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Ian bought the boat back under a darkening sky, the children full of its delight. Rupe helped him load it on to the trailer hooked on to the Land Rover. Gam had placed foil-wrapped potatoes in the ashes earlier and now she scooped them to the edge where they could keep hot but not overcook. The meat was sizzling and the fires of the barbecue lit the faces gathered around. Frances took the billy and walked over to a fast-running stream to fill it carefully. Ian took it from her and swung it into place on a low hook. The flames cast strange shadows across his face as she met his eyes, but she turned away quickly, not willing to let her feelings be shown. She found the bottles her father had laid down in the pool earlier and there was a hilarious moment as the top of one sailed out to hit a branch. The second bottle was managed with much more expertise, much to the boys’ and Kathy’s disappointment. They started their own game of targets, using a log in the stream and a pile of stones. The fact that they could hardly see the target seemed to add to their hilarity.

The barbecued food was delicious and the light wine added to the effervescence of the occasion. Someone started singing and gradually the whole party joined in with pop songs as well as old folk songs. Frances pressed her father to do His party piece, ‘O Sole Mio’. It was very familiar to all the Elaman family, being one of the few Frances’ father knew by heart. He had quite a pleasant voice and the richness of the Italian floated across the river. Too late Frances remembered Gam, and she hoped it would not disturb her when it was finished. She touched her arm sympathetically, but Gam smilingly reassured her.

‘You’re right, my dear, but it’s a joy to think of happy times. Perhaps in later years today will be a golden memory for you.’

Frances nodded slowly. There had been something special about today. Her eyes looked up at Ian chatting easily to her mother and Thad. She glanced away as they joined in singing a Neil Diamond hit. She watched him, glad to be inked out of the light so she could study his face unobserved. He stood up and made coffee for anyone who wanted it, then brought her a cup and sat beside her. His hand held hers briefly before he began singing the mournful ballad of poor Clementine. Everyone joined in the chorus, but Ian seemed to know all the verses and at the end was roaring them out, much to the delight and approval of the youngsters, who had obviously not heard the old song before.

It was time to pack up. The fire was almost out when Frances said goodbye to her parents, Gam taking them back to Coppers. Frances was about to go with them, but Ian asked if she would ride with him so he would have help with the gates. So much for wanting her company, she thought wryly. Soon all the cars were loaded and Jenny waved in farewell. Frances watched as Ian trod out the remaining embers, then poured water on to the fire. Without the cheerful fire it looked eerie and strange, and she shivered suddenly. Ian came up and put his coat around her and she thanked him gravely, trying to keep emotion under control. They climbed up the bank, Ian supporting her, and she was glad of his assistance. The Land Rover stood like some monolithic structure, with the boat as a curious appendage.

Ian opened the door for her and she climbed in, thinking it was impossible to do so elegantly. They bounced around in the seat, the lights piercing the darkness ahead of them. At the gate Frances hopped down and Ian drove through, wordlessly changing over for the next one. He expertly pulled the Land Rover up as they reached Coppers, neatly reversing the boat on its trailer into the garage. There was no sign of her parents; they must have left immediately.

Gam had left an outside light on and it shone down on her Mini. Stiffly Frances stepped down and moved towards it. Ian was busy unhooking the Land Rover and she saw him remove the holding pin and gently bed the trailer. It occurred to her that it was a good time to thank Ian for her Christmas present, even if its message seemed contradictory. She had noted that Ian wore his silver St Christopher still and it gave her courage to approach him now.

He stood easily, his eyes shielded from her so she could not read their expression as she slipped her hands around his neck. She kissed him gently, explaining that it was a thank-you for her Christmas present. The brief touch of their bodies sparked an instant reaction and she was blissfully aware of Ian’s kisses crushing her, seeking a response from her trembling body.

He pushed her away and she saw his face in the light for a second as he struggled for control, his hands clenching tightly at his side and his stance stiff. Then he relaxed with a lazy laugh ‘That’s some thank-you, water baby! Go on home. I’m not the one to make the singing bird come.’ He climbed back into the Land Rover as Frances opened the Mini, her legs barely supporting her. Mechanically she drove it out of the yard and down the tree tunnel where the tears poured down her face.

She sniffed inelegantly, hastily trying to stop crying. Ruefully she grimaced at her own temerity. If only Ian’s physical presence didn’t send her pulses soaring everything would be so easy. Well, at least now she knew she was no longer an empty box elegantly wrapped but a throbbing vital woman who wanted to be loved by her man. She parked the Mini and straightened her shoulders unconsciously, her light suitcase in her hand. Jenny and Rupe were still up, probably putting the children to bed. Greg was sitting up at the kitchen table, his eyes large in the dim light as he slowly stirred a hot chocolate drink. His brothers must have finished theirs, as there was no sign of them.

‘Did Ian put the fire out? Did it take a long time?’ he asked anxiously as she walked in.

‘The fire? Oh, you mean the bonfire at the river.’ Frances took a moment to gather her thoughts. ‘Oh, Ian put it out quite easily. He scattered it, tramped on it and poured water on it. The smoke and steam showed for a minute and then it was quite dead, not even an ember left.’ Like me, she said to herself, bitterly recalling his rejection.

Greg sighed. ‘That’s good! When I grow up I’m going to be just like Dad and Uncle Ian.’ He slurped his cocoa slowly, before putting the mug on the bench and kissing her goodnight. She kissed him gently, then he ran off down the hall to his bedroom. His gesture cheered her, the loving affectionate touch was so warm and comforting. In bed, though, it turned to bitter ashes as she realised that she would not know the joy of children of her own. She had never met a man like Ian before and she doubted if anyone else would be able to brighten the stars for her. Bitterly she recalled his message of the singing bird, yet he had killed her hopes mercilessly by saying that he was not the one to make the singing bird come.

Frances settled in bed, pulling the sheet around her despite the heat of the night. If it wasn’t for Jenny, Rupe and the children she would leave tomorrow, but this was a situation she had to live through in her own private anguish. She couldn’t abandon Jenny now with the birth so close, and Rupe would miss her help with the pastures and stock. She had to stay even if it meant suffering the agony of seeing the man she loved ignoring her completely.

She dressed carefully, brushing her hair into a pile of red-gold curls on top of her head. It was far too formal for everyday, but she felt she needed every shred of pride she could find to help stiffen her morale. Jenny and Rupe were having breakfast, and their closeness sent a shaft of pain into her being. Rupe commented on her hair; it was rare indeed for him to make a personal comment and she thanked him briefly.

‘Should I get jealous?’ Jenny laughed.

‘Oh yes, please,’ said Rupe. ‘I’d love to have my wife make mad, passionate love to me.’

He reached over and kissed her soundly as the toast popped. Jenny’s eyes glowed as she looked at her husband. The boys must have decided on a sleep-in for a change, Frances thought; usually they were up waiting to ride out with her. Soon they would be going on their holiday with Gam. Frances knew she would miss the boys, their constant companionship had kept her mind from floating off to thoughts of Ian.

It was a beautiful morning, with almost no wind, as Frances cantered around the paddocks. She changed the irrigation as Rupe had advised then headed off to the river flat. In the morning light the scene was a delight. She followed the fence line down to the river, noting the crop of white clover on either side. Here and there a crop of boulders and stones had been gathered into odd cairn-like shapes, a reminder of the river not far away. The sheep grazed quietly. Greytor moved softly and rhythmically along until Frances pulled her up beside a gap in the fence. A tuft of wool fluttered a white signal at the edge of one wire. She swung herself down, greatly to Scamp’s delight, and tied Greytor to a handy willow.

It was impossible from here to see if many sheep had gone through the gap. The bank was higher here and she followed it along, knowing the sheep would seek an easy route down. A grin flashed across her face as she recognised the path as the one she had taken on that day she had paddled and Ian had found her.

A couple of bleats caught her ear and she saw two sheep stuck out on a shingle island. They had made their way over a narrow neck arid after finding the lupins not to their taste had not been able to find the way back. Frances sighed. It was a lot easier to shift a hundred sheep in this terrain than two who could dart in any direction. Scamp barked in enthusiasm, his tail forming an eager question mark. Frances wondered if she should leave the sheep there and go back to get Fay. This was a situation that demanded a good dog. Scamp was far too young to handle them. Perhaps if she could grab one she could guide it to the bank and throw it over the fence at the top. The other might follow, she thought optimistically.

She studied the path the sheep had used. If she approached that way she ran the risk of sending the sheep into the river on one side or the pool on the other. However, if she approached from the pool end the sheep might just go straight down the shingle neck and on to the path. Regretfully she eyed her jeans, then she rolled them up above the knee and stepped into the pool. It was icy cold but not very deep. Scamp looked at her pleadingly, then decided he would follow causing a shower of spray as he shook himself on the island. The plan began to succeed. The sheep, seeing her, fled in the other direction straight along the path. Scamp, however, raced along and cut them off and Frances had to recall him. She couldn’t be angry with him when he stood, tail wagging and head cocked, as though to say, ‘Didn’t I do well?’ Frances chuckled despite her plan being upset and Scamp raced back to her. The sheep, considerably startled, raced back the other way. Frances kept a tight hold of Scamp, much to his indignation, and tried to guide the sheep slowly but steadily towards the path. She found it difficult, however, as Scamp wriggled and danced under her fingers. She let him go, hoping he had learnt his lesson, but in one bound he had sent the sheep skittering again and one headed for the pool. Instinctively Frances splashed in, rapidly hoisting her jeans above her knees. The sheep turned and dashed back. Frances called Scamp to sit and he obeyed for once, enabling her to move quietly up by the sheep. One of them, cornered^ turned to face her, bravely tapping the ground with a raised foot. Smiling, Frances wished she had a dog to go round the other side. As though her wish had been granted there was Ian’s dog looking at her, for a command. It was the work of only a minute to get the sheep into the path and climbing rapidly up the bank. They even struggled through the gap in the fence under the watchful eyes of Blackie and Scamp.

Frances patted Blackie thankfully, then watched as he streaked towards the willows where a tall figure leaned lazily. Frances stiffened, instinctively pulling at her jeans.

‘Wait, dry those gorgeous legs first or you’ll feel uncomfortable,’ came the familiar mocking voice.

He walked over to her, a large neatly folded handkerchief in his hand. Ruefully Frances took it and dried her legs, acutely aware of his gaze. She unrolled her jeans and stood facing him. Her pulses raced as she felt the impact of his gaze. She was glad that Scamp barked, attracting their attention. Ian turned towards his motorbike. ‘Actually you handled that quite well once Blackie was there. Scamp’s got a good heart, but he’s too young, only nuisance value at the moment.’

‘High praise, sir,’ Frances grinned at him cheekily. ‘Thanks for sending Blackie. I’d probably still be there otherwise.’

‘Very likely,’ he said, eyeing her. ‘Come here and I’ll show you where we keep some gear.’ He held out his hand and she took it naturally as he pushed a way to the boundary fence. His grip was iron-hard and she was glad of the support as they leapt over lupins and old logs. With one foot on a log she slipped as it rolled and she clutched on to Ian for support. His other arm enfolded her naturally and his eyes darkened as his mouth sought hers in a deep searing kiss.

‘Oh, water baby!’ he muttered, then turned resolutely to a box hidden at the base of a willow by the fence. Frances watched as he opened the box, pulled out a length of wire and a wire strainer and a hammer and staples. She noticed rope and anchor pins and some other tools neatly bound in plastic too.

Ian strode ahead of her to the gap, this time not offering her a hand to scramble over the lupins and logs. She waited patiently as he tightened the two wires and took up the slack. ‘I’ll fix this. You might as well go back, water baby. Our paths lie in different directions.’

She climbed on to Greytor, hearing his curt dismissal ring in her ear. She ached, feeling again the way her body had reacted to his kiss, knowing that he too felt the passion that always flared between them. She heard the sound of hammering behind her and sent Greytor flying with her sudden urging to leave. By the time she reached the farmhouse most of the tension had left her and she was glad to be able to face the boys with some equanimity. They were cleaning the shed for their father and were delighted to stop work, obviously not enjoying their task. Frances helped them with it, then went swimming with them, much to their delight. That night she told Rupe about the fence and mentioned that Ian had fixed it. He gazed at her briefly, then nodded.