by Susan Napier
Not long after she had baited her trap, Julia met up with Richard in the hall and found herself breezily accepting one of his silly dares. Her elation faded a little when she found herself gingerly mounting the banister rail at the top of the stairs and gulping as she looked down the long, slippery slide.
‘Come on scaredy-cat,’ taunted Richard, safely at the bottom. ‘I’ve done it hundreds of times. Five dollars you won’t, and as a concession I’ll stand here and catch you as you come off.’
‘Scaredy-cat’ did it. Julia shoved off. It was much steeper, and faster, than it had looked and Julia scrunched her eyes shut. She screamed as she whizzed around the tight corner at the landing, thighs desperately gripping for balance, her red woollen skirt billowing up around her legs. Richard stepped back a pace as she shot at high speed towards him and she shrieked curses at him: ‘Richard, you swine, get back th—ooophh!’
She hit him square in the chest with an almighty thump and they both went sprawling on the hall mat in a tangle of limbs. They lay there breathless for several moments, trying to figure out who belonged to what. Julia squirmed backwards and came up against something rigid and uncomfortable. She moved her head see what it was. Her gaze travelled up a grey-trousered leg…. Oh no! She buried her face in the nearest convenient spot—Richard’s neck.
‘I don’t need to introduce Richard to you, Ann, but the lady in red underneath him is our … cook. Ann Farrow—Julia Fry.’ He stepped over them and carried on down the hallway. The only glimpse Julia got of his companion was a beautifully turned ankle atop a green stiletto heel. Richard was convulsing with laughter.
‘It’s all right for you,’ Julia groaned. ‘This sort of idiot thing is expected of you.’
‘Only Hugh could carry off an introduction like that!’ Richard gasped, then his laughter faded as he looked down at Julia’s small face. ‘But since we’re here … why don’t we …’ He bent his head, kissing her full on the mouth.
‘Don’t, Richard …’ Julia pushed at him, annoyed not only by the inappropriateness of the moment, but also by the intensely love-like glint in the green eyes.
‘Why not?’ His hands slid around her waist, holding her still.
“Then Julia let me wooe thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me:
And when I shall meet
Thy silv’ry feet,
My soule Ile pour into thee.”
On the last breath he kissed her again, a fervent, persuasive kiss that bewildered her. What on earth was he up to?
‘When you’ve quite finished, Julia.’ She wrenched her head frantically to one side to see Hugh leaning around the lounge door, frowning distastefully down at them. ‘The tea?’ he reminded her heavily. ‘And Richard, there are less public, more comfortable places to do what you two seem to be intent on doing.’
Richard—the swine—laughed: ‘When we get to your great age, big brother, we’ll probably think the same. But when you’re young and hot-blooded, anywhere, anytime will do, eh Julia?’
Julia was too busy struggling to her feet to answer, horrified to discover that her skirt had been wrapped around her waist. She fled in disarray to the kitchen, frowning as she put on the kettle and began to lay up a tray. Why should she care what Hugh thought of her? He was already convinced that she was a flighty little piece, and she hadn’t missed that pointed introduction … cook indeed! Obviously Hugh considered that a chef must have dignity, a chef must not roll about on the floor showing off black lace panties to all and sundry. She bit her hp. She was beginning to think that her jinx had extended itself from things mechanical to things Hugh. Always having been popular, and confident of being liked, it was unsettling to come up against someone who didn’t respond to her sunny, open nature. And it was more than just the challenge of getting him to see her in a favourable light that gnawed at her, she genuinely wanted him to like her, to respect her as a person. She wasn’t quite sure why, after all, she hardly knew the man, but he had succeeded in intriguing her and she was rather piqued that the interest wasn’t returned.
Strolling thoughtfully out into the garden to look for surviving winter roses for the tea tray, Julia heard a loud clatter as she passed the lean-to behind the garden shed. Curious, she pushed back the old piece of sacking that hung down over the entrance.
‘Charley!’ She ducked into the gloomy interior. ‘So this is where you disappear to every morning? What are you doing?’
Charley wiped his nose with a greasy hand and shrugged.
‘Just mucking about.’
‘What with?’ On closer inspection the pieces of metal seemed to be arrayed in some kind of order. ‘Are you making something?’
‘A motorbike,’ he blurted out, and then glared as though he expected her to laugh.
‘Really!’ There was no danger of laughter from Julia and her genuine awe had Charley’s stubborn, square jaw relaxing. ‘That’s fantastic! Can you actually do it? How far have you got?’
‘Well, I only found this stuff last Friday,’ he replied with careful casualness which dissipated as he launched into a description of the difficulties involved in putting together the rusting parts he had discovered in the clutter of the big garage out front (which seemed to have been tacitly reserved for the grey Maserati). ‘Course, I haven’t got all the parts I need, but I have a pal whose Dad runs a garage. He lets me help with the cars sometimes when I stay. I’ve learnt an awful lot with him. Mr Franklin says I have a feel for engines.’
‘Does he live in Taupo?’ guessed Julia, thinking of Connie’s Christmas woes.
‘Why yes, how did you know? Anyhow, he says I should try for an apprenticeship, but …’ His enthusiasm abruptly tailed off, ‘I dunno yet what I want to be.’
But of course he did. It was in his eyes, his flushed, earnest face when he talked about cars. She gave him a sympathetic smile, realising that he knew of Connie’s hopes for his future.
‘Since you’re such a clever mechanic, maybe you should take a look at my car. It needs an overhaul, I’m told but I wouldn’t know a spark-plug from a … a … motor arm.’
‘Rotor arm,’ corrected Charley with a touch of male superiority, and, eagerly, ‘Would you really trust me?’
Julia had been half-teasing but she thought—why not? He was keen, and sensible enough to admit it if he couldn’t cope.
‘A man with a feel for engines?’ She grinned cheerfully. ‘Of course I would.’
‘You …’ Charley inspected a grimy thumb-nail, ‘you won’t tell about it will you? I don’t know that Mum would like me messing around out here.’
‘If you do decide to be a mechanic, she’s going to have to find out about it sometime,’ said Julia gently.
‘But not yet.’ Boy became adult before her eyes. ‘She’s a bit worried about Steve at the moment; Dad too. There’ll probably be a fuss … I’d rather wait. I have to stay and sit School Certificate this year anyway.’ Showing he had thought about it—probably, being Charley, long and hard and realistically.
‘That sounds sensible,’ agreed Julia, ‘I … oh my God!’ Her shout made Charley jump. ‘I left the kettle on. Hugh’s tea!’
She streaked up to the house, taking the shortcut through the bushes at the side, intending to slip in through the french doors of the dining room. She stopped dead when she came in sight of the pool. There was Hugh, setting down the tray on a wrought iron table. Horrors! He must have had to make the tea himself.
It was too late to duck back the way she came so Julia tried to stroll nonchalantly past the couple at the table. She could see what Connie meant about Ann Farrow. Elegant to her blood-red fingertips. Supercilious too, thought Julia, with instant dislike.
‘I see you found the tray,’ brazened Julia as she drew level with Hugh’s stony stare.
‘You have leaves in your hair,’ she was informed coolly and the woman smiled faintly, pityingly, at Julia’s rather tousled appearance. No doubt they thought she and Richard had retired to the shrubbery.
; ‘I was looking for some flowers, to put on your tray,’ she explained to Hugh’s polite scepticism.
‘I would have preferred less decoration and more substance,’ he said crushingly and Julia got another pitying glance. Goodness, the woman didn’t think that she had set her cap at Hugh, did she? The bubble of laughter in Julia’s throat deflated with a nasty gulp as she noticed the cake in pride of place on the tray.
‘Where did you get that?’ she squawked, and, rapidly recovering, ‘Actually I made that cake for tomorrow. I’ve some lovely biscuits for this morning.’
‘The cake is fine, thank you.’ Grey eyes were unimpressed by her brilliant smile. ‘You can bake another one for tomorrow. That is your job isn’t it?’ Not seducing male members of the household on the hall floor. The unspoken hovered in the air.
‘The biscuits really are scrumptious, and there are some lovely scones too,’ she wheedled. ‘Why don’t I just—ouch!’ Her reaching hand received a smart rap across the knuckles.
‘Julia.’ The normally soft voice flattened out threateningly. ‘We are having our tea. Would you stop hovering and go back to the kitchen? The cake stays.’
Julia sucked her knuckles in an agony of indecision. Should she, or shouldn’t she tell him? One look at Hugh’s grimly harassed face persuaded her to favour cowardice. Her legs automatically set themselves in motion while her normally fertile brain failed her. Several metres on she looked back. Hugh was cutting the cake, that beautiful chocolate monstrosity! She groaned and looked wildly around for a hiding place. The pool!
Two swift steps, a leap and a nicely timed scream that became real as she hit the water. It was freezing! Icy water rushed into her heavy clothes, dragging her down. It filled her nose and mouth and she kicked frantically for the surface.
‘Help!’ Her cry sounded satisfyingly shocked and weak and she let herself go under again, glad her body seemed to be going numb. She came up and floundered by the side of the pool, relieved to see that Hugh had abandoned the cake in favour of rescue.
‘Take my hand,’ he ordered, reaching down and engulfing her frozen fingers in a fiery grip. The muscles in his arm bunched thickly under the sleeve of his blue suit as he began to pull, but as she reached her other hand up to grab him Julia saw Ann Farrow out of the corner of her eye. She was about to bite into a large piece of cake. Selfish bitch, thought Julia incredulously, I might be drowning for all she cares!
She could never afterwards decide whether her next action was accidental or not. She jerked hard on Hugh’s arm and, taken by surprise, he teetered on the edge— one more tiny little tug and …
He toppled as if in slow motion, sending up an enormous splash as he hit the water. He came up quickly, his face only inches from Julia’s, a picture of outrage.
‘What in the devil did you think you were doing?’ he demanded rigidly, through his teeth.
‘I’m t-t-terribly sorry,’ shivered Julia, her own teeth chattering quite violently. ‘I think I slipped.’
At least she had taken Ann Farrow’s mind off her stomach. She was there beside Hugh exclaiming with over-done sympathy as he heaved himself out of the water. Julia floundered out alongside, like a sprat beaching with a whale.
‘Hugh, I—’ she was stopped by the raising of a large, dripping hand.
‘I think you’ve said, and done, quite enough, Julia. Save your explanations for another time.’ He was shivering only a little, his immaculate suit soggily twisted, whereas Julia was vibrating like a tuning fork, her clothes plastered against the voluptuous curves of her body. On Julia, bedraggled looked sexy and the wind chill factor from Ann Farrow’s direction increased markedly.
‘Go and get dry,’ Hugh instructed, beginning to peel off his wrinkled jacket.
‘But—’ A strangled sound from the wet monolith in front of her made obedience advisable, so Julia backed apologetically away, making a darting detour to scoop up the cake under cover of Ann Farrow’s renewed expressions of concern. Julia doubted that they’d be thinking about tea for a while …
At dinner that night Hugh seemed his usual distant, cynical self over sweetbread vol-au-vents and buttery, herb-flecked roast chicken. Julia’s hopes rose. Perhaps he was willing to forgive and forget.
Unfortunately Richard, who had taken Olivia in to Whitianga for the day, chose that moment to thrust a large and shiny spanner into the quietly meshing works.
‘What on earth were you doing by the pool this morning, Julia?’ he asked, helping himself greedily to niçoise salad and sweet, hot, caramelised shallots. ‘We were just leaving when I saw you take a flying dive into the water. You weren’t even wearing your togs.’
All eyes focused on Julia as she gibbered through a mouthful of winter lettuce. ‘I … I … er, I lost my balance.’
‘No you didn’t,’ insisted Richard. ‘I saw you in my mirror. You jumped.’ He grinned wickedly; he knew, he just knew he was getting her into trouble. Sure enough:
‘You jumped?’ Hugh enunciated in slow, silky tones, that wound their way threateningly around the table. ‘Do you mean to tell me that you didn’t fall—you jumped!’
Julia studied the chicken bones on her plate for the answer to the mysteries of the universe. There was a thick silence at the table. Even Steve was looking at her with riveted attention, instead of his usual restless, darting manner. Taking a deep, steadying breath Julia raised her eyes to Hugh. His black pupils had narrowed to pinpoints surrounded by hoar frost. His face was in rigid stillness, pale except for the very tips of his neat ears, which were slightly flushed. Not from embarrassment, Julia realised, her heart pounding.
‘I … I …’ She desperately wanted to soften that frigid stare.
‘Don’t bother to deny it.’ The silk abruptly ripped to reveal the yawning steel trap beneath. ‘It’s written all over your guilty face. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me—us—as to your motives.’
‘I … it was a joke,’ she began weakly, into the awed silence, intending to make a clean breast of the whole episode.
‘A joke!’ He sounded utterly contemptuous, for which she couldn’t blame him. He cut across her attempt to explain. ‘And was it a joke that you hauled me in there with you?’ There was a stifled gasp from more than one at the table. ‘You embarrass me in front of a valued colleague for a joke? And do you intend to pay for the four hundred dollar suit you ruined … or don’t you find that quite so funny?’
Julia felt weighted to her chair by the force of his anger, all the more oppressive because it was so tightly contained.
‘That part was an accident,’ she mumbled, her anxious tongue tying itself up in knots. There was a lump in her throat and to her horror she felt close to tears. ‘You see, I…’
Crash! She, and everyone else, leapt as Hugh’s hand came smashing down on the table top. Dishes rattled, the chandelier above their heads trembled.
‘Don’t lie! And you can take that innocent look off your face—it never did impress me very much. How in the hell did you get your qualifications, let alone practise them? I cannot imagine how anyone with a modicum of sanity …’ here he threw a caustic look at his mother, who merely blinked at this new, electrifying Hugh ‘… could trust you in a position of responsibility. If you’re not careering dangerously around the countryside, or leaping uninvited into strangers’ beds, you’re indulging your infantile sense of humour—and you can stop snickering, Richard, because you’re just as bad.’ He returned to the attack, seemingly unconscious of the effect of his startling revelations on everyone else. ‘Yesterday it was climbing trees and playing Tarzan— yes, Julia, I could see you perfectly well from my window—today it’s pushing people into pools. What’ll it be tomorrow—a little bit of arson for fun!’
Julia’s urge to cry abruptly left her. Tarzan had been Richard’s idea and Charley and Ros had been there too. It had all been good, clean fun. Hugh might have a right to be annoyed, but not to harangue her in public with all sorts of irrelevancies.
‘At least I k
now how to laugh,’ she retorted stiffly. ‘You may not approve of my sense of humour but, thank goodness, not everyone is as stuffy as you. I’m sorry about the pool,’ her annoyance making it sound as if she wasn’t, ‘… but I intended to come and explain …’
‘Your intentions and your actions are sadly at variance. Are you sure this is the kind of job that suits you? You’d be better employed catering for a three-ring circus if you find slapstick so amusing!’
Shades of Phillip! ‘It’s better than not finding anything amusing at all!’ cried Julia hotly, feeling she may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. ‘And I’ll thank you to remember that you’re not my employer, Connie is, and she’s quite happy to trust me.’ Hugh’s soft, derisive grunt infuriated her. ‘What’s so great about your oh-so-sane approach to life anyway? Does it make the world a better place to be? No it doesn’t, it only makes it a little grimmer. The stuffed shirts of this world have made a damn fine mess of things as far as I can see. It’s people like you who rationalise atomic bombs and pollute the earth with new scientific wonders. It’s people like you who make life a chore instead of a joy.’ She paused for breath, feeling that she was getting off the track. ‘And I’ll pay for your Goddamned suit when you pay for smashing into my car!’
Michael Marlow murmured something disbelieving, but no one was interested.
‘You are not a member of this family, Julia Fry, however much you might try,’ said Hugh, with slow, crackling cruelty. ‘As you so charmingly pointed out you are Connie’s employee. Please act like it.’ Pushing away his half-eaten meal Hugh rose to his feet, his voice reverting to its habitual softness as he struck the Parthian blow. ‘When you’re a little less hysterical, I’ll listen to your apology.’
He slammed the door as he went, and the chandelier shimmered again. Julia could see the questions forming a thicket in the air. ‘I’m sorry, excuse me, will you?’