The Older Man

by Laurey Bright

  He grinned. “Fine, and so am I. As a matter of fact, now that you’re all here, I’d like to make an announcement. Celeste and I are going to be married — just as soon as we can arrange it.”

  Noticing the sharp look her father had cast at her, Rennie hoped that in the excitement of Ethan’s news, he’d forget to ask how she had come home. But as she helped to stack the dishes, he said, “I thought you had left early with Ethan last night. Who brought you home?”

  “A friend of Ethan’s.” She clattered a pile of plates together and picked them up.

  Ethan, who was taking some dishes to the sink, turned to look at her. “Who?” he asked blankly.

  She gave him a reproachful look. “Grant Morrison.”

  He looked slightly puzzled. “Morrison? A bit — mature for you, isn’t he, Rennie? I thought you’d be coming home with your parents.”

  Her father said, “I told your mother that dress was too old for you.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Rennie protested. “He just offered me a lift. And there’s nothing wrong with that dress, Dad. You just don’t realise I’ve grown up.”

  “Mm. Maybe. But do be careful who you accept a ride with, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Dad.” She resisted rolling her eyes as she walked past him with the pile of plates.

  “It’s okay, Frank,” Ethan said. “He’s Celeste’s solicitor. My brother knew him quite well.”

  Marian Langwell said, “Your brother was much older than you, wasn’t he, Ethan?”

  “Yes. But Morrison wouldn’t be his age.”

  “He’s about forty,” Rennie offered, busily scraping plates. “And anyway, he’s not interested in me. He was being kind, that’s all.”

  Ethan said absently, “Mid-thirties, more likely. Alec was friendly with his older brother. When Grant was at university he joined one of Alec’s expeditions to New Guinea during the long holidays.”

  Rennie looked up. “But he’s a lawyer, not an anthropologist!”

  Ethan shrugged. “Not all the students Alec took along were planning anthropology majors. He liked to take people he could rely on.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Grant Morrison’s very reliable.”

  Ethan’s brows rose. “Rub you up the wrong way?” Then with a quick frown he said quietly, “Did something happen between you, Rennie?”

  “He brought me home, that’s all,” she said, and turned away from him to stack the dishwasher.

  She didn’t see Grant Morrison again until Ethan’s wedding. There were not many people in the small church, a dozen or so all told, and afterwards they were invited to Ethan’s aunt’s house for a meal. The aunt was a large, booming woman with only partial hearing, and since she hated to miss any of the conversation, most of it was conducted with raised voices.

  Except for Shane and two small girls who had been Celeste’s bridal attendants, Rennie and Grant were the only guests not part of a couple. Rennie supposed that was why Aunt Ellie had decided to seat them next to each other. She gave him a stiff nod as he held her chair for her, and noticed the amusement in his smile as he took his place beside her.

  “Still haven’t forgiven me, Rennie?” he murmured, under cover of Aunt Ellie’s instructions to the rest of the company.

  “I’ve no idea what you mean,” she lied.

  He picked up an open wine bottle and poured some into the glass in front of her before helping himself. “You do.” He carefully put the bottle down again. “I know your pride’s hurt, but how would you have felt if I’d just turned around and left you to it?”

  Rennie gazed at the bubbles rising in the glass. He couldn’t have done that, of course. And if he had, she’d have had reason to be angry. She said, “You needn’t have read me a lecture afterwards. I already knew I’d misjudged the situation.”

  “And got a bad fright. All right, I apologise for the lecture. Having carried out my rescue act, I suppose I felt entitled. I just wanted to be sure it wouldn’t happen to you again.”

  “You needn’t worry. I still think he wouldn’t have deliberately hurt me. He phoned and apologised pretty abjectly the next day. He really was sorry.”

  Grant’s mouth tightened. “I should think so. How’s the arm?”

  “Fine. It was just a graze.” She lifted her elbow to show him, and he touched the slightly pink mark with a finger, smiling at her.

  It was a nice smile, she thought with surprise, softening his features and making him look younger. It was the greying hair that make him seem at first glance more than his years, she supposed. “You should smile more often,” she told him.

  “What?” His brows rose.

  “It makes you look … nicer,” she said. “Less — “

  She hesitated, and he said encouragingly, with a thread of laughter, “Less — ?”

  “Forbidding.”

  “Forbidding? Is that how you see me?”

  She was saved from having to reply by Aunt Ellie’s penetrating voice announcing that now they were all seated the Reverend would say grace. Afterward Rennie busied herself passing dishes to her neighbours and filling her own plate, and noted with relief that the woman at Grant’s other side was occupying his attention.

  When they had finished eating, Aunt Ellie proposed a toast to the bride and groom, and Ethan stood and thanked them all. The plates were cleared and the table folded down and pushed aside, while the bride and groom circulated and chatted to their friends. Rennie gave Ethan a hug, kissed Celeste on her cheek and said, “Congratulations to both of you. Sorry about calling up the green-eyed monster. And don’t bother to thank me, Ethan,” she added, batting her eyelashes outrageously to remind him what he owed her. “Just be happy together!”

  Ethan gave her a small slap on the bottom. “Behave yourself, young Rennie,” he said.

  Celeste smiled at her with a hint of bewilderment. Then someone else arrived to give their good wishes, and Rennie stepped back and moved away.

  “What’s your name?” One of the bridal attendants was standing at Rennie’s side, gazing up at her with curiosity. Her blonde flyaway hair was tied in a ponytail and her eyes in a round baby face with a determined little chin were a clear, direct blue.

  “Rennie. Renalda, really, but Rennie for short.” She smiled down at the child. “What’s yours?”

  “Ellen. You can read me a story if you like.”

  “Sure. If we can find something to read from.”

  “I found some.” Ellen took her hand and led her to a bookcase in a corner of the room. “Find one with pictures,” she ordered.

  Most of the books were novels but Rennie found an illustrated book of New Zealand birds and Ellen led her to a chair. As she sat down, Rennie saw Grant leaning against the far wall with an empty glass in his hand and a faintly bitter regret on his face. Following his gaze, she realised that he was watching Celeste and Ethan. They stood with hands entwined, talking to Rennie’s parents but unable to resist casting frequent glances at each other, giving the impression that for a moment or two they had lost the thread of the conversation altogether.

  Ellen ensconced herself on Rennie’s lap, and commanded, “Story!”

  Guessing that a list of habitats and colourations hardly constituted a story, Rennie began to weave a tale about a blue-plumaged pukeko stalking on long red legs through the swamp, bush and mountain in search of adventure, meeting with various other birds on the way who either helped or hindered her quest.

  Rennie noted that Grant had moved closer, and was openly listening. Making up nonsense for Ellen was one thing. Having an adult audience of one highly critical lawyer was quite another. She floundered to a hasty finish and closed the book, saying firmly, “And they lived happily ever after. And I’m afraid that’s all for now, Ellen.”

  As the child scrambled off her knee, the book fell to the floor. Before either of them could retrieve it, Grant stepped forward and picked it up.

  “I didn’t bother Celeste, Daddy,” Ellen announced virtuously.

 
Rennie glanced up in surprise.

  “I never thought to tell her not to bother anyone else,” he said dryly. “I didn’t think she’d try it with someone she didn’t know.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Rennie assured him.

  He studied the cover of the book in his hands. “I had no idea Birds of New Zealand was so exciting,” he said as he handed it to Rennie. “I was riveted.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “I’m thirsty,” Ellen announced.

  “Well, if you ask nicely, I might get you a drink,” Grant offered.

  “Please can I have a drink?” Ellen said obediently.

  “What would you like?” he asked. “Orange or lemonade? And yours, Rennie?”

  By the time they had returned the book to the shelf he had found a glass of orange juice and one of white wine.

  Finishing her drink in ten seconds flat, Ellen went off hand in hand with the other young attendant, and Rennie was left standing by the bookcase with Grant.

  “Did you ever think of being a teacher?” he asked her.

  “Law runs in the family. I never thought of doing anything else, really. Why are you looking like that?”

  “Going into the family business? I’d have thought a strong-minded young woman like you might want to strike out on her own.”

  “I’m not going to work for my Dad. I’ll be looking for another firm, when I’m qualified. Strong-minded?” she queried. “I was quite sure you thought I was a dimwit. In fact, I seem to remember you calling me a fool.”

  “One doesn’t necessarily preclude the other.”

  Rennie flashed him a look, and he said, laughing suddenly, “Okay. Everyone’s entitled to do something foolish once in a while.”

  “Even you?”

  “Want your pound of flesh, do you? Even I. But if you don’t mind I won’t go into details.” He looked across the room at Celeste and Ethan again.

  “She’s beautiful,” Rennie said.

  “Yes, she is. I hope she’ll be happy.” He didn’t sound too confident. That odd expression compounded of bitterness and regret crossed his face again.

  Rennie looked at him, then at Ethan. Ethan was right for Celeste, anyone could see it. “He’ll look after her,” she assured Grant. “He’s a good man.”

  “He made her very unhappy for a long time,” Grant said, with a hint of censure.

  “He was unhappy too,” Rennie bridled. “It wasn’t all his fault.” She didn’t really know that much about it, but she was fond of Ethan and criticism of her loved ones was apt to make her defensive.

  “You’re biased,” Grant said, “aren’t you?” The light eyes had sharpened but there was a hint of sympathy in them too.

  “Maybe I am,” Rennie admitted. “But Ethan wouldn’t deliberately hurt anyone he loved.”

  “You’ve a lot to learn about love,” Grant told her. His mouth had a cynical twist.

  “You seem to have a jaundiced view of it.”

  Grant shrugged. “Maybe divorced people are not qualified to make pronouncements on true love.”

  “You’re divorced?”

  “Three years ago.”

  “Then you’re biased too.”

  “Haven’t I just admitted it? Come on, I’ll get you some more wine.”

  Changing the subject, she thought. Maybe his marriage was still a sore point, or he was embarrassed at finding himself commenting on it to a virtual stranger. She guessed he was the kind of person who wouldn’t often discuss his private life.

  When he had brought her the wine, she asked, “Is the other little girl yours, too?”

  “No, my other child is a boy, but he declined to take part. He’s at the age where he thinks weddings are soppy. Ellen has a better sense of occasion.”

  Rennie’s father joined them and soon had Grant talking shop. Rennie mostly listened, but now and then ventured an opinion of her own. Once or twice she thought Grant was slightly impressed.

  At midnight, long after Ellen and the other little girl had been temporarily tucked up side by side in a huge bed, their hostess announced that it was time the bride and groom were leaving, and herded the guests out onto the footpath to wave goodbye. There were more kisses all round, and some confetti scattered, and cheers heartily led by Shane.

  Ethan took with good grace the tin cans and toilet paper streamers which Shane had somehow managed to attach to his car. As it noisily turned the corner, Grant’s voice said quietly in Rennie’s ear, “It’s over. You did well. Now you can relax.”

  She turned to look at him. Of course, she remembered, he thought she had a teenage crush on Ethan. About to disabuse him of that misconception, she took a breath, and then he bent his head closer and his hand touched her shoulder. “You’ll get over it,” he said. “I know it’s hard to believe at your age. But I promise you, the hurt won’t last forever.”

  Rennie shut her teeth. Really, he was too much. Anyone would have thought she was thirteen instead of going on twenty.

  In a small voice, she said, “Thank you, Grant. How do you know?”

  “Experience.”

  The others were trailing into the house, ready to collect belongings and take their leave.

  “Come on,” he said, placing a hand on her waist to urge her inside. “It’ll all look better in the morning.”

  Rennie sighed. “If you say so.”

  “Believe me.”

  Her parents were saying goodnight to Ethan’s aunt. Rennie stopped in the doorway, turning what she hoped was a soulful look on Grant. “You’re very comforting,” she breathed. “I’d … like to talk to you about it sometime.”

  He looked faintly taken aback. “Maybe you should talk to your mother,” he suggested.

  “Oh, no! She wouldn’t understand!” Rennie assured him untruthfully. “Or my father. But I do feel I need to talk to someone … older.”

  She could have sworn that he winced inwardly, although not a quiver appeared on his face. As he hesitated, his eyes narrowing, she added hastily, lifting her chin, “But never mind. I know you must be very busy — ” she allowed a faint tremor to enter her voice, ” — only I’ve never felt like this before, you see,” she added, her bright head drooping. “I don’t know how I’m going to bear it.”

  Grant was silent, but peeking at him briefly she thought he was at least a little uncomfortable.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right,” she said, with an air of forlorn bravery, stepping away from him.

  Her mother turned from saying goodnight to Aunt Ellie, and called to her. He was still standing by the door when they left, and she directed a wavery smile at him, not quite meeting his eyes. He turned to watch them, and even at a distance he looked tense and undecided, as though wondering if there was something he ought to do.

  Serve him right, she thought, as she climbed into the car alongside her brother. She hoped his conscience was pricking him badly. He was ready enough to jump to smugly arrogant conclusions about her and dispense lordly advice, but when she directly asked for his help he had backed down awfully smartly.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rennie walked briskly, the wind whipping at her nylon jacket as she dug her hands into the pockets, and tugging at the green silk scarf wound into her hair. She was beginning to wish she had taken the bus home instead of deciding to walk. The wind hadn’t been this strong or this cold when she left the university, and she’d wanted to blow away the cobwebs after a full day of lectures and tutorials.

  As she stepped onto the bridge over the motorway, her boots ringing on the concrete slabs, a group of youngsters pushed by her, and she moved to the side of the narrow walkway, next to the parapet. Cars streamed along the carriageway beside her, their engines growling. When a thundering truck roared past, shaking the bridge, she turned her head and felt something tug at her hair before the long strands were blowing into her face and she realised the scarf had come off.

  A metal standard fixed to the parapet held a defaced and broken board that had
once said something about fines for throwing or dropping objects from the bridge. The scarf had blown against the board and become snagged on the jagged timber. As she reached for it, the silk square was plucked away by the wind and floated down, not falling onto the motorway where the cars rushed along unheeding below, but catching on a rusty protruding bolt on the outside of the parapet, about level with the path she stood on.

  It was a nice scarf and she didn’t want to lose it. Hopefully, Rennie leaned over the parapet. She reached down, found the scarf just out of range of her groping fingers, and straightened, contemplating the problem.

  The green scrap fluttered, and she held her breath, wondering how long it would stay in that precarious position. If it floated down to the roadway, it could be a danger to the rush-hour traffic. Something appearing like that from nowhere, perhaps flattening itself against a windscreen — supposing it caused an accident? She’d better do her best to retrieve it, short of climbing over. The concrete parapet wasn’t solid, there were interstices large enough to slide her hand into sideways…

  She got a hand through as far as her forearm, but the space was too narrow and too high. She couldn’t grasp the fabric. She straightened again, looking over. Still there, undulating in the wind. Impatiently she brushed the unruly hair from her eyes. She glanced at the cars flowing along the bridge behind her. If she stopped someone, asked for a coat-hanger, a piece of wire or something? But that would create a bottleneck on the bridge, also a hazard to traffic.

  She looked about for something to stand on. No such luck. If she could slip her foot into the interstice, it might give her the extra few inches she needed. But her leather boot wouldn’t fit. She pulled it off, and managed to get a toehold. Good, it was about six inches up. She held the top of the parapet with one hand, and levered herself upward, grabbing at the battered noticeboard to steady herself, and began to lean forward, her fingers outstretched.

  And then all hell broke loose. There was a screech of brakes behind her followed by a loud crumping sound, a chorus of hornblowing, and several people yelling. One of them was yelling her name, but she had hardly registered that when she was suddenly yanked backwards.