by Diana Fraser
He grinned and put his arm around her waist and brought her hard against him. “You know what I want.” He glanced down at the bed. “But I’m not going to make love to you on a friend’s bed, immediately after a misunderstanding. I will make love to you, and when I do, it’ll be more than a tumble on a borrowed bed. Remember… a treasure, to be respected and treated tenderly.”
“Tenderly?” She drew her finger down the outline of his face, so strong and so restrained. “You know, I liked it when you first said that word. But now I’m thinking, ‘masterfully’ would be closer to what I want.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ll find I’m capable of both.”
He kissed her lightly on the lips, his nose nuzzling hers before pulling away. “Now, woman,” he muttered. “Fetch me my dinner.”
She shook her head with a smile. “If that’s your idea of masterful, I’ll stick with tender.”
With Zane’s arm around her shoulders they walked back down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. He stopped there and cupped her face in his hands.
“Rachel, I don’t want it to be a passing thing, I want it to be special. And in my experience, the best way for that to happen is to take is slowly.” He glanced at the crockpot. “Slow cooking is the best and so is slow romance.”
She put her head back and laughed. “I’ve never heard anyone compare slow cooking cheap meat until it’s tender, to a romance.”
“If slow can transform stringy meat into tender, imagine what it can do to already tender feelings.”
She stopped laughing. “You have tender feelings toward me?”
“Uh-huh.” He toyed with her hair. “Is that so hard for you to understand?”
“Yes, it is actually.”
And for all her complaint about going slowly, she was pleased. Zane was different to anyone else she’d known and that could only be a good thing.
“Then you’d better get used to it.”
“Okay, I can do that. Providing”—she brought his head around to face hers—“you don’t compare me to a piece of stringy meat again.”
He shook his head. “You are deliberately misunderstanding me.” His hands slid down her curves. “And besides, that description would be entirely inaccurate.”
She took a deep breath and pulled away, automatically taking her place behind the kitchen bench, while Zane slipped onto a stool. She took the lid of the crockpot and inhaled the smell. “Mrs Jones has outdone herself this time.”
Zane leaned on the bench, toward Rachel and threaded his fingers through hers, drawing her to him and kissing them. “And so has Gabe.”
“Brothers!” said Rachel. “They are pains in the butt but I wouldn’t be without them.”
“Me neither,” said Zane. “Family always comes first.”
Rachel’s smile dropped as she watched Zane rummage through the drawers until he found the cutlery and took out a couple of knives and forks. They may have reconciled their differences this time. Zane may have wrenched himself away from his firmly held black and white beliefs, this time. But the mention of his brother reminded her why Zane might change his mind about her being such a treasure. Family first…
Should she tell him and finish it before it began? But maybe he’d understand. Maybe, before he found out, their relationship would deepen, and be strong enough to withstand the truth. And… maybe, just maybe, Zane might lead her to her daughter.
Gabe closed the door and walked down the hallway. After the pub he’d gone to Belendroit to see his father and ended up staying much later than he’d imagined. He’d walked home, thinking about Zane and Rachel. They’d be good for each other. He hoped they’d managed to work things out before the evening was over. He’d been surprised that he hadn’t seen Rachel but maybe she’d returned to Zane’s house.
So when he stopped at the end of the hallway and looked into his kitchen-diner, he let out a laugh of surprise to see Zane and Rachel, fast asleep, fully clothed, in each other’s arms, in front of the open window through which stars could be seen. Rachel’s head rested on Zane’s chest, and Zane’s arms held her close. For some reason it moved Gabe and he took a step back. To see his old mate Zane, so dignified and private, in this moment didn’t seem right. But he couldn’t take his eyes off them. Gabe’s instinct had been right. These two were meant for each other. But, knowing a little of each other’s past and personalities, he wasn’t so sure it would be an easy road. He retraced his steps down the hall and opened the door and closed it loudly, the windows around the door rattling with the blow. Then he clattered around in the hall for a few moments, going into the bedroom and switching on the radio, to give them a few minutes before he emerged into the kitchen.
“You two! I didn’t think you’d still be here.” Zane and Rachel stood apart in the kitchen like two guilty, but sleepy, teenagers, caught in the act. “I guess it was my wonderful dinner that put you to sleep,” said Gabe, too heartily, wishing they’d return to normal. He didn’t know how to act in these circumstances. Give him a complaint of the body and he could fix it, but this love stuff… Aside from bringing people together and feeding them, something his mother had taught him, he had no idea what to do.
“It was great,” said Zane and Rachel simultaneously. They looked at each other and smiled.
“Good, good. Then maybe you’d let me get to bed. I’ve an early surgery in the morning.”
“Sure.” Zane stepped forward. “Thanks, mate.”
Rachel followed Zane down the hall and stopped at Gabe, put her arms on his shoulders and went on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Gabe.” She smiled and walked away.
He watched them both leave and close the door behind them. He shut his eyes briefly, as a strange emptiness filled him at the sight of two people who were obviously hot for each other. He had plenty of offers from local girls to keep him company at night but he never took them up on it. Not that he wasn’t tempted, but Akaroa was a small place and he held a very public position in it. Plus… he’d never been really tempted. The women had been similar to him—obvious and to the point. What you saw was what you got. It was mystery which always hooked him. And you didn’t see many beautiful, mysterious women coming to his surgery, or the pub, for that matter.
He sighed and switched out the lights. No point hankering after what you couldn’t have.
6
Rachel had received no objections from her father about filming at Belendroit. He loved the idea of the house filled with people. As far as he was concerned he’d be hosting a big party, the more people, the better.
And there had certainly been a lot of people at Belendroit that morning. It had been over-run with people—cars and vans were parked in front of the house and down the side of the drive, backing up to the road. A tent had been erected to house surplus furniture from the house which had been replaced with pieces brought from Wellington. “Only to freshen and enhance the ambience,” said the producer. And while Jim grumbled, Rachel had to admit that the additions, once they’d got them all moved into place, would make the kitchen look stunning.
However, without her usual team to handle the details, the hired hands from Christchurch had piled back into the van and driven off, before the work was done and before Amanda, the show’s producer, noticed.
“Where have they gone?” shrieked Amanda.
Jim sipped his coffee and looked at her over his half-spectacles. “Back to Christchurch, I should imagine.”
“But they hadn’t finished. We need them to set things up! What are we going to do with all of this?”
“Don’t look at us,” the cameraman and lighting director said together. “We’re too busy.”
“Rachel!” said Amanda accusingly. “Any ideas? You bought us to this God-forsaken place.”
Rachel rolled her eyes and shrugged an apology at Jim who didn’t seem to be at all bothered as he offered unwanted advice to the lighting director. Amanda was brilliant at her job but less brilliant when things didn’t go so well.
&n
bsp; “We don’t need all this stuff, Amanda. Let’s make do with what we have.”
One quick look around and Amanda was adamant. “No way.”
Rachel thought of Gabe, but he was busy. In fact none of her brothers were around. And she refused to let her father help out as he wasn’t as strong as he used to be. She shook her head. “We’ll live with it until the guys come back tomorrow.”
Amanda stalked outside on the veranda and looked around, hands on hips, as if hoping someone would appear as if by magic. And he did. She pointed into the bushes.
“What about your gardener? He looks like he could shift a thing or two single-handedly.”
Rachel frowned. “Gardener? We don’t have a…” She followed Amanda out onto the veranda and saw Zane between the trees, hacking away at a tree root.
“What about him?” Amanda repeated. “He’d be able to lug the big stuff around, wouldn’t he?” Sean, the cameraman, glanced over, pushed himself off the wall with a lazy movement and placed the mug on the table. “I’ll go and call him in.”
“No!” said Rachel.
Sean held up his hand. “It’s okay. I’ll make it worth his while. People like him don’t earn much doing stuff like that.”
Before Rachel could remonstrate, someone else claimed her attention and she was up to her ears in sound tests and discussions with the set designer about the best placement of her kitchen range. There was something about the familiarity which was comforting. After years of doing this kind of work, Rachel sank back into it like she was pulling on worn comfy shoes. It was the best bit about the job, the cooking, the set up, the camaraderie with the people. Except… She glanced out the window at where Sean had to raise his hand against the sun to meet Zane’s gaze. Zane stood with his arms relaxed at his side, his stance strong, his dislike obvious. Rachel half-laughed, changing it into a cough as she spoke to her assistant. Time to go rescue a situation.
Rachel walked up to the two men. She ignored Sean. “Hi, Zane. How’s it going?”
He smiled. “Good thanks, Rachel. You?”
She grimaced. “Yeah, I got caught up in work over the past few days. Belendroit looks a bit different now, doesn’t it?” She followed his glance at the newly painted deck and new tubs from which fresh flowers tumbled.
“Looks as if it’s come direct from the interior of a lifestyle magazine.”
“You see,” said Amanda triumphantly, joining them. “It worked.”
Zane raised an eyebrow as Amanda and Sean walked back to the house.
“So… are you enjoying it?” Zane asked.
“Yes, I am. I hadn’t thought I’d enjoy it quite so much. There’s something about being in the place I belong and doing the work I love.”
“The place you belong? I haven’t heard you say that before.”
Rachel felt equally surprised she’d uttered the words. “I’m not sure I’ve said that before. But that’s how I feel.”
Zane was about to step closer to her. She knew he was going to kiss her, she could see it in his eyes and for a brief moment she forgot where she was, what she was doing and knew that this was exactly where she should be.
Then Sean re-appeared on the veranda. “Hey, Rach,” he called across the garden. “So will your… friend…come and help move some stuff around? We’ll make it worth his while.”
Zane didn’t even look at Sean or acknowledge that he’d spoken. He narrowed his eyes and focused instead on Rachel. “Is this the guy you were telling me about?” Zane asked.
Zane didn’t even care if Sean heard what he was saying.
Rachel shook her head. “No. That’s Sean.” She smiled uncomfortably at Sean who shook his head and looked away. “The guy I told you about is nothing to do with my work anymore.”
“This one doesn’t look so flash either.”
Rachel grinned and looked at Sean, who was wiping imaginary dirt off his immaculate white shirt. “He’s okay. He knows his job.”
“Pity he doesn’t know how to lift anything heavier than a clipboard. Are you sure you’re okay with all of this?”
Rachel shrugged. “There were some contractual obligations I couldn’t get out of. So I thought I’d bring the cameras to me, here. I thought it would be better.”
“Better for whom?”
She swallowed. Somehow, from Zane’s unsmiling expression, she got the impression he wasn’t overly pleased with her decision.
“Better for Rachel, of course!” interrupted Sean. “And better for you, too, if you’re willing to help out.” Sean pulled out a wallet and started peeling hundred dollar bills out. He waggled a bundle at Zane. “Will this do?”
Zane glanced at Sean and then looked at Rachel. “Looks like your friend wants me to work for him. Do you want me to?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“I didn’t say that. I asked what you wanted.”
“Rachel, darling,” interrupted Sean, “for God’s sake tell him you need him to move some of your junk around. Otherwise we’ll never get started.”
“Zane, if you can help that would be great. But only if you’ve time. I don’t want to impose on you.”
Zane looked across at Sean. “Sure,” he called out. “Make it worth my while and I’m your man.”
The way Sean grinned and eyed Zane up and down made Zane shake his head. As he turned away he said to Rachel. “You owe me, Ms. Connelly.”
“Happy to, Mr. Black.”
Sean rolled his eyes, as Zane and Rachel walked up the steps onto the veranda. He thrust the money into Zane’s hands and walked off. “I’ll leave him to you.”
She looked at the money and he followed her gaze. “My nieces will appreciate the extra money to waste on clothes the next time they’re in Christchurch. So, what is it I’m meant to do?”
“Sean and the set designer think some of the furniture isn’t right for the brand so want it moved out the way.”
“And your Dad’s okay with all of this?”
“Are you kidding? Dad’s in his element, chatting up the women, charming the men. But are you sure you don’t mind? I feel terrible, Zane. Really, I hope Sean wasn’t rude to you?”
“Oh, he was. But I’m not so insecure as to let it worry me.” He propped the spade up against the wall, and brushed his hands together. “Okay, lead on. Show me what the hired hand needs to do.”
The next hour sped by as the team raced to finish off the kitchen and adjoining sitting room to Amanda’s precise specifications while Rachel focused on the food. With five minutes before filming was about to begin, Amanda walked around, running her fingers over the old-fashioned counter, lifting up things and replacing them in the wrong place. “You know, we could work with this. Change things up a bit. Rachel’s Country Kitchen, or something like that. What do you think, Sean?”
Sean finished scanning a clipboard, signed it and looked up. “Rachel’s Grungy Kitchen, if you ask me.”
“Hey!” said Rachel sharply. “This is my family home, my show and I’d appreciate you keeping your comments to yourself.”
Sean rolled his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, what’s got into you? We’re filming in a few minutes. Got that?” Before Rachel could answer he’d moved off.
Amanda folded her arms and looked around the kitchen, tapping her beautifully manicured nails on her tanned arm. She walked up to Rachel who looked at her sideways as she tried to focus on arranging the ingredients as she wanted them. “You know, I think it would go well. We could use other parts of the house, too. It has great charm.”
“I thought you didn’t like it.”
“What I like isn’t relevant. The audience will like it. I feel it. We could do this as a regular gig.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You should think about it.” She glanced at Sean who’d moved outside. “Sean’s replaceable. You’re not.”
Rachel shook her head in disbelief as Amanda went outside and began chatting to Sean as friendly as anything, as if she hadn’t suggested th
at Rachel should sack him.
“Where do you want this?” Zane lifted a wooden freestanding chopping block with ridiculous ease.
“Sorry! Here, please.”
Zane placed it where she wanted it and smoothed his hand over its surface. “Looks brand new.”
“That’s because it is. We don’t have anything like this here.”
“That’s probably because you don’t need it.” Zane glanced at the others busy outside, going through the schedule. “I only want to know one thing, Rachel. How come you let them treat you like that? You’re intelligent, talented, not to mention beautiful, and yet you let them boss you around like that? As if you’re nothing?”
“I…” Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s their job to control various aspects of the programme.”
“Maybe. But it’s not their job to control you. You’re worth more than that and I don’t know why you can’t see it.”
Zane didn’t wait for an answer and Rachel wasn’t capable of giving one anyway. She watched him walk over to the veranda where Sean, busy on the phone, indicated with a wave of his hand which piece of furniture should go where. She knew it didn’t bother Zane because Zane had no interest or respect for people like Sean. Zane was quite clear about why he was doing this—it was for her. But why was she doing this? Only a few more programmes and then the contract would be over. And then? Did she really want to leave all of this and go to the States?
Once filming was underway they only had a few short breaks to warn Jim to stop talking to someone. In the end, after a third interruption, the attractive second assistant was given the task of occupying Jim away from the set.
As the last bit of filming was complete, and the director called “it’s a wrap”, Rachel wiped her hands on a towel, leaned back against the kitchen bench and beamed.
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you? I mean really enjoyed it,” said Amanda, passing Rachel a glass of Champagne.
“Yeah,” said Rachel warily. “I did.”
“It came across in the way your hands held the bench, like they’d done it many times before, in the easy way you unhooked the implements from the pot holder, knowing the order amidst the chaos there. It was obvious it was your home and it worked. It was very relatable. I reckon that was your best performance yet.”