New Du Rose Matriarch

by Bowes, K T

  Logan ran his hands over his face again and Hana struggled to see him so broken, biting back the tears on his behalf. “Alfred took your guitar?” she said and Logan nodded.

  “He must have found out. What was one more betrayal to her? She used me.”

  Hana possessed enough wisdom to know there was nothing she could say or do to release Logan from his agony. She also knew after a hard ride in the hills, Logan would have found his equilibrium again.

  Hana stepped out of the way of the bedroom door, giving her husband a clear run towards freedom and smiled, giving him permission to go. As his hand seized the handle she spoke to his broad back and the muscles flexing on his arms. “Please don’t disappear, Logan. I’ve booked a table for eight o’clock at your cousin’s restaurant and found a babysitter. We’re celebrating your birthday so don’t be late.”

  Logan turned with reluctance, finding Hana’s green eyes resembling emeralds in her pretty face. She held his gaze as surely as if an iron bar extended from her into his soul. He nodded once and left, hearing her sigh as the door closed behind him.

  Chapter 16

  Logan reappeared before six o’clock, dusty, dirty and unrefreshed. He took a long shower and cleaned himself up, trying to stop Hana seeing the livid bruises on his arms and back from his tumble galloping in the bush.

  “Good ride?” Hana asked, noting the stiffness of his movements.

  “Yeah,” Logan lied. “I used one of the new fillies and she didn’t appreciate my desire for breakneck speed. Bloody useless!” Unlike his favourite mare, Sacha, this one refused to stop once he hit the floor and he experienced a long walk home. Jack, the ancient stable manager laughed at him as he clattered into the yard, pointing and signing at the filly, washed, groomed and enjoying a bucket of feed from her early arrival. Logan gave him the inverted ‘v’ sign and the deaf man laughed harder and signed something much worse.

  Hana had moved the guitar over to their pile of belongings in the corner. Its wooden veneer shone under the evening sunlight from the polish she gave it. Logan emerged from the shower and sat on the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist and a shirt covering his bruises. He picked the plaster off his finger and rubbed at the dirt underneath, silent and brooding.

  Hana appeared with the baby in her arms, glamorous in a short red dress which showed off her slim legs and rounded breasts. She was barefoot, her face made up and her red hair damp and curled to her waist. Scarlet lipstick matched the dress and looked glossy in the light. Logan stared at her a long while before speaking. “You look stunning.”

  Hana smiled with relief. She’d tried not to spend the afternoon worrying about her husband. “You feel better?” she asked and he nodded and smiled, lying by implication.

  “How was your walk?” he inquired, wincing at her answer.

  “Alfred refused to come with me after the ‘guitar incident’ so I went alone. It was nice in the sunshine. I didn’t venture too far in case I got lost.”

  It wasn’t the truth. Hana made her way up to the bunkhouse, finding Flick tending a sick gelding in the nearby pen. It groaned with colic, its tired steps wooden and forced as the stockman walked it round the pen to prevent it lying down and drowning in the liquid from its own lungs. “This sorry looking animal’s actually over the worst,” he reassured Hana’s worried face. “He’ll be fine.”

  Hana looked doubtful. “Thanks for dealing with Kane and Caroline last night,” she said and the blonde man waved it off in embarrassment. Hana figured he wasn’t used to being thanked. “What’s your proper name?” she asked and he shot her a look of surprise. “Unless it’s actually Flick.” Hana stopped, using Phoenix as an excuse not to compound her rudeness and fiddling with the straps of the sling.

  “My name’s Robert,” Flick said shyly, “Robert Dressler. My stepmother used to call me Bobby.”

  Hana nodded, grateful for his confidence and followed him around the outside of the pen as he kept the horse pacing. As she came to the point of her visit, he halted and his face became hard and unyielding. “That’s bad - real bad, Mrs Du Rose. I worked for Laval Senior,” he said with bitterness. “He wanted my stepmother’s will and documents so he could destroy them and take everything we owned. I went to work for him to find them first. The night of the event at your school, another man turned up. He was a younger guy, lean and fit and he called a meeting with the old man. It became obvious he was in charge. After he left the old guy seemed shaken, scared. Huang told me that the younger guy was Laval’s son. I only saw him that night, but I’ve no desire to see him again. He’s the worst sort of nasty. He gets under your skin and makes you trust him and then he takes whatever you hold most dear.”

  The rugged man paced the horse some more, stepping faster as his uncomfortable story unfolded. “I’d heard stuff about him in Northland, but didn’t realise it was the same guy, until then. He suspected I had an agenda and gave Huang a gun. He told him to get rid of me and call him when he’d done it.” Flick rubbed sweat from his forehead using the sleeve of his shirt and clicked the horse to walk again. “It’s the same guy who’s following you, Mrs Du Rose and he’s real evil. Tell your husband and let him deal with it!”

  Hana shook her head, unwilling to tell Logan anything. “No,” she said, her face stubborn. “For starters, he doesn’t need the extra stress and secondly, he’ll involve his contacts in the city. Contacts like the Ches!” Hana gave a visible shudder. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Laval Junior?”

  The man kept the horse walking and paced next to it, not answering for a long while. Hana gave up, turning to make the long walk into the valley. “Yeah,” Flick said, putting his index finger to his temple. “The younger Laval knew Mr Du Rose. See, for me it was only ever about you, about getting the will back from where my stupid son hid it on your car. But Laval changed the game that night. Old man Laval showed us a picture of your husband and his son went mad. He kept saying he hadn’t realised it was him. He said it was personal. Me and Huang followed you for weeks. We knew who Mr Du Rose was.” Flick scratched his head, his expression guilty at how he hounded his employer’s family. “Thing is, miss, that night...” He stopped at the fence and his face creased, showing signs of distress as he spoke. “That night, Laval Junior said we must get both of you, him and you. But we were to hand your husband over to him, the younger Laval. Before that, it was only ever about you.”

  “Logan’s talked to you, hasn’t he?” Hana said, confused, “I thought you told him what you knew.”

  Flick shook his head. “We talked, miss. But I stupidly thought the cops caught the young one as well. It never occurred to me they only got the old guy. He’s small fry, not nearly big enough to justify the kind of operation they did to haul his ass.” He thumped his head with the flat of his hand, beating himself up for what he perceived as his failure. “I need to talk to Mr Du Rose,” he said, “leave it with me, miss. I’ll sort this out.”

  It took Hana the best part of an hour to convince him not to talk to Logan. She couldn’t explain the intricate complications of Logan’s current dilemma without breaking confidences, but she implored him to allow her time to work things out. Hana assured him she would see Odering again, to withdraw her statement against Laval Senior and then everything would be fine. The criminal-turned-stockman agreed to give her a week to sort it out. “After that, I will speak to your husband!” he threatened.

  Logan put fresh clothes on, making sure Hana didn’t see the bruises. She cuddled him, feeling rejected when he made an excuse and went downstairs. “I need to check on some stuff before we go,” he said, leaving.

  Hana fed Phoenix until she reached exploding point and fastened the zip on her dress, completing the transition from nursing mother to desirable wife. They travelled to the township in silence, each keeping secrets from the other so the air above them crackled with unshared information.

  At Leslie’s house, Logan took the car seat out so Phoenix would have something to sleep in while the olde
r woman minded her for an hour. Hana went up the steps of the little wooden house and knocked, surprised by the dilapidated appearance of the paintwork. “Look at that,” she whispered to Logan. A huge hole scarred the deck with spiteful jagged edges like someone once fell through. A curtain whisked back from the door, showing an ill-fitting frame which allowed light to stream through the gaps.

  Logan followed Hana with the car seat as Leslie opened the door to admit them, needing to prod his wife in the back to galvanise her. The front door opened into a small lounge with bare floors and little furniture. A squashy chair, worn and faded, sat opposite a dark, fireless grate with one small side table at its arm. An old portable television perched on a stack of telephone books. Its reception was fuzzy and unclear, like a snowstorm. The only picture on the wall showed a group of children, happy smiling faces beaming out into the empty room. Leslie appeared awkward and embarrassed by her surroundings, making a fuss of Phoenix to dispel the awkwardness as Logan laid the car seat on the floorboards. “Just put her here. We’ll be fine for a few hours won’t we, wee one?”

  “Who are the children?” asked Hana and Leslie’s face lit up with enthusiasm.

  “Those are my mokopuna, my grandchildren,” she said proudly, “They’re the light of my life.”

  Hana showed an interest, admiring their pretty smiles. “Do they live locally?”

  Leslie’s face dropped. “No, miss. They’re in Australia. I haven’t seen the youngest girl, but she’s beautiful.” She stroked the photograph, moving her brown finger over the face of a tiny child with a mop of dark hair, nestling in the arms of her sister.

  Hana put her hand on Leslie’s shoulder and wished she hadn’t probed. “I hope this little girl’s good for you. I’ve fed her to bursting so she might need winding. If you get any problems, ring Logan’s mobile number; I’ve written it down.” Hana handed Leslie the piece of notepaper with the phone number of the restaurant as well as Logan’s mobile. There were copious notes on what to do if this or that happened. Leslie took it, giving a little smile as she folded it up and stuffed it into her cardigan pocket. “Could I write down your number, in case I need to check on her? It’s the first time I’ve left her,” Hana asked, anxiety clouding her face.

  Leslie waved her off. “Don’t be silly, she’ll be fine. Youse not goin’ the other side of the planet.” She couldn’t bring herself to admit she didn’t own such a thing, or that the landline had been cut off months ago.

  “Ok.” Hana sounded doubtful, kissing her baby daughter and hovering with unease. Her hunger deserted her, consumed with pity for the woman who was so capable at work, but so impoverished in her home life. She chided herself for her judgmental spirit as Logan fired up the Honda and pointed it towards the restaurant, twenty minutes up the road. Logan said nothing throughout the journey. “Let’s get Phoenix and go home,” Hana said as they pulled into the restaurant car park.

  Logan looked at her in astonishment. “Why? Aren’t you hungry?”

  Hana shook her head and exhaled. “This was meant to be your birthday meal! You’re about as much company as a bowl of porridge! It’s a disaster.”

  Logan knitted his brows together and looked sorry, fiddling with the wedding band on his left hand. A cloud of misery shrouded his head and he didn’t know how to make it leave. Hana had gone to a lot of trouble and the weight of guilt rested on Logan’s shoulders, adding to the pile. “Sorry,” he said, “I really am.” He leaned across and put his hand over hers. Her fingers slipped through his as she tried to ground him and pull him back to her.

  “We can flag it,” she said, “if you don’t feel like it.”

  In the restaurant car park, Logan put his arm around Hana and pulled her into him, kissing the side of her face. “I do,” he promised. “Come on.” Behaving like a gentleman, Logan opened Hana’s door and offered his hand to step down, admiring her shapely legs accentuated by the strappy black sandals. He didn’t step back as she landed close to him, her eyes level with his chin. His lips were tender with the faintest tremble. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll get past all this. It’ll be ok.”

  Hana put her finger to his lips and removed the traces of scarlet lipstick. Logan gave her his lopsided smile, eyes narrowing as he blinked slowly. Hana sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into him. “It’s such a mess, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a sigh of resignation. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  Hana ached to tell her husband about Laval, but Logan sounded so vulnerable and fragile she daren’t. She needed to sort it out herself and hope for the best. Logan rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head before taking her hand and leading her towards the busy restaurant door. “Come on. I’m starving,” he said.

  Inside, the little French-style cafe had become a restaurant, complete with live music in the corner and a bar. It offered standing room only and the noise was difficult to hear over. As soon as she said the name, ‘Du Rose’ as a shout in the maître d’s ear, he jumped to attention, ignoring the people waiting for a table. He and led the couple to a secluded candlelit corner of the room.

  “This is embarrassing,” Hana whispered to Logan, following the man’s lithe, suited shape through the throng of bodies and trying not to catch the eye of anyone waiting for a table. A few people stared and knitted their brows and Hana cringed inside a nature that detested overt attention.

  “That’s not fair!” a woman complained.

  Hana held her hand out behind her and Logan took it, caressing her fingers with reassurance as they reached their table. The maître d’ seated them with aplomb and handed over two menus written entirely in French. “We should have gone to the local fish and chip shop,” Hana hissed as the waiter moved away.

  “What’s the problem?” Logan looked around, confused.

  Hana leaned forward so the neighbouring tables couldn’t hear. “We jumped the queue and if that wasn’t bad enough, I did German at school. I haven’t got a clue what any of this stuff is. What if I end up with snails or frogs legs?”

  Logan snorted and with the accompanying smile, he looked more like his old self. “I’ll order,” he said, but his sideways look contained mischief.

  Hana felt around under the table, finding Logan’s cowboy boot with her foot. She wrapped her feet around his ankle and pulled, laughing as he was yanked under the table. “Play nice!” she warned him.

  “I will,” he said, winking. “Frogs legs it is.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you still owned part of this,” Hana said, looking around. “I thought you probably gave it up last year. It isn’t awkward, is it, us coming here to eat?”

  Logan pulled a face. “Na,” he said, “I stayed in as a sleeping partner and I do the accounts. I like Alex. We always got on and I knew he wanted to mix things up a bit. It looks like a successful move, having the cafe in the daytime and a restaurant-bar at night. It’s the only thing like it for miles, so it’s turning over a good profit.”

  “I love the furniture,” Hana said, admiring the Louis XIV style chairs and distressed white sideboards. “It gives the place an atmosphere you can get lost in. It’s how I’d imagine France, if I’d ever been.”

  She looked around, taking in the chandeliers and chic candlesticks. A picture of Napoleon graced one wall in a white wooden frame brushed with a gilt effect edge. Hana wrinkled her nose and pulled a face, wondering if she was traitorous to her heritage. Logan watched and laughed out loud at the obvious conflict in her. “I wonder what your father would have said,” he mused. “If he objected to an Indian, what would he think to a brown skinned Māori of French descent?”

  “He’s probably spinning in his grave right now,” Hana replied, adding under her breath, “wherever that is.”

  “Speaking of fathers,” Logan said, leaning forward so he didn’t inadvertently spread his personal business the length and breadth of the Waikato Region, “how come when mine’s had over forty years to get used to the idea that Reuben
was my dad, he’s taking it this badly now?”

  Hana thought about it, not wanting to give a glib answer. “I suppose he’s had all that time to worry about it and make it into his worst nightmare. We build our fears up so big in our heads when they actually happen, it’s the culmination of all those years. Even if it’s not as bad as we thought, we make it so. It’s probably got some kind of psychological label somewhere. I know I do it, so I guess other people must too.”

  “Do you really think he’s spent my whole life worrying about me finding out?” Logan sounded incredulous.

  Hana nodded. “Well, wouldn’t you? He needed to keep you in order to keep Miriam and then he fell in love with you. Somewhere along the way, you became the favourite son, wrong as that is on so many levels. Maybe that’s something he hadn’t banked on. He told me once when he held you as a baby, he adored you and worried he couldn’t keep you safe. I wonder if he didn’t just mean keep you safe, but keep you for himself.” Hana picked at the crusty bread roll in front of her. She popped a flake in her mouth and felt it slice through the skin. “Ouch!” she complained, “No wonder the French need metal teeth!”

  Logan laughed and cocked his head to one side. His fringe flopped over his eyes and he looked devastatingly handsome.

  “How about we skip dinner and find a hedge somewhere?” Hana asked facetiously and he roared with laughter and relaxed. “You know, it’s funny,” Hana started. “I’ve thought a lot recently about what I’ve been told of the Du Roses and in the light of the fire, certain things take on a new significance. Michael told me Reuben wouldn’t let Tama’s mother have him back. I asked why and he said he’d already lost one son and wasn’t prepared to lose another. I thought he meant your older brother Barry at the time, but I realise with hindsight he really meant you. Alfred said as much.” She sipped iced water and glanced at her husband.