'Where do you think you're going?' Lyle demanded when she turned from him to escape to her tent, and her body stiffened as she stopped and turned to face him again with a practised calmness.
'Do you need me for anything?' she counter-questioned.
Lyle rose slowly from the low canvas stool, and he stood towering over her in a way that made her feel threatened and on the defensive. 'There's work to be done.'
He strode ahead of her towards his tent, and Christie followed at a slower, rather uncertain pace. She had kept her notebook and pencil handy, feeling her way around rather more than being told what to do. She had made notes that morning, taking down everything and anything which she had thought might be of importance, and she soon had cause to refer to those notes. Lyle gestured her into a chair, and started dictating technical data at a speed which made it almost impossible for her to keep up with him, but she gave no outward indication of her discomfort.
'Read that back to me,' he snapped much later when he came to the end of a sentence, and Christie did so at once without stumbling until she encountered something which seemed to contradict the information she had jotted down that morning.
'You said this morning that the history of southern Africa dates back only to the seventeenth century,' she voiced her confusion, 'but now you're saying that it goes back a million years.'
'That's quite correct.' He lowered his lean length into a canvas chair and lit a cigarette. 'The known history of southern Africa dates back to the seventeenth century when the first literate settlers and explorers began to write about this country, and what they found and did here, but it is an archaeologist's task to discover the prehistory and to reconstruct the activities of man in prehistoric times.'
'Oh.' Christie was convinced that she looked as foolish as she felt, but she recovered swiftly, and turned the situation to her advantage. 'Do you expect to find anything of interest?'
'There's always the possibility that we might, but the owner of this property thinks we're wasting our time.'
A smile had softened his stern, hawk-like features for the briefest second while he spoke, and yet another layer of ice melted around her heart. She knew the danger of thawing emotionally. It would open doors she had been determined would remain locked for ever, and it would release the pain she had known once before.
'How will it affect the students if their efforts turn out to be fruitless?' she asked, shutting her mind to everything except her growing interest in this project.
'It shouldn't affect them in any way at all.' His dark eyes observed her through a screen of smoke, and mocked her for her concern. 'They will have gained invaluable practical experience, and that's the most important reason for this expedition.'
'I see.' She was feeling foolish again, and she lowered her gaze hastily to the notebook she clutched in her hands.
'Any further questions?' he queried abruptly.
'No,' she shook her head, her golden-brown curls changing to warm honey in the shaft of sunlight as they danced about her face.
'Then I suggest that you continue where you left off.'
'Sorry,' she gulped at the censorious rebuke in his voice, and for the next five minutes she concentrated solely on reading aloud the information she had taken down in shorthand.
The silence that followed was disturbed only by the sound of the birds in the trees, and the laughter of the students. They were as keyed-up with excitement as Christie was with nerves and, when she risked an upward glance, her hyacinth-blue eyes widened at the angry intensity of Lyle's dark gaze.
'Why are you looking at me like that?' she asked, the mellowness of her voice husky with tension.
Lyle crushed the remainder of his cigarette into a metal ashtray, and rose to his feet. There was a smouldering fury in his actions, and it was evident in the flames that leapt in his eyes when they blazed down into hers.
'There was a time when I would have given anything for you to accompany me on an expedition.'
'And now I suddenly arrive on the scene like a toothache you would rather do without,' Christie finished for him with a cynicism forced on her by pain and suffering. 'Is that what you're trying to say?'
'That's it exactly!'
It felt as if a heavy weight had lodged in Christie's chest, and her throat tightened on a not unfamiliar ache. 'Do you hate me that much?'
'What I feel for you is total indifference,' he lashed her verbally. 'What I hate is raking the dead past back into the present.'
Total indifference. The dead past. That hurt! It ripped at wounds she had imagined healed, and it took a concentrated effort to control her features in an attempt to disguise her pain.
'That's an odd remark coming from an archaeologist such as yourself,' she mocked him openly.
'I was speaking personally, not professionally, and you damn well know that!'
It felt as if the heat in the tent was beginning to suffocate her as she stared up into his furious face, and she marvelled at the stranger Lyle had become. 'I suppose it hadn't occurred to you that I might find the existing situation equally unpleasant?'
'I don't doubt that you do, but there is no harm in stressing my feelings on the matter to ensure that we survive the next four weeks.' Authoritative and commanding even without a shirt, he surveyed her disdainfully. 'You will find whatever stationery you may require in that box under the table. Type an original plus two copies of the notes I have given you, and leave it in that green file on the table.'
'Yes, Professor,' she replied mockingly and—she had to admit—with a certain amount of awe, but her form of address drew a furious scowl from Lyle before he walked out the tent and left her alone.
Total indifference. The dead past. The words spilled cruelly back into her mind to remain locked there in a mad crescendo. She had built up an armour over the years which she had believed would shut out pain, but those words had pierced her armour like a hot knife slicing through butter. Damn Lyle Venniker for coming back into her life, and damn him for striking her where it hurt most. She could have tolerated his displeasure, even his hatred, but indifference from Lyle was like a bad taste in the mouth which not even the most expensive mouthwash could rid you of.
She thrust these thoughts forcefully from her mind, and got up to pull the cover off the small typewriter. In the box under the low, fold-up table she found the necessary typing paper and carbon, and she pulled the chair closer to the table before she sat down. It took a few seconds to acquaint herself with the typewriter, and after that she became immersed in typing out the notes Lyle had given her.
It was hot inside the tent despite the fact that the flap at the entrance had been raised on poles to create a shady verandah. Not a breeze stirred through the bushveld that afternoon to cool the tent, and she perspired freely until her cotton shirt clung to her skin. Her hands felt clammy, but her fingers moved rapidly over the keys, and an hour later she pulled the last sheet of paper out of the typewriter. Christie was aware again of the activity in the camp, and then the sound of footsteps made her turn to see Dennis entering the tent.
'We're all going down to the river for a swim,' he said, his green glance taking in her hot face and damp shirt. 'Wouldn't you like to join us?'
Nothing would have given her more pleasure than to plunge her heated body into cool water, but she still had to read through her work to check for typing errors, and she shook her head ruefully. 'I'm sorry, Dennis, but I still have quite a bit of work to do.'
'Oh, come on, Christie.' He brushed aside her excuse. 'I'm sure the professor wouldn't mind if you took a short break in this heat.'
'Your judgment is incorrect, Dennis.' Christie spun round on her chair at the sound of Lyle's voice, and one look at his face was enough to make her feel like an errant teenager instead of a woman of twenty-five. 'Please keep in mind that Miss Olson is here in a working capacity, and not for the purpose of indulging in a paid holiday.'
'But, Professor—'
'And neither is she here for your
entertainment,' Lyle interrupted Dennis cuttingly.
'Professor, I wasn't—'
'That will be all!' Lyle cut in once again.
A mixture of surprise and annoyance flashed across Dennis's face, but it was swiftly concealed before he turned away and joined the party of students strolling down to the river.
Christie regretted the incident. It was not fair on Dennis that Lyle should have taken his anger out on him, and she leapt to the young man's defence. 'Don't be too harsh on him, he was merely—'
'I don't need you to instruct me how to deal with the students,' Lyle barked at her before she could complete her sentence, and her anger rose sharply.
'It wasn't my intention to interfere, but if you want to take your bad temper out on someone, then I suggest you take it out on me, and not Dennis for showing me a little kindness and consideration.'
'This is not a benevolence society,' he countered harshly. 'You are here to work normal office hours, but what you do during your free time is your affair entirely.'
'Oh, so I am going to have a little free time, am I?' she demanded with icy sarcasm, but she regretted her attitude when she saw his eyes narrow to slits of fury.
'Keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to me, Christina Olson,' he warned, his voice low and threatening as he leaned over her with one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table, imprisoning her. 'If you . undermine my authority with the students I shan't be held responsible for my actions.'
Instinct warned her to take care, but a little demon inside her drove her on, and she smiled up at him cynically. 'What will you do, Professor Venniker? Thrash me?'
The dark eyes flashed a fire that seemed to scorch her. 'I might just do that if you're not careful.'
'How strange that I never noticed this streak of violence in you before,' She continued to taunt him mockingly as that demon inside her drove her beyond the limit of caution.
Lyle's jaw hardened, and she could almost feel the fury vibrating through his body and into her chair where his hand tightened on it with a savageness that made her fear that the wood would snap. 'Drive me too far, Christie, and you'll live to regret it.'
His face was so close to hers that she could see the pores in his skin, but her mind registered more than that before he straightened and walked away from her in the direction of the river.
Christie sat there like someone stunned. Lyle was not a stranger to her, and yet she felt as if she did not know him at all. She could understand that he might have been shocked and annoyed at discovering that she was to accompany him on this trip; she had felt the same when she knew he was to be her employer, but she could not understand this deep-seated anger which seemed to emanate from him whenever he was near her. Why? Surely she had more right to such a fierce anger after the cruel choice he had forced her to make five years ago?
She shivered as the perspiration trickled down her back, but it was a shiver that left her cold despite the heat in the tent. Something was dreadfully wrong! Her instincts had never let her down before, and she knew she could rely on them now. Lyle could not have nurtured such a frightening anger all these years for no reason at all, and she was convinced that something must have occurred which she had no knowledge of. But what? She had to find out, but Lyle was the last person she could, or would approach in her search for the answer. Sammy Peterson? Yes, she would speak to Sammy as soon as she returned to Johannesburg… if she returned in one piece after four weeks with Lyle in the wilderness.
Christie had difficulty in regaining her concentration, but she finally succeeded in reading through the typed sheets to check for errors. The remainder of the afternoon passed quickly, and she was looking forward to a refreshing swim in the river the moment she was free.
The students returned to the camp in a light-hearted mood, and Christie's glance sought Lyle. His hair was damp and lying in a disorderly manner across his forehead, and that well-remembered smile lightened his stern features. Something clutched at her heart, squeezing it until it almost ached with a feeling she was not yet ready to acknowledge, but she froze inside the moment his eyes met hers. The smile vanished from his hawk-like features, and she was once again confronted with that look which came close to hatred. The ache inside her deepened, became a stabbing blade, and she turned abruptly to place the typed sheets in the file on the table. She heard Lyle's step behind her, and felt his presence in every quivering nerve, but she could not bear to turn and face him. Her feelings were too raw at that moment; they lay naked in her eyes, and the humiliating truth hit her as she fled from him into the privacy of her own tent not far from his.
Lyle still had the power to hurt her more than anyone else on this earth and, with this knowledge, she found herself faced with the agonising truth. She had never stopped loving him. For her own preservation she had made herself believe that she hated him, but she knew now that it had been a subconscious facade. She may have succeeded in banishing him from her mind, but her heart had stubbornly refused to set him free.
Christie drew a choking breath, and the stretcher creaked protestingly beneath her weight when she sat down heavily. She stared at the ground-sheet protecting her from the dampness of the earth at night, but all she could see was Lyle's harsh, angry features, and she smothered a choked cry when she buried her white face in her hands. Several minutes elapsed before she succeeded in controlling herself, then she left her tent, taking her soap and towel with her for that longed-for bathe in the river. But she had barely taken a half dozen paces when a harsh voice behind her demanded; 'Where do you think you're going?'
She turned slowly, forcing her features to adopt that cool, calm mask she had been forced to wear for so long, and she gestured with her towel. 'That's obvious, isn't it?'
'It's also obvious to me that you have neglected to check the roster which has been drawn up.' Christie stared at him blankly, and he gestured disparagingly before he enlightened her. 'It's your turn to assist with the evening meal.'
Hot, tired, and hurt by his attitude, she resorted to anger as her only defence. 'Surely there is time for me to have a quick wash in the river before carrying out my other duties, or would your meticulous lifestyle be inconvenienced by a delay of a few minutes?'
His face darkened with that unfathomable anger. 'I made it quite clear when we arrived here that the roster was to be strictly adhered to.'
'You made it quite clear that we would all have certain duties on certain days, and I don't object to that, but I do object to being denied the privileges you so readily grant the others. I'm not a slave who has to jump every time you crack the whip.'
'You're forgetting something,' he mocked her ruthlessly. 'I'm being paid to crack the whip, and you're being paid to jump.'
He turned on his heel and strode towards his tent, leaving her with the feeling that, if this was a battle, he had scored yet another point against her.
Christie was shaking as a storm of helpless fury raged through her. She walked back to the tent to dispose of her soap and her towel, and she found Sandra standing at the entrance with a guilty flush on her cheeks.
'I'm sorry, Christie, I didn't mean to listen in on your conversation with the professor,' she apologised as Christie brushed past her to fling her things into the tent. 'I came over for a chat, and I couldn't help hearing.'
'It doesn't matter,' Christie assured her with a calmness which belied the storm inside her.
'I can't understand why the professor is being so unreasonable where you're concerned, but I'll take your turn at the cooking this evening if you'd like to go down for a bathe,' Sandra offered generously, but Christie shook her head firmly.
'I'll leave the privilege of a bath until morning.'
A look of uncertainty flashed in Sandra's grey eyes as she studied Christie, then she walked away to join the rest of the group, leaving Christie to wash her face and hands in the basin of water in her tent before she went out to prepare the evening meal.
Mike, stockily built and
sandy-haired, was Christie's partner on this occasion. He chopped the wood and stacked the fire, and proved to be a valuable assistant, stepping in when Christie found herself at a loss with this primitive method of cooking meat and vegetables.
Lyle did not come out of his tent until he was called for dinner, and Christie noticed that he had not changed out of the clothes he had worn all day except for putting on his shirt and combing his hair. Christie felt something tighten inside her, and her pulse quickened as memories flooded her mind. Lyle had always looked devastatingly attractive no matter what he had worn, and his mere presence still had the power to affect her as it had done five years ago. Her legs felt weak when he stood facing her across the narrow table, and she prayed that he would not notice the tremor in her hand when she served his food into the enamel plate he held out towards her, but the derisive smile curving his mouth told her that his razor-sharp glance had missed nothing. He knew that his presence disturbed her, and she was angry with herself for her inability to hide the fact.
A ritual was begun that evening which was to continue throughout their stay in the bushveld. The cooking utensils were washed and stacked away in the supply tent, and after that they were all free to gather around the log fire in a relaxed mood to discuss the events of that day. A tall, slender young man with red hair and freckles produced a battered guitar, and he plucked away softly at a melody which was familiar to Christie. The music would not have been disturbing if he had not made so many blatant errors, but no one other than Christie's musically toned ear seemed to hear.
A Moment in Time Page 3