The Man From Ti Kouka

by Rosalie Henaghan

  ‘Can’t you get someone else?’ she asked.

  ‘Please, for the organisation?’

  The thought of parading about in front of the cynical eyes of the man from Ti Kouka was agonising. Trudi had thought sitting beside him was bad, but now she was being asked to do more. She wondered quickly if she could get one of her staff to take her place, but she knew neither had the right measurements, nor knew the movements.

  ‘You’ll have to do it, Miss Carr,’ put in one of the models. ‘Piece of cake for you! We’ll help you.’

  Trudi nodded slowly. O.K.’

  Reluctantly she viewed her first outfit, a skimpy two-piece which left nothing to the imagination. Her eyes stared back angrily, as she imagined Dan’s lips curling. He probably would believe she had arranged it on purpose, she thought crossly.

  She pulled on the beach jacket and the hairdresser quickly flicked her hair into place. Lining up as the music started in the first set routine, she caught Dan’s look of surprise. The thought made her stand proudly and smile as though that was the one thing she wanted to do. The cheer that she received from a large section of the audience was totally partisan, and she guessed the staff were pleased with her appearance.

  After her initial beachwear, she paraded in the nightgowns, and the second was a soft flyaway gown similar to the one she had worn at Bell Bay. She saw a shadow pass over Dan’s face and his lips narrowed as she walked along the catwalk. After that the remainder of the show was easier. She had no way of knowing what Dan thought, his face was cold and shuttered. After the interval she determined not to look at him again.

  When the final number was paraded she stood in a semicircle formed by the models as Dan made a short speech thanking the organisers and the people concerned. He hesitated fractionally before mentioning Maugh’s Fashions and then led her forward to receive a special acknowledgment. As his hand touched hers Trudi felt her pulses leap. She hardly noticed the applause she received. Somehow she managed to walk backstage with the other girls to change into her own gear. The thought of being civil and making small talk with the select group afterwards was agonising. She knew she would have to attend or her absence would be noted. Telling herself she need only appear for a short time and then plead fatigue, she slipped into her own gown.

  The compere walked along to the Gold Room with her, and Trudi was glad of the escort. Immediately her eyes sought Dan, and she envied the laughing manner in which he spoke to a group. Someone gave her a glass of champagne, then she was greeted by her friends.

  ‘What a charming man, so interested in our work,’ commented one.

  ‘I thought he was more interested in Trudi,’ put in her friend with a smile. ‘You were sensational! It was a very good show.’

  ‘I’m glad it went well,’ said Trudi. ‘I never realised how physically tiring it would be. It would be easier to do a five-mile run! Now, I think if you don’t mind, I’ll get a taxi home. I’m really exhausted.’

  ‘I’ll take you home, Miss Carr.’ The rich voice behind her made her start, and she froze, her mind unable to think quickly enough.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she spoke quietly. ‘I’m sure your guests require your attention.’

  She saw Dan’s eyes darken, but his arm inexorably turned her back.

  ‘On the contrary. As you’re the person who’d done so much for the success of the evening, it’s the very least the organisation can do.’

  His eyes danced as he dared her to refuse. She said a reluctant ‘Goodnight’ and allowed herself to be guided out of the room. Once they were in the safety of the car she turned on him.

  ‘You’re insufferable, Dan Johnson!’

  ‘Careful, nereid, I don’t like insults, remember.’

  In stony silence she fumed as he eased the powerful car forward. Fog lay thickly over the city and he was forced to drive cautiously. Busy with her own thoughts, Trudi took a few moments to realise they were not heading towards the flat.

  ‘You said you’d take me home!’ she said angrily.

  ‘Indeed I will,’ he answered cryptically. As the car swung up the hill she could feel her emotion building up. He was taking her home, but it was not to her home. In silence she sat beside him, wondering what further torture was in store. All too soon they reached the town house and he ushered her inside, his grip as firm as ever.

  ‘Is your mother here?’ Trudi asked.

  ‘No.’ The monosyllable was scarcely encouraging. Dan’s silver key glinted in the light and she noticed the same light dancing on the silver cuff links with their familiar motif. She marvelled that she hadn’t realised from the beginning that he was the owner of Ti Kouka. Tonight he looked the complete gentleman, there was no trace of the feckless, shiftless character who had hefted rubbish tins at Bell Bay.

  ‘Dan, this must be as hard on you as on me. Please take me home,’ she pleaded.

  She stood in front of the window, blindly watching as a section of the fog was whipped away by the wind. She had felt it spring up in the car park, she remembered. Defensively she sat down, not wanting to stand so close to Dan. The object was defeated as he sat beside her on the two-seater couch in front of the window. Conscious of him with every part of her, she sat stiffly.

  ‘Trudi, sometimes the whole city is covered by that blanket,’ he told her. ‘It stops one seeing the city. Reason tells you the city is still there, but it’s hard to imagine.’

  ‘I don’t feel like a discussion on air pollution in Christchurch, Dan,’ she said weakly.

  ‘See, over there the city is quite clear, yet this half is still covered.’ His arm encircled her to point it out.

  ‘Dan, please stop this and take me home,’ she said, trembling. The touch of his arm on her neck, the proximity of his body, had unnerved her.

  ‘Look Trudi.’ Ignoring her words, he turned her to face the scene. Pinpricks of lights showed clearly all over the city. In less than a few minutes the fog had disappeared.

  ‘Our relationship was a little like that, Trudi. We saw each other then things happened to block out and distort our view of each other. I learnt tonight that you were the matchmaker, not the bride for your boss. Your friend is a mine of information about people at the factory, and she thought it very amusing that I should have had you married to Mr. Maugh. Trudi, I’ve had other glimpses. For example, Glenn mentioned that you had a new watch, and that your other one hadn’t been the same since Ti Kouka. The tyrant managed to convince me about the identity switch. Robin told me about the tractor game and I had another look at that cliff. Obviously you hadn’t planned the incident.’ He paused and looked at her, studying her face. ‘There’s probably a reason for the cheque and the episode that started this off.’

  Weakly Trudi nodded. ‘A pin.’

  Dan’s eyebrows quivered. ‘A simple pin?’

  ‘In the packaging of Mr. Maugh’s new shirt. He went upstairs to change. I was downstairs making coffee. Then we went over lighting plans.’

  ‘And the cheque?’

  ‘Three months’ wages as a bonus for all the work on the new wing.’

  ‘Darling, I’m sorry. I’m not very good with apologies. I’ve hurt you very badly, my nereid.’ Dan bent and brushed her mouth with his lips. ‘Tonight I was forced to sit there and watch you, and you were so serene and courageous. Gradually I pieced it together. At the interval, after talking to your friends, I knew just how badly I’d misjudged you. I didn’t know how I managed to get through the rest of the show, and the supper afterwards. I had the compere keep a check on you for me, so you couldn’t escape. I thought I’d have to wait till you were back at your flat, but your decision to get a taxi was a blessing.’

  ‘You said you’d take me home,’ she reminded him mischievously.

  Dan smiled, his eyes lit and he gathered her in his arms. ‘Welcome home, my darling.’

  Trudi felt her eyes close as his mouth touched hers. The room seemed to sway around her as her blood rushed through her body. The feel of his dinn
er jacket was reassuringly real. For a long moment the lights of the city below seemed to meet the stars, as Dan held her tenderly and their eyes met.

  ‘I love you, Trudi Carr,’ he whispered. ‘This time I’m not letting anything stop us. In four more days your boss is due back. That will give us time to get the licence, time to get our family and friends together, and time for you to get a dress.’ He smiled as he wound his finger in her hair above her ear. ‘Just long enough, my nereid.’ He dropped a kiss on each eyelid. ‘To continue. I’m not accepting any delay on this contract, not fire, not cave-ins, not strikes or lockouts. This is a deal with no conditional clauses, time being of the essence.’

  He stood beside her and held out his hand. ‘Is it a contract?’

  Trudi thought rapidly. Dan seemed to have thought of everything. Even the dress could be made in the time allowed, with the whole factory eager to work on it. Never had she made a contract before without conditions, but she had never been so certain before.

  Smiling, she held out her hand. ‘We have a contract!’

  Harlequin Plus

  A WORD ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rosalie Henaghan began her first book shortly after she interviewed fellow New Zealander and Harlequin Romance author Essie Summers on a radio program. “I’ve often thought I could write a book,” Rosalie innocently commented, and in her kindly way, Essie urged her to try.

  Now the author of many books, Rosalie is an expert at making use of events and elements of her own life to enhance her stories. One of her heroines is a teacher-as she herself was trained to be. Broadcasting forms a background for another novel, reflecting Rosalie’s former profession as a radio personality.

  Sometimes, says the author, her heroines are more capable than their creator! Though Rosalie would love to be an adept knitter, for instance, at least one of her heroines is far better at that activity than Rosalie could ever hope to be. Or, she might send a character in a story out into the garden to weed when her own garden is a mess!

  Rosalie believes in observing carefully what is close at hand. She is convinced that a writer should examine his or her own background, and then, she says, “as Essie told me—start writing.”