Sarah came to life. ‘I’m quite sure Raefe wouldn’t do anything to affect her adversely either—she’s so precious to him. No, I’m consumed with admiration. Raefe’s got such a mind of his own—has had since he was a baby,’ she said wryly.
‘You’re not wrong,’ Francesca agreed drily.
‘You’ll probably find he admires you underneath it all,’ Sarah suggested after a moment’s thought.
Francesca stood up and smiled down at this sometimes sad woman she’d come to like a lot. ‘I wouldn’t bank on it.’
‘But—that is what you’ve set out to prove, more or less, isn’t it?’
Francesca had turned away, and was glad she had because Sarah’s words unearthed a strange feeling at the pit of her stomach. But she managed to say slowly, ‘Not to make him like me, if that’s what you mean—I don’t think we could ever see eye to eye as much as that. It’s just…’ She stopped and sighed suddenly.
‘It’s not that easy to avoid publicity with a high-profile name like mine. A lot of it is speculation—although, I have to admit, there are times when my…’ she hesitated ‘ …temperament leads me into falling into traps of my own making. But—oh, well.’ She shrugged.
‘And people, particularly men, can be quite dense sometimes, can’t they?’ Sarah said sombrely.
Francesca grimaced. ‘They’re certainly quite prone to believing the worst of me.’
She turned back to Sarah and they suddenly exchanged smiles of understanding that gave Francesca an oddly warm feeling.
Early the following morning a helicopter from Banyo Air landed on the lawn and Sarah left for Cairns and eventually Brisbane. Raefe, Francesca and Jess waved her off.
It was Francesca who noticed that Jess, as the little craft rose, hovered then flew away like a noisy bird, seemed to droop.
‘Why don’t we go for a swim?’ she said casually. ‘We can try some more backstroke—and don’t forget I promised to build you the biggest sand-castle in the world today!’
Jess brightened immediately, and Raefe Stevensen said, ‘Yes, why don’t we?’
Francesca turned to him abruptly with her nostrils pinched, her mouth set in as grim line, but Jess was so obviously delighted to have her father along as well that she turned away immediately and schooled herself to behave as normally as possible.
She would have been even more annoyed, although not entirely surprised, had she been able to read. his mind. Because Raefe Stevensen was watching her taut back at the same time as he found himself thinking, nearly got you there, Chessie Valentine—it’s not going to be as easy as you think, is it, my beautiful termagant? I wonder how many men you have driven out of their minds with your wilful ways and that gorgeous body?
‘I can do it! I can do it!’ Jess sang excitedly, then stopped and sank as she swallowed a mouthful of water.
Raefe brought her up, spluttering. ‘The trick is probably not to talk while you’re doing it—don’t you agree, Chessie?’
Francesca nodded, and did some backstroke herself while Raefe patiently took his daughter through the motions again. The water was like pale blue glass as it stretched away to the horizon, and the sky was the same blue, while the air was starting to shimmer with heat. It should have been a pleasant experience, this swim, she mused, before the fierce power of the sun turned the water tepid.
But she felt uncomfortable and tense.
Mindful of what had happened to her the previous morning, she’d put on a one-piece buttercup-yellow swimsuit—and been on the receiving end of a wickedly raised; eyebrow. for her pains. But, of course, the difficulty of it all was that she’d virtually given herself as a hostage to this man since making the promise she had to his sister, and not only that—she wouldn’t upset Jess, anyway—but why hadn’t she stopped to consider all the implications?
Now look here, Chessie, she reminded herself as she floated on her back, isn’t that exactly what you set out to prove? That you could remain quite unaffected by him? So why this faltering at the first fence?
She twisted over suddenly and dived beneath the surface. When she came up, it was to see that Jess and Raefe were wading through the shallows to the beach, and it all came clear to her.
There was, much as she’d like to think otherwise, an undeniable frisson between her and Raefe Stevensen. The kind of frisson that was going to make it hard for her to leave the sea with water streaming off her body and the buttercup Lycra moulding every curve of her figure—hard, that was, beneath those cool, sometimes derisive eyes.
Because she had no doubt he would be watching her, and no doubt that, whatever he might think of her shallow mind and her father’s millions, her body was not a matter of complete indifference to him. Nor, perhaps more unfortunately, were the clean, strong lines of him quite lost on her, and she knew that it would not be possible to deny the trickle of awareness that would run through her as a result of it all as she walked up the beach.
Damn, she thought. I must be mad! Why did I do this? How right was he?
It was this thought that steadied her. Because he hadn’t been right about her; she wasn’t a collector of scalps. And just recalling his words made her stiffen her spine, swim to where she could find a footing and stride out of the water with what she hoped was the appearance of complete indifference.
‘There. Big enough?’ Raefe said to Jess.
Francesca had covered herself with a white cotton shirt and a wide-brimmed straw hat by this time. Jess always. wore a specially. protective swimshirt over her togs to minimise the effects of the sun. on her fair skin, and a floppy white hat, but Raefe was bare-shouldered and hatless as he worked away at the sandcastle.
He sat back and admired his handiwork—the castle was almost as tall as his daughter. He’d done most of the digging while Francesca and Jess had shaped it and adorned it with stones, little wild flowers gathered from the grassy verge beside the beach, and boat-shaped leaves to float in the moat that surrounded it.
‘What we need is a flag,’ Francesca murmured. ‘Tell you what—it’s really getting a bit hot out here now, so why don’t we go in and do at bit of schoolwork and make a flag?’
‘Yes. Yes!’ Jess jumped up and down enthusiastically. ‘But.—’ her eyes widened ‘—what happens when the tide comes in? Will it still be here?’
‘Ah,’ her father said. ‘Good point. But you’ve got at least four or five hours, because the tide’s going out now. You know…’ he looked around with a frown ‘…for years I’ve been meaning to build a sun shelter on the beach.’
‘And you were also going to build a barbecue here,’ Jess reminded him gravely, and laid a small, sandy hand on his cheek.
For some reason, Francesca saw Raefe Stevensen take a sudden breath as he gazed at the little girl. And for some equally unexplained reason he then raised his eyes to Francesca, and they were as cold as steel.
She blinked, but. the moment had‘ disappeared and he was saying wryly to Jess, ‘You’re so right, Miss Muffet. OK, I’ll start doing something about it today. Over to you, Miss Valentine,’ he added expressionlessly.
Francesca hesitated, but he got up and strolled down the beach, obviously intent on picking a site for his sun shelter and barbecue. And although Jess seemed to notice nothing amiss it was, to Francesca, an unnecessarily abrupt dismissal. But she shrugged and took Jess’s hand and they went up to the house together.
Part of the wide, screened veranda that led off Jess’s bedroom had roll-down blinds to keep out the sun, as well as sliding windows, and had, also been furnished as a playroom and schoolroom in one.
There was a two-storeyed, fully furnished dolls’ house, quite old by the look of it, but well made, and Jess adored it and played with it for hours, and there was a rocking horse, an array of teddy bears in all sizes, two golliwogs, six dolls, a pram, a giraffe that was taller than Jess and a menagerie of smaller toy animals.
A lot of them looked as if they’d been handed down from a previous generation, but that didn’t di
sturb Jess. She had names for them all, she conducted conversations with them and often held tea-parties for them.
Francesca had been both amazed and touched at Jess’s vivid imagination as she managed her family of toys. It was mostly the golliwogs who caused a lot of the mischief, apparently, although there were days when the teddies got out of hand and had to be severely reprimanded. There was also one particularly naughty monkey, with a bright red waistcoat and a bell on his hat, who caused Jess to shake her fair curly head despair at times. His name was Mo.
‘If he’s good,’ Jess said that morning as they sat down at the schoolroom end of the area, with Mo hanging from the back of a chair by his tail, ‘I’ll take him down to the sandcastle and let him help us plant the flag. What do you think, Chessie?’
‘A good idea,’ Francesca said seriously. ‘Has he been bad lately?’
Jess considered. ‘No, not too bad. I think he gets lonely. If he had another monkey friend it might help.’
‘You could be right—although. if he’s anything like those two gollies over there it could make him worse. But you never know; it’s worth a try. Now, let me think—perhaps we could make him one?.’
Jess clapped her hands, then sobered. ‘But how?’
Francesca thought for a bit. ‘We’d need some furry material.’ She picked up Mo and studied him, then smiled. ‘And if we made a girl monkey we could call her Flo! We might be better off with a girl; she might be a better influence on him.’
Jess was enchanted, and remembered that Sarah had as sewing machine and a bag full of all sorts of scraps of material.
‘Well, we’ll have a look this afternoon. In the meantime let’s have another go at these long division; sums, then we’ll read a bit more.’
The morning passed, and a paper flag was made and coloured in then planted in the sandcastle with Mo’s help. After a simple lunch of cold meat and salad that they ate on their own, Francesca and Jess followed a time-honoured custom in the fierce heat of the middle of the day—they had a rest. Raefe had apparently gone out on cattle business.
Sarah’s sewing machine was set up in the laundry that adjoined the kitchen, and by a piece of good luck—for Francesca had begun to wonder how on earth she was going to come up with some furry material in this part of the world—her bag had yielded what looked like the remains of the synthetic fur lining of an overcoat, as well as colourful scraps to make clothes and enough rags with which to stuff Flo. There was also a sewing box, With buttons et cetera, and they spent a pleasurable afternoon constructing a new monkey.
‘There,’ Francesca said at about five o’clock. ‘Nearly done! I’ve got to start dinner, Jess, but I’ll put the finishing touches to Miss Flo Stevensen tonight—now don’t tell Mo about her; we’ll give him a surprise tomorrow!’
As she finished speaking Francesca felt a prickle of awareness, and turned to find Raefe standing at the kitchen door watching them. Jess immediately ran to him, full of excited explanations about the new monkey. He picked her up, his eyes curiously intent on her flushed, happy little face, then looked across at Francesca.
For some reason—whether it was to do with her willing participation in Jess’s imaginary-world or her flash of revelation about the effect he had on her earlier in the day she wasn’t sure—she felt her cheeks grow warm.
Raefe put Jess down and said gravely, ‘I’m sure you’ll find Mo quite as reformed character, Jess. I’ll look after her until dinner is ready,’ he added to Francesca, and took his daughter off.
Bramble Downs homestead was too remote to be connected to the state’s electricity grid, but there were two generators that dispensed power and light, and another two down at what was really the heart of the station, about two miles away—the head stockman’s cottage, other staff cottages and the cattle yards.
Having spent two weeks on Wirra, which had a similar set-up, Francesca had got used to the constant hum in the background, and since taking over the cooking at Bramble she actually gave thanks for it, because the kitchen was equipped with all mod cons and she didn’t have to battle with a wood-fired stove. But it occurred to her as she went into the kitchen and reached for an apron that it would strike not only her father but also her friends as bizarre, to say the least, if they could see her now.
Not that they weren’t used to her doing the odd bizarre thing, such as the time she’d crewed on a yacht in the Sydney to Hobart race—the only girl in the crew—and the weeks she’d spent in Sarawak and Sabah once, getting to know the orang-utans. No, her being at Bramble Downs in itself would raise no eyebrows. But if they were to see her acting as the paid governess and cook, taking orders from a man who, moreover, patently despised her, they would surely wonder whether she was sickening for something.
She grimaced as this thought brought her up short. Sickening for something? What? No, not that. Certainly not love sick, although a bit of healthy lust might be another matter. Dear me, she mused, you’d better watch it, Francesca Moorehouse Valentine—and was interrupted in these uncomfortable musings by the head stockman’s daughter.
Annette Brown, daughter of Bob and Barbara Brown, was just eighteen and an apprentice hair-dresser in Cairns. She was home at the moment, on a short holiday, and she often helped her mother out with the cleaning and the laundry at Bramble homestead.
‘Brought the ironing up, Fran,’ Annette said as she dumped a laundry basket on the counter. ‘And Mum sent a couple of fresh-baked loaves.’
Francesca received the two golden crusty loaves gratefully. One thing she did not do successfully was bake bread. ‘Your mum is a darling, Annette. Please say thanks very much.’
Annette parked herself on a kitchen stool. She had a lively rather than pretty face, and she was a bright, straightforward, down-to-earth teenager. ‘How’s it going?’ she enquired of Francesca. She was deeply interested in everything about the new governess.
‘Pretty good.’ Francesca took some veal steaks out of the fridge and assembled breadcrumbs, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, an egg and some milk. ‘Jess doesn’t seem to be missing Sarah so far, but I guess it’s a help having her father around.’
‘She loves Raefe madly,’ Annette agreed. ‘But then that’s not hard to do.’
Francesca raised an enquiring eyebrow.’
‘Had as bit of as crush on him myself once,’ Annette said a airily. ‘Of course l never showed it, although I think Mum guessed.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear you got over it.’
Annette produced a packet of chewing gum, offered Fran a piece, which she declined, then started to chew vigorously. ‘Men can be tricky, Fran, can’t they?’
‘Er—oh, they can.‘ Francesca beat the egg and milk and poured the breadcrumbs into at dish. Then she started to brush mustard onto the veal and sprinkle it with Worcestershire sauce. ‘Not Raefe, though?’ she added with a frown.
‘No!’ Annette smiled ruefully. ‘If he thinks of me at all he probably thinks I’m still eleven or twelve. No, what I wanted to ask you, Fran—seeing as you’re a bit older and you look kinda sophisticated—is this. How can you know you’re going to enjoy sleeping with a man until you actually do it?’
‘Well, Annette, I’m afraid I can’t help you there,’ Francesca said, torn between amusement and the need to say the right thing. ‘I’ve not actually done it myself yet, you see.’
‘What?’ Annette’s eyes popped. ‘But you must be years older than I am!’
‘Thank you,’ Francesca said politely. ‘About five, actually. I’m twenty-three, and while I’ve certainly come close to it a couple of times I…’ She paused, just stopping herself from saying, I’ve never been completely sure it was me, not my father’s money they wanted, and said instead, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in love enough.‘
‘So you reckon …’ Annette chewed thoughtfully ‘…it’s a good idea to wait?‘
‘Yes, I do,’ Francesca said definitely, and added as an afterthought, ‘Is, there someone you…?’
�
�Yeah. We met at a bush dance. His name is Jericho, would you believe? I mean; I couldn’t stop laughing when he told me. You’d think you’d just call yourself Jerry if you had a name like that, but he’s not one for doing that. He doesn’t duck out of things, if you know what I mean. He’s also got the biggest feet I’ve ever seen.’
‘And he’s asked you to sleep with him?’
‘No. But I can’t work out what I would do if he did—I can see he’s got it on his mind at times.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Twenty. He’s a fitter and turner, when he’s not playing, rugby league.’ Annette raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Actually, he wanted us to go away together this holiday, but I wasn’t too sure about it. I guess, though, now I know about you, I’ll wait until I’m at least twenty-three before l do anything like that. Hey, thanks, Fran-—and listen, don’t forget, if you want your hair done, or if there’s anything I can do at all, just give me a call!’ She slid off the stool and departed cheerfully.
Leaving Francesca staring after her and strangely unsure whether to laugh or cry.
‘What I need is a bell!’
‘A bell?’ Raefe Stevensen repeated, coming into the lounge where Francesca sat on a settee putting the final touches to Flo. It was about nine o’clock. Jess had been peacefully asleep for a couple of hours and her father, up until now, closeted in his study. ‘A school bell?’
‘No. A bell like the one Mo has on his hat.’ She held Flo up for his inspection.
Instead of glancing at it idly, Raefe took it out of her hand and studied it quizzically. ‘Now that’s quite a feat,’ he remarked, handing it back to her and walking across to the cocktail cabinet. ‘How come you’re so domesticated, Miss Valentine? Like a nightcap, by the way?’
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