There was a momentary silence while the children turned to look at him. Then they began to chatter again. Grant raised his eyes, and Rennie laughed. “It’s better, though, isn’t it?” she asked him softly. These two cheerful, talkative children were worlds apart from the solemn, worried boy and the tearful, frightened little girl they had been only weeks before.
Grant’s mother was a small, precise lady with white-winged brown hair, who sat in the front seat of the car clutching a handbag which contained several bottles of pills and, among other mysterious objects and papers that made it bulge prodigiously, a gold powder compact with a mirror in the lid, that fascinated Ellen. Introduced to Rennie, she had given her a slight, gracious smile and a kindly, “How do you do, my dear?”
Rennie wondered if she ought to curtsey.
She sat in the back with the two children, mindful of her responsibility to keep them amused and reasonably quiet.
At first it was easy. As the car travelled over the high curve of the Harbour Bridge, they pointed out to each other the yachts and launches busily darning the water below, and at Albany they were intrigued when Grant had to stop at a set of traffic lights to let a group of horses and riders cross the motorway.
“Is it a pedestrian crossing for horses?” Toby asked.
“That’s right,” Grant answered over his shoulder. “An equestrian crossing. There are a lot of pony club riders here, most of them children, and the local people insisted when the road was put in that there must be a safe place for them to cross.”
Some time after that, Ellen began wriggling uncomfortably and whispered in Rennie’s ear.
Rennie said, “Grant, we need a comfort stop soon.”
“And I would like a cup of tea,” Mrs Morrison announced. “I know a very nice restaurant at Orewa.”
The car descended a steep hill, went over a bridge where several people were fishing from the sides, and entered the township, strung out along the shoreline.
“I want to go to the beach!” Toby said excitedly, glimpsing the blue water separated from the road by a strip of grassed reserve. “And play on that!” he added, seeing a group of children scrambling about a large, undulating wooden climbing frame. “And the slide!”
“There’s a beach where we’re going,” Grant reminded him. “And we can’t spend too much time here. We’ve a long way to go.”
Toby looked disappointed. Rennie said, “Why don’t you and your mother have some morning tea while I look after the children? I’d quite enjoy a short walk on the beach, myself.”
Grant looked relieved, and his mother gave her an approving smile. Rennie let the children have their heads, scrambling about the play equipment and running along the sand shouting to each other. The beach was long and wide, and even the houses and motels crowded along most of its length couldn’t spoil its beauty.
Grant had bought them cold drinks and a bag of potato chips, and having had a chance to stretch their legs, the children were content for some time. At Kaiwaka he drew up at a shop advertising Dutch-style cheese. “We could buy some to eat over the weekend,” he suggested.
The children, intrigued by the huge cheeses on shelves behind the counter, and the opportunity to taste, helped him to choose three from which the Dutch proprietor cut large wedges. Grant bought some exotic sausages, too. On the way back to the car he said, “Kaiwaka’s aptly named.”
“What’s aptly?” Toby asked.
“Suitably,” Rennie explained. “It means it has the right name. Kai waka means ‘the food canoe’.”
“You know Maori?” Grant asked.
Rennie shook her head. “Very little. A few common words like that. I’d like to, though. We did a little bit at school. I’ve always meant to learn it properly.”
“Me, too. Like most people, I haven’t got around to it.”
Apparently inspired by the sight and discussion of food, Ellen said, “I’m hungry.”
Grant glanced at his watch. “We could buy some sandwiches at the take-away over there and have a picnic a little further on.”
They had it at a wooden table set in the shade of black-barked kahikatea and dainty small-leaved kowhai on a grassed space off the road. A tui called throatily from the trees, and the sound of rushing water in a nearby stream alternated with the sound of traffic passing on the road. Mrs Morrison produced a thermos flask of tea which she offered to share with Grant and Rennie, but they declined, settling for canned drinks instead. Rennie tried to keep her attention on the children, helping them with their meal, and Grant seemed to be concentrating on his mother with equal determination.
The children found a path going towards the water, and Rennie got up to go after them as they disappeared into the trees. Grant followed within seconds.
“I’ll look after them,” Rennie said. “You stay with your mother.”
“My mother’s fine,” he answered. “Watch out!” The path was muddy, and he shot out a hand to steady her as her shoes slipped on the soft ground.
She straightened and moved rapidly ahead of him. The children had disappeared round a curve, and she called, “Toby! Ellen! Wait!”
She caught up with them before they reached the broad, stony stream, and took their hands as they approached the water. Grant accompanied them, and watched while the children bent to dabble their fingers, exclaiming at the cold. The water flowed fast and was overshadowed by trees. Ferns layered the bank opposite, and slim mottled trees dipped their branches almost into the water.
Toby said, “Look — stepping stones.” He raced off to try them, and Grant went striding after him, while Rennie and Ellen followed more slowly.
Toby was already on the second stone, gauging the distance to the next one. Grant glanced at Rennie and put his foot on the first stone.
There were eight of them, and Toby successfully negotiated the lot to scamper up a narrow path on the other side as Grant reached the bank behind him.
“I want to go, too,” Ellen said.
Her legs were not as long as her brother’s and Rennie had to help her, since she refused to be carried. Standing on one flat square and trying to swing Ellen over to her from the previous one was no easy task. On the very last one, Rennie lost her balance, let out a gasping cry and landed awkwardly in the water, soaking her jeans.
Ellen, safely ensconced on the stepping stone, regarded her solemnly and said, “You splashed me, Rennie.”
Grant’s voice said urgently, “Are you hurt?” He’d come racing back down the path with Toby on his heels. Regardless of his shoes and trousers, he waded in and as Rennie started to scramble up, put a hand on her arm to help.
“I’ve probably got a bruise,” she said ruefully, “but otherwise I’m okay.”
“Rennie fell in,” Ellen said.
Grant glanced at her. “The child’s brilliant,” he confided to Rennie, surveying her. “We’ll make a lawyer of her yet. Sure you’re okay?”
She nodded. “You didn’t need to get wet. I can see where Ellen got it from.”
He acknowledged the dig with a hint of a smile. “Luckily we’ve both got clean clothes in the car.”
Ellen said singlemindedly, “I want to go where Toby did.”
Seeing Grant was about to veto the idea, Rennie said, “I can wait.”
“Show her, Toby,” Grant said resignedly. “But don’t go any farther than we did before.”
Toby took his sister’s hand, and Grant offered his to Rennie. “Can I help you get back?”
“I don’t need help,” she told him, slightly offended by the assumption. “I only fell in because I was trying to get Ellen across.”
They sat on the bank trying to wring out their clothes until the children came back and Grant went over to swing Ellen up on his shoulders.
Once across the stream again, he put her down and she looked Rennie over critically and pronounced, “You’re wet,” before running up the path with Toby.
As they disappeared out of sight, Grant said, “I apologise for my dau
ghter’s lack of feeling.”
Rennie shook her head, laughing. “You’re as delighted as I am to see her getting back her independence.”
He smiled at her and held out his hand. “Come on, let’s get you back and into something dry.”
The look in his eyes as he ran a glance over the wet, clinging jeans made her breathless. She passed him without taking the outstretched hand. “I’m not hurt,” she said in excuse. “Honestly.”
She hurried up the path ahead of him, emerging from the trees in time to hear the children giving Mrs Morrison a highly coloured version of Rennie’s mishap.
“And Daddy jumped in to save her!” Ellen finished.
“Nothing so dramatic,” Grant said, going to the car to lift out a couple of bags. “The stream’s less than a foot deep.” Encountering his mother’s curious stare, he added, “But Rennie might have hurt herself on those stones. And you, young lady,” he added lightly to Ellen, “should be grateful she managed not to drop you in the water at the same time.”
Ellen looked doubtful.
Retiring into the trees, Rennie made a quick change, emerging to find Grant already wearing dry trousers and stowing wet things into the car.
Soon they were winding over the Brynderwyns, topping the summit and finding a magnificent view of hills and ocean laid out before them, glittering in the sun. After descending to sea-level and passing through the little town of Waipu, they could see the ocean from the road, a shining sheet of blue with small rocky islands silhouetted stark against the sky.
“Is that our beach, Daddy?” Ellen enquired.
“No, we’re not there yet, but it won’t be long now.”
At Whangarei, a small city enclosed by hills and harbour, they didn’t stop, but continued up the Tutukaka coast on a winding road, where they lost the sea. They found it again when Grant turned down a switchback side road that skirted several little bays and eventually arrived at a huddle of houses along a white, curved foreshore where the water came gently in to rest.
Grant slowed the car, while they peered out at a mixture of modest and often shabby cottages and newer, more permanent homes.
“There it is! Shaw.” His mother pointed at the name on a letterbox outside a substantial Mediterranean-style house. She started digging in her handbag for the key.
The house was just as impressive inside. The children discovered that their room had four bunks, so they could each have a top one, and Grant gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I had visions of arbitrating on that one.”
His mother’s room was large and comfortable and quite private, with a sofa set facing the sea, as well as a bed. Grant gave the children a strict injunction that they were not to visit her unless specifically invited.
“Choose a bedroom for yourself,” he instructed Rennie, giving her the choice of a twin or double room, and she chose the twin, which was marginally smaller, leaving the other one for Grant.
The lounge had large windows right across the wall that faced the beach, and Rennie, having quickly unpacked the children’s things and her own, stood admiring the view for a few minutes while Grant brought out the cheeses he had bought and cut some slices for the children.
“Sit down at the table and eat,” he admonished, and called to Rennie, “Want some?”
“No, thanks,” she answered dreamily. She was hypnotised by the sunlight on the water, the sudden, surprising lift of white along the edge of each wave as it reached the sand, the clouds drifting on the horizon.
He came to stand beside her, a piece of cheese held in his hand. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” he commented.
Rennie didn’t answer. She turned to smile at him, and saw the answering smile in his eyes, and experienced one of life’s rare moments of pure happiness.
Mrs Morrison rested for the remainder of the afternoon, which Rennie and Grant spent with the children on the beach, swimming, building sandcastles, and exploring the rock pools on the headlands when the tide receded.
“Look!” Toby cried, fishing something out of one of the pools and displaying it on his hand. “An orange starfish!”
“So it is,” Rennie agreed, impressed. “Isn’t it lovely?” It was brilliant orange with black markings. “Put it back carefully, now,” she said when they had all admired it. “It will die if we keep it out of the water too long.”
Toby slid it back into the pool, and he and Ellen watched as it slowly fastened itself to a rock.
“There’s a blue one!” Ellen said, hushed as though afraid of frightening it. “A tiny little one. And a bigger one, see! And look, a fish!” She started as a tiny silver fish went shooting across the pool and hid under an outcrop of rock. “And — oh, look, Rennie! A hedgehog!”
“It’s a kina,” Rennie explained. “A sea-egg. Or sea-urchin, some people call them.”
“It looks prickly.”
“Yes, it is, but you can eat them. Lots of Maori people love them.”
“Not the prickles!”
“No, the insides.”
Toby said, “Ooh, yuck!”
“It’s not so different from eating fish,” Grant said.
“I don’t like fish.”
Grant laughed. “Anyway, we’re going to leave them right where they are.” He straightened, and Rennie, getting up from her haunches at the same time, slipped a little on the wet rock, cannoning into him.
He put a strong arm about her, and her hand came up to steady herself, the palm against his chest. His heart was beating strongly, and she glanced up, caught the sudden glitter in his eyes before he put both hands on her arms, gripping them hard as he eased her away.
“Okay?” he enquired casually. His eyes were cool now, and she wondered if he thought she had engineered that moment of closeness.
“Fine,” she said, pushing her hair from her eyes. “Thanks.”
He watched her movement, his gaze slipping downwards to her thin white T-shirt, his mouth going tight.
Rennie flushed, feeling a stirring of anger. She wasn’t being deliberately provocative and it wasn’t fair of him to think so.
“It’s about time we were getting a meal,” Grant said, transferring his gaze to the children. “Is anyone hungry?”
After the children were tucked up in their top bunks, the three adults sat in the comfortable lounge. Mrs Morrison, her feet propped on a stool, was reading one of the half-dozen library books she had brought with her. Grant, on the cane sofa, opened a newspaper he had bought at Orewa, and Rennie curled up in a roomy cushioned wicker chair with a paperback that Shane had given her at Christmas, a romantic thriller by one of her favourite authors.
Grant said, “Anyone want the radio or the TV on?”
Rennie shook her head.
“Not until the ten o’clock news,” his mother said.
At about nine, Grant put down the paper and said, “I think I’ll go for a walk.”
His mother looked surprised but said only, “All right, dear.” Rennie, lost in a world of intrigue and romance, scarcely looked up from her book.
Half an hour later, Mrs Morrison said, “Rennie, dear, would you care for a cup of tea or coffee?”
Rennie looked up. “If you want one, I’ll make it.”
“Thank you. You will join me, though? And perhaps a biscuit.”
When Grant returned, Mrs Morrison was drinking tea, and Rennie a mug of coffee.
Rennie got up, saying “What would you like?”
But Grant waved her back to her chair. “I can get my own. Stay there.”
Rennie finished her drink and went to the kitchen to rinse out the mug. “I won’t wait for the news,” she said. “I think I’ll go to bed.” She was quite tired, and besides, Mrs Morrison probably wanted some time alone with her son. She collected her toilet things from her room, and as she walked along the short passageway to the bathroom, she heard the older woman say, “…certainly a nice enough girl, and good with the children. But I still think that…”
“I told you,” Grant answered pa
tiently, “I had no choice. It’s only temporary. She has to go back to university in a month or two, anyway. The children will be more settled by then, and I’ll have had time to find someone more suitable.”
Rennie entered the bathroom and shut the door quietly behind her. Suitable! What’s unsuitable about me? she thought. What does he want, for heaven’s sake? I’ve done the job well, I know I have. And if the children are settled by then, it’ll be because I’ve done a good job! Admittedly the house wasn’t always as neat as it might be, and meals were sometimes late, but the children were happy, he couldn’t deny that, and surely that was the most important thing. So I’m not Jean! She felt a sudden stab of pure jealousy. I can’t compete with his wife. But he didn’t want Jean in the end — or she didn’t want him. And neither do I, she lied to herself. Stuff him.
She turned on the shower and stripped angrily, stepping under the hot water to scrub at the sand that dusted her body. She was still seething when she slid into her bed and pulled up the sheet.
The next day she took the children for a long walk to a neighbouring bay, partly overland and then along the beach while the tide was low. Grant offered to come along, but she told him coolly that she could manage, and that she was sure his mother would appreciate his company. Grant looked faintly bemused, but acceded readily enough to the suggestion.
In the afternoon, while his mother rested, Grant said he would watch the children and Rennie could have some time to herself.
“I’m being paid to look after them,” she reminded him. “And they didn’t drown or break any limbs this morning, did they?”
Grant’s brows went up. “You’re entitled to some time off,” he said. “Take it this afternoon.”
She bowed her head. “If you say so.”
She took her book and climbed the headland, finding a place in the shade of a large windblown native shrub, where she could alternately read or sit staring at the sea, or lie back against the harsh, dry grass and drowse.
“Feeling better?” Grant enquired when she returned to the house.
She gave him a deliberately surprised stare. “I feel fine, thank you. How was your afternoon?” she added politely.
The Older Man Page 13