‘Yes,’ Francesca said shortly. ‘And if l were you I’d reserve that tone of kindly indulgence until after I’ve told you at bit more.’
‘Kindly indulgence?’
‘Yes. Barely cloaking a weary sort of superiority,’ she said accusingly.
‘Dear me,’ he murmured, and there was genuine amusement in his eyes. ‘I’ll have to watch myself.’
‘She ‘glanced at him exasperatedly and went to stand up. ‘I’m wasting my time.’
‘No.’ He leant across the table and detained her with a hand on her wrist. ‘I’m sorry. Go ahead; promise to behave myself.’
‘Well…’ Francesca subsided, and fortified herself with a sip of wine. ‘There are two kinds of people she has access to. Teachers who would give their eye-teeth to have a bit of a break from school routines, and girls of school-leaving age who would also like to do something different for a while—Jess wouldn’t come to any harm with more of a nanny at the moment. Although.’ She stopped and looked thoughtful.
‘Go on.’
‘You might be better off with a middle-aged teacher.’
‘Oh? Why?’ He drained his glass.
‘Because we wouldn’t want some sweet young thing falling in love with you, now, would we?’ Francesca raised her glass in an ironic salute and drained her own wine. Then she blinked. ‘On the other hand, perhaps that’s just what you need! It would keep you safe from predatory females such as myself, and solve the problem you obviously have with living like a monk.’
His mouth hardened. ‘I thought this might be too good to be true.’
‘Well, you were right—oh, hell,’ she said abruptly, and stood up to gather plates.
‘What now?’
‘Sorry, that was a bitchy thing to say.’ She paused with their plates held in her hand and looked him over unemotionally.
At least, that was how it started out, but, even at the end of a difficult day, in his stained khakis, with his hair still damp and darkened and lines of weariness beside his mouth, Raefe Stevensen was dangerously attractive. But more—he did some strange things to her heartstrings.
Not that it’s going to do me any good, thinking along those lines, she reflected, and flicked her gaze away. ‘There are times when you don’t pull any punches, though,’ she said, barely audibly, and walked to the sink.
He was silent for as long as it took her to clear the table. Then he refilled their glasses. ‘Sit down a moment longer, Chessie—no, I don’t want coffee, thank you,’ he said as she put her hand on the percolator.
She hesitated, then did as she was bid, looking at him enquiringly over the rim of her glass.
‘I appreciate your suggestion, and in other circumstances I’d give it a go, but right now it still leaves me short-handed. In the house and on the property. So I thought the answer might be to look for a married couple.’
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ she said slowly. ‘You mean to live here in the house?’
‘Temporarily at least. That would free them from the responsibility of their own home, which was Barbara’s problem, and it would mean there’d always be someone for Jess—someone to do the cooking and so on.’
‘Is that a tall order? Finding a couple like that?’
‘It may be easier than a single person, but it may also take a few weeks. Does your father know where you are, Chessie?’
She blinked and followed his change of direction with difficulty. ‘Why?’
‘I just wondered.’
‘Yes, he does—roughly.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Well, he knows I’m in this part of the world, and I did mention the name of Bramble Downs-—not to him but to his secretary, in case of emergency. But I didn’t tell her this was actually where I was…’ She grimaced.
‘You mean you didn’t exactly explain what you were doing?’
‘No.’ She looked down at her glass, as if suddenly remembering it, and drank some wine, trying to appear nonchalant.
‘What did you say you were doing?’
‘Touring, getting to know. this part of the world—that kind of thing.’ Francesca shrugged.
‘Alone?’
‘Look—’ Francesca stared at him levelly ‘—my father knows better than to…to try to pin me down these days. ‘I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’
‘All the same, I’d be surprised if he didn’t exercise some sort of surveillance.’
‘Just in case I get myself kidnapped and he has to fork out a large ransom?’ Francesca said with irony.
‘You said it. Or get yourself married for your money.’
‘I told you, I’m an old hand at detecting ‘gold-diggers. And it’s not exactly a problem I have here,’ she said wearily. ‘But if it sets your mind at rest I’ve rung in a couple of times to let them know I’m safe and sound. I’m going to do the dishes now, and go to bed.’
‘All right, I ’ll give you a hand. I take it you approve of my plan?’
‘For a married couple—heartily,’ Francesca said with a great deal of feeling, causing a strange little smile to twist his lips.
The next few days were strangely peaceful.
Well, not so strange, Francesca mused. Raefe was hardly home at all, except to grab the odd meal and sleep, and she and Jess did what they usually did; a mixture of play, swimming and some schoolwork. They also—and this excited Jess—began to prepare for the new School of the Air school year, to be conducted over the ‘homestead radio.
They also drove down twice daily to the Browns’ house, where they fed the variety of pets the Browns owned—a tame galah, two cattle dogs, three cats and six goldfish in a tank—and watered Barbara’s garden and pot plants. It was the first time Francesca had driven her new four-wheel drive around the property at all, but, mindful of Raefe’s jibe about the opposition, she didn’t attempt to go further afield.
Then it was the weekend, and on the Saturday Raefe flew home at midday. Jess, at least, was delighted to hear that he would be with them until Monday morning. He had plans for the afternoon which involved taking Jess for a helicopter ride, and something else.
‘It’s a treat—tomorrow,’ he said with a lurking grin.
Jess held his hand with both of her own, and her fair curls bobbed with excitement as she begged to be told what it was.
‘Well, it’s a sort of surprise-—but why don’t you ask Chessie if she could make us a picnic lunch for tomorrow?’
Jess was further enchanted, and not fooled either. ‘You’re going to take us to Paradise Island—I know it, Daddy, I know!’
‘Paradise Island?’ Francesca enquired that evening. She was lying back on a lounger on the veranda with a long, cool lime drink beside her. Raefe had insisted she have the afternoon off, and he and Jess had flown to a neighbouring property to spend the afternoon and have dinner. They’d returned not long ago and Jess had fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. ‘Does one need wings to get there?’
Raefe sat down opposite her—on the same cane settee where she’d sat on his lap to recover from her encounter with the python, as it happened. He was barefoot—it was very hot—and wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and he sprawled his long legs out and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘In a manner of speaking-rotors, anyway.’
‘I see. So it’s somewhere out there?’ She gestured seawards.
He nodded.
‘Your own private island?’
‘No. Although very few people go there. It’s just a hop, skip and a jump, actually, in the chopper, but I thought we’d have a look at the reef from the air at the same time.’
‘Sounds nice,’ Francesca murmured.
‘Did you enjoy your time off?’
‘I…’ She hesitated and lowered her lashes suddenly, because the truth was she’d felt lonely and abandoned. ‘It was very peaceful.’ And l caught up with the ironing.’
‘That wasn’t the purpose of it,’ he said irritably.
Francesca grimaced.
‘I didn’t mean to sound martyred.’ She sat up cross-legged and lifted her hair off her neck. She’d been for a swim in the last of the daylight, and had only added a light, sleeveless voile top to her costume. ‘Does this heat build up to a good, solid thunderstorm that cools things down?’
He looked across at her. ‘Rain, yes—not that it cools things down much. This is the norm for this time of the year. A good, solid cyclone is always on the cards, however.’
She looked interested. ‘I’ve never experienced one of those.’
‘I would cross your. fingers that you don’t,’ he replied humorously.
‘Have you lived through some?’
‘Of course. It comes with the territory.’
‘Were you terrified?’
He thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Not exactly terrified, but it’s not something you enjoy. Nor is the sound of the wind something you ever forget. Then there are tidal surges, although the combination of circumstances that causes them is rare—I haven’t lived through one of those,’ he said, regarding her wide eyes with some amusement.
‘You’re very close to the sea here.’
‘And we always retreat inland if there’s the slightest danger. The most famous cyclone in this part of the world was Mahina. It hit a bit further north, in the Cape Melville-Bathurst Bay area, in 1899, catching a pearling fleet at anchor.’ Over three hundred people drowned and dolphins were reputedly stranded in the small cliffs of some of the islands in the area—such was the height of the sea at the cyclone’s centre.’
‘Now you tell me!’ Francesca said after a breathless moment, then dissolved into helpless laughter.
‘Well, I’m pleased you’re not a nervous wreck—but what’s so funny?’
She wiped her streaming eyes, ‘And you’re worried about my father being afraid I’ll be kidnapped‘—I don’t know why, but it does strike me as funny.’
He laughed too after a moment, then said curiously, ‘But it obviously doesn’t strike instant terror into your heart? Or even faint fear?’ ’
Francesca chuckled and sniffed. ‘Did you think—perhaps hope-—I might pack my bags and drive away at speed? Sorry, strike that,’ she murmured, and sobered. ‘Er—terror? No. I imagine—I’m sure—satellite weather predictions didn’t exist in 1899. I’m also sure you wouldn’t expose Jess to danger—I mean, you’ve obviously got contingency plans?’
‘We do. And wherever I am at this time of the year If keep a sharp ear open for low-pressure systems in the Coral Sea. Sometimes they develop into cyclones with astonishing speed, in spite of satellites and so on.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She uncrossed her legs and sank back, feeling curiously relaxed. ‘Tell me about your neighbours.’
‘They’re a fairly elderly couple and they’re retiring to Cairns. I’ve offered to buy the property.’
Francesca raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s quite a little empire you’re building, Mr Stevensen.’
“‘Little” being the operative word?’
‘Do you know…’ she sat up again, abruptly this time ‘. . .if you’re happy that’s the operative word?’
‘As your father isn’t?’ he said after a moment.
Francesca subsided and looked away.
‘You’re very loyal—most of the time,’ Raefe commented, then stood up, stretched and yawned. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. By the way, if I sounded unappreciative of the ironing. I’m not. Thanks, Chessie.’ And he walked inside.
Francesca lay on her lounger and felt shocked by several things. She was shocked by her sharp sense of loss, because she wasn’t tired and would have loved him to stay and talk to her, relaxed as they had been. And she was shocked by her growing need to know what had. happened to Jess’s mother and her urge to ask a simple question: was he happy?
CHAPTER SIX
HELICOPTERS were no novelty to Francesca, but sitting beside Raefe as he flew one was. He looked so completely at home and he inspired enormous confidence. She and Jess were tucked in side by side, and both wore headphones to minimise the noise and so they could hear what Raefe was saying
He gave Francesca a guided tour of some of the huge reefs in the area, which lightened the water to turquoise as they rose roughly circular and oval from the depths, then coloured it mottled pink and
brown before they finally broke through with splashes of golden sand.
It was, on that clear, still Sunday, a wonderland. And so was Paradise Island—not its real name, but a name bestowed on it by the Stevensen family.
They hovered, then settled on a white beach enclosed by its own reef and spent a couple of hours snorkelling amongst the coral—Jess had her own small flippers and mask; Francesca used a set belonging to Sarah.
Then they found a Shady patch of beach and broke out the picnic lunch.
‘It is like paradise, Francesca murmured, with a cold chicken drumstick in her hand.
Raefe finished his lunch and stretched out on a blanket on the sand, propped on his elbow. ‘Uh-huh. I particularly like your potato salad, Chessie.’
‘Chessie’s going to give me cooking lessons—aren’t you, Chessie?’ Jess said importantly.
Francesca glanced a little warily at Raefe, but his eyes were on his daughter and he said easily, ‘Well, you’d better ask her to teach you how to make potato salad—or is that a little advanced?’ He switched his grey gaze to Francesca.
‘Perhaps. I thought we’d start with biscuits.’
‘And I’ll be sure not to forget the chocolate chips, like Chessie did the other day,’ Jess put in mischievously.
Their gazes stayed locked, Francesca’s and Raefe’s, and it was as if a shadow had been cast over the day for a moment, until he sat up and said mildly, ‘That could have been my fault. Well, girls, I’m sorry to have to end our picnic a little prematurely, but I see some clouds on the horizon that could mean rain.’
Jess pouted, but he stood up in one fluid movement, and picked her up and tickled her until she giggled helplessly, and when he put her down she was restored to her usual good humour.
Francesca, on the other hand, on top of what had been a difficult night, turned away with her heart beating heavily. Because there was suddenly just too much to bear about Raefe Stevenson in a pair of dark green board shorts and nothing else.
It did rain, not long after they’d landed, and the rest of the afternoon was spent quietly.
They had the remains of the picnic for an early dinner, then Francesca remembered the Browns’ menagerie and drove down on her own, because Jess was looking really sleepy.
For some reason she took her time about it in the rainy dusk. There was no one else around—no sign of life in the other two cottages or the shed—and she concluded that, it being a Sunday afternoon, the other hands must have decided to drive the sixty miles to the nearest pub.
She borrowed a yellow mac printed with white daisies from a peg on the wall and went around the veranda and outhouses of the head stockman’s cottage, finding all Barbara’s beloved pot plants—she was an avid grower of anything that grew in pots, including herbs, aloe vera, et cetera, and had them tucked away in unlikely spots to protect them from the fierce heat of the sun.
Well, they might as well all get a good drink, Francesca thought. Then she decided to put the rain streaming down from above to further good use and, when all the pets had finished eating, found an old scrubbing brush and scoured all their bowls with rain water.
By this time her hair was plastered to her head, a dark, indistinguishable colour, and she’d discarded her shoes—and she was aware of just why she was taking so much time. Anything to delay going back to the homestead and Raefe. But as the .dark closed in she could find nothing else to do, and she walked up the veranda steps, closed the front door, and then, as she turned, got the fright of her life when a large, indistinct figure appeared seemingly from nowhere in front of her.
‘Who…?’ she tried to say, but her voice refused to work as she peered through the gloo
m.
‘As if you don’t know,’ a strange voice replied, and in the next moment she was gathered into a strong pair of arms and completely enveloped by a huge man who started to kiss her. urgently.
She struggled, but it was like trying to fight off a bear; all she succeeded in achieving was to make him lose his footing, but he went down with her in his arms, and they lay on the veranda, winded for a moment.
Then the stranger lifted his head to speak against her hair, his voice quivering with emotion and passion. ‘Don’t fight me—I won’t hurt you. Why won’t you believe me? I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment we first met and you laughed at me. But I’m not only after sex with you—I promise you that. Why—?’
‘This is all very affecting,’ as cool, cutting voice broke in—Raefe’s. ‘But you have half an hour to get off this property, mate. As for you… .’ The yellow light of a torch shone directly into Francesca’s eyes, blinding her before it moved slightly. ‘Well, I don’t have to tell you what I think of you,’ he said with utter contempt.
And he swung round, strode to his Land Rover, in which he must have driven up while she was unsuccessfully fighting off her would-be lover, got in and drove off with a roar in the direction of the homestead.
The unnatural silence left in his wake was broken eventually by the man, still with his arms around Francesca, although he’d manoeuvred them up to a sitting position on the top step. ‘Who are you?’ he said. ‘And why are you wearing her raincoat?’
Francesca glanced down at the vivid yellow plastic with its brave white daisies discernible even in the dark. Then she noticed a pair of very large feet on the next step, attached to someone you might well describe as being built like an ox. And she closed her eyes as she was attacked by an insane desire to giggle hysterically.
‘D-don’t worry about who I am—you wouldn’t go by the name of Jericho, by any chance?’
‘That’s me,’ the big young man agreed. ‘I thought you were Annette.’
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