, then suddenly relaxed as a masculine voice said suddenly, ‘Hey, Lanie, what goes on? Kitchen staff don’t work overtime around here!’ Sandy stood behind Jard, peering into the room. He wore a dressing gown over pyjamas and had evidently been aroused from sleep, his bemused gaze taking in Lanie’s eyes that sparkled with anger.

‘Just what I’ve been trying to get through to her,’ Jard said coolly, ‘but she doesn’t seem to be cooperating very well.’

Spiritedly Lanie splashed the dishes in the water in the sink, then had to wipe away drops of moisture from her eyes w
i
th the back of her hand. ‘I’m only doing my job,’ she
said defiantly, ‘and if I like to choose my own hours
—
’

‘I see your point lass,’ Sandy’s voice was placating. ‘Thing is, the way things are looking right now,’ he swept a hand towards the neatly piled clean plates, ‘you've got this lot pretty well licked into shape. Leave those cups to dry on the rack and you’ll have a head start for breakfast. Better call it a day, girl!’ His smile was really friendly, Lanie thought. He understood how she felt. He knew his son had been bullying her, or trying to. Thank heaven Sandy had arrived in the nick of time to save her from being bodily removed from the scene.

She flashed a smile in Sandy’s direction. ‘You know something? I just might take your advice!’ Squeezing out the dishmop, she hung it over the sink and said in the most noncommittal voice she could summon up, ‘I’ve got my bearings here now anyway.’ Disconcertingly aware of Jard’s glance, she turned away, ‘I'll say goodnight, then.’

‘’Night, lass.’

Lanie would have liked to leave too, but Jard, so tall, so still, menacing almost, blocked her way. He was leaning against the door jamb, arms folded across his sinewy chest and a determined light in his grey eyes.

‘I’ll see you to the cottage,’ he said gruffly, and she knew it was the last thing in the world he really wanted to do:

'Don’t bother
—
’ She made a rush, trying to dart
beneath his arm, but he was too quick for her. Somehow Lanie knew it was just no use arguing with him, so she went with him in silence as they crossed the passage and went out of the back door.

Outside a full moon had risen high in the sky, silvering sloping lawns and throwing long shadows over the grass around them. Lanie, trying to hurry ahead of him, stumbled, and he put a hand on her elbow.
Angrily she flung away. ‘I can manage!’ Immediately she tripped over the edge of a pathway, and this time he kept a peremptory hold on her bare arm as he marched her towards the cottage. Once there he flung open the door and stepped inside. Putting a hand to the electric light switch, he flooded the room with light. Lanie was about to face him indignantly, but he had turned away. She barely caught his grated, ‘‘Night’, then he had vanished into th
e silver-shadowed world outside.

CHAPTER
FOUR

Lanie
wakened to the shrill peal of her alarm clock and for a few moments she lay dozing, vaguely aware of her unfamiliar surroundings. How come, she wondered hazily she was here in a room where each wall was decorated with pictures of wedding parties and bridal groups? Recollection came with a rush.
That man!
Thai arrogant, domineering—sensationally good-looking
—
she thrust the thought aside—owner of the place whom she had unwittingly acquired as her boss.

She dropped her feet to the sheepskin rug on the floor and running to the window, swept the floral curtains aside. As she took in the vista outspread before her she felt a mounting sense of excitement. Somehow, in spite of everything, and everything included the most infuriating man she had ever met in her life, she was glad she’d come.

Below the translucent blue of the sky, range after range of hills marched away to the horizon and in the distance rose the irregular, haunting cone of Egmont. Close at hand the bush-filled gullies formed natural divisions of sheep-threaded paddocks. So this was Rangimarie. No neighbours, no hint of the outside world. Her gaze shifted to a hill paddock where horses, tails raised and manes flying, streaked over green slopes. Further up the rise, black steers huddled together in a grove of cabbage trees. Above the lowing of cattle she caught the dull roar of the sea, and craning her head, she caught a glimpse of glinting black sand and a windswept coast where great waves hurled themselves against precipitous cliffs.

At that moment she caught the sound of a man’s footfall on the path and a moment later Jard, whistling a tune, strolled away from the homestead. Her gaze followed the lean muscular figure, taking in the erect carriage and easy stride. If one didn’t have first-hand knowledge of his horrible nature ... It must be because of the antagonism he sparked in her that she couldn’t seem to wrench her glance aside. She watched him until he reached the stables, where he was joined by the quiet-eyed head shepherd named Mike whom she had met last night, and two young stockmen. No doubt, she mused, Jard was giving the men their work directions for the day.

It was a luxury to possess her own bathroom, and after a quick shower she was back in her bedroom. Running a brush over her hair, she gathered up the shining strands and pinned them in a knot high on her head. She refused to give Jard the chance of accusing her of an unhygienic attitude towards her duties. No need for make-up today, for who ever heard of a glamorous station cook? Presently she was ready, in comfortable worn jeans and white cotton T-shirt, for her day’s work. If only Paula didn’t come to breakfast with the others.

The odd thing—she paused for a moment in her headlong rush—was that her mirrored reflection was that of a girl with shining eyes, her whole appearance that of someone who was filled with a sense of anticipation and excitement. Just as if she were about to take up the duties she had originally hoped for instead of working in the station kitchen and being treated as an intruder. At least that appeared to be Jard’s attitude towards her. As if she cared! Tilting her rounded chin, she marched determinedly out of the room,

When she opened the door she stepped out into an invigorating new world where the air was unbelievably clear and fresh with the salt tang of the sea. Early morning sunshine streamed over the long verandahs running around three sides of the house and lightened the mellow red of the roof. In the light of day she saw that the rambling old
kauri
building, with rooms added haphazardly, could be a century old but kept in good repair. There was a backdrop of towering trees, and spacious lawns sloped away from the building.
Suddenly, as she approached the back entrance, she had the oddest feeling, almost as though she were coming home. Jard’s home? She must be out of her skull!

In the gentle sunlight the kitchen appeared modern and convenient. Evidently, she thought, Jard had already made himself an early morning cuppa, for a used cup stood on the sink. She decided that while the chops were frying on the old-fashioned electric range, she would finish drying the dishes she had left last night, or was it this
mo
rn
ing
? She was reaching to a shelf for a pan when she
L
ooked around to see a slight, frail-looking little woman of middle age, who was standing in the doorway.

‘Oh, hello!’ The small woman had fair hair turning to grey, Lanie noticed, and a worried expression. ‘You must be Clara?’

‘That’s right.’ Clara had a singularly sweet smile, Lanie thought. Crossing the room, the older woman came to stand at the sink bench beside Lanie. ‘Did Jard
tell you that I’m his housekeeper
—
’ She broke off,
sending Lanie a puzzled glance. ‘You’re not, you
couldn’t be
—
’

‘The new cook? I am, you know.’ Lanie’s lips quirked at the woman’s disbelieving expression. ‘Sandy and Jard brought me down from Auckland yesterday.’

‘You look awfully young,’ Clara murmured doubtfully, adding as if to herself, ‘But I suppose the
employment agency recommended you to Jard
—
’

‘Well, actually
—
’

Clara, however, was not listening. ‘I hope you’re not going to try out a lot of those foreign concoctions on us,’ she said reprovingly. ‘Edna believes in serving good plain food.’

‘Oh no, I’m not!’ Lanie assured her. Well, she thought, that was true enough. Her meagre knowledge of the culinary arts wouldn’t run to anything of a complicated nature. To change the subject she said, ‘Paula told me you weren’t well last night. Are you feeling better now?’

Clara’s pale blue eyes shifted evasively. ‘I wasn’t all that bad.’ She drew herself up, her voice thick with emotion. ‘I will not be dictated to by
that girl
!
Just because she’s known Jard for years and years she thinks she belongs here! She’s not mistress at Rangimarie yet, for all her airs and graces and the way she orders me
around
—
’ She added with dignity, ‘And me the
housekeeper here. When my husband died and I was all alone in the world,’ she ran on, ‘and Jard offered me a home here I said, “I know I’m your aunt, but I won’t come to stay with you indefinitely unless I can be of some use around the place.” And Jard, he’s so kind, said quick could be, “Right, Aunt Clara! As from now you’re appointed official housekeeper of the homestead! Now will you come?” So of course that was different. I mean to say, one does have one’s pride.’

‘Of course.’ Lanie, spooning fat into the hot pan, nodded. So her random guess had proved to be correct and this nervous little woman was one of the family here.

‘All that fuss,’ Clara had gathered up two crystal goblets from the table, ‘trying to impress Jard with what a marvellous wife she’d make for him! If you ask me, she’d be wasting her time thinking she can take over here one of these days. Who does
Pau
l
a
think she is?’ Lanie feared for the safety of the crystal goblets Clara banged on the table to emphasise her point. ‘Even if she does have the looks to turn any man’s head,’ she added grudgingly, ‘and knows how to make the most of herself!’ After a moment she went on, ‘She was brought up on a sheep farm not so far away from here and when her parents died she got a manager in to look after the place. Nowadays she uses her old home as a base, a sort of stopover between her overseas trips and moving around the country judging at horse shows and gymkhanas. I suppose,’ she admitted reluctantly, ‘it’s only natural she’d want to spend most of her time over here.’

Clara’s small mouth tightened. ‘But that doesn’t give her the right to take over the household management when Edna’s away.’ Evidently, Lanie reflected, the memory of the superbly prepared meal
Paula had produced still rankled. ‘I could have managed perfectly well,’ Clara declared, ‘without her interference.’

Lanie made soothing noises. ‘I’m sure you could.’ Inwardly she was wondering why Paula spent so much of her time here. The other girl’s striking
a
ppearance and supreme self-confidence was a combination that would surely draw masculine attention wherever she went. Surely Paula would have a choice of male companions.

But not of Jard’s calibre. The answer came unbidden. A runho
l
der with vast estates, a man of authority with heart-stopping good looks. And if that weren’t sufficient to make any woman aware of him, he possessed that indefinable aura of masculinity
—
powerful, potent, irresistible. Why, even she could feel the impact, and she didn’t even like the man! Lanie wished she could stop thinking about Jard. He was spoiling a perfectly good morning.

‘Why does Jard ask her to come here?’ The words seemed to come without her volition.

‘Oh, Paula doesn’t wait to be
asked
,’
scoffed Clara. ‘She just arrives here in between her overseas trips buying new show jumpers or collecting trophies at horse events over in England. Oh, she always has some perfectly plausible excuse for coming here. Usually it’s a horse she has got on trial and she needs Jard’s advice about it. Wouldn’t you think that a woman who spends half her time travelling and buying and selling show jumpers would be able to make up her own mind? Sometimes I wonder that Jard doesn’t get sick and tired of having her around all the time.’

Lanie couldn’t help the thought that he didn’t appear at all reluctant to entertain Paula, and there seemed little doubt but that she was making a play for Jard. Really, she mused, it served him right, and she wondered why the thought was so depressing.

She wrenched her mind back to Clara’s tones. Mind you,’ she was saying reluctantly, ‘Paula could feel she has some claim on Jard because of Dell
—
’

Lanie despised herself for listening to gossip, but somehow she just had to know the rest of the story. She glanced across at Clara enquiringly. ‘Dell?’ Lanie found she was holding her breath for the answer.

‘Paula’s older sister. Now she was the one Jard was really crazy about. I never saw him look so happy as in those days when he and Dell had their wedding plans made and everything to look forward to.’ Clara’s face sobered. ‘Then she was killed one wet night when the car she was driving missed the bridge and went into the river. That was three years ago, and Jard hasn’t been the same man since. He doesn’t laugh so easily somehow and he seems to bury himself in his work.’ Clara seemed to tune in on Lanie’s unspoken question. ‘Not that the girls don’t like him a lot, especially Paula, but he just doesn’t seem interested. Dell was so different from Paula, quiet and thoughtful with a lovely low speaking voice
—
My goodness! Here they are!’

Lanie had caught the echo of male voices from outside the open window and a moment later the tread of heavy boots sounded on the path approaching the house. A frenzied glance at the chops, so much more massive than any she had previously had to contend with, told her they were not yet ready.

‘Don’t worry,’ Clara told her, ‘they’ll take a while to scrub up out on the porch.’ She carried away the last of the silverware and crystal. ‘Breakfast is in here. I’ll set the table for you.’

‘Oh, would you?’ Lanie hurried back to the electric range.

By the time Jard and Sandy came into the kitchen, she had prepared glasses of orange juice and had placed hot plates down on the table. She was proud of the heated plates. She really had thought of everything, she congratulated herself.

‘Morning, Lanie!’ Sandy, wearing khaki drill shorts and short-sleeved cotton shirt, looked infinitely more at home, she thought, than in his city suit.

‘Morning!’ She smiled across at him. slipping the sizzling meat on to plates. Jard sent her a brief nod.

What had she expected of him? She busied herse
l
f placing slices of hot toast in the rack and pouring out tea. She had to ask him, ‘How do you like your tea?’

‘As it comes.’ If only he wouldn’t watch her so intently, she thought distractedly, she would be more in control of her emotions. Just the knowledge of his nearness was making her feel flustered. She pushed the cup across the table to him, slopping tea in the saucer, and out of a comer of her eye she was aware of his satirical glance. The next moment as he cut into the meat she saw with horror that the chop was cooked only on the surface. Those monstrous chops would never cook properly, she thought wildly. His raised eyebrows and the mocking gleam in his eyes did nothing to ease her chagrin.

The next minute Sandy had swooped on the meat, tossing it back in the pan. ‘Give them another few minutes, lass, Guess you’re used to city chops. The real thing takes a little longer to cock.’ Grinning, he eyed his son. ‘Eh, Jard?’

‘
T
rue.’ Jard’s tone was noncommittal. He had opened a newspaper and had apparently lost all interest in her cooking activities, Lanie thought. Somehow, though, she was hotly aware of his silent triumph. ‘You
say
you're a cook
—
’ Why must his scathing words return at this moment to her mind to flick her anew? Viciously she picked up a fork and jabbed at the slow-slow cocking meat. The fat splashed upwards and in a flash Sandy was at her side. ‘That didn’t hit you in the eye, did it?’

‘No, no.’ Scarlet-faced, hot, angry, she turned aside to escape Jard’s gaze. What was it about him that reduced her nerves to shreds? She wiped the spot from her forehead with the back of her hand and tried to concentrate on the frying pan. At last, just when she had despaired of the meat ever being cooked, the chops were ready, and to her relief both men left clean plates.

‘No breakfast for you?’ Sandy asked her, but Lanie shook her head.

‘I’ll
fix something for myself later.’