by Daphne Clair
'Something's come up .. . Can we make it tomorrow instead? . . . I'm sorry .. . I'll make it up to you, I promise ... It can't be helped ... I know it's disappointing for y o u . .. I know you'll understand.. . I'll take you out to dinner . .. Dining and dancing—you'll like that.
'Something's come up .. . ' He hadn't even told her what the something was.
Some business hitch, obviously. Was it serious, that he had stood her up for it? Or did he just think that breaking a date with his wife didn't matter, even if the 'something' was some trivial little problem that could have waited until tomorrow?
Unfair. Jason wouldn't have done that to her for nothing. Whatever it was, he must have thought it was important. More important than her?
'Can we make it tomorrow, instead. .. ' Why ever not? He knew her days were empty, one was as good as another. Even if she had had a committee meeting or a hospital visiting day, they wouldn't clash with his lunch time.
' I know it's disappointing for you . .. ' He'd sounded sorry for her, wasn't that something? What about him? Was he disappointed, too? Or merely sorry that she had missed out on a treat he had planned for her? He'd kept saying he was sorry .. .
'I know you'll understand. ..' Well, he was wrong there. She hadn't felt at all understanding, she had felt enraged and humiliated.
'I'll take you out to dinner tonight… ' As though she was Jenny, needing an extra treat to make up for one she had missed out on. As though she was a child ...
She hadn't reacted like a child, not visibly. She had been cool and adult and
'understanding' and told him it didn't matter.
And put down the receiver shaking with rage. Because it did matter.
Somehow it mattered dreadfully. Why should he think that he could just casually make a date with her and equally casually break it? Why should he be so sure she would take it without making a fuss, accept his apology, agree to make it another time, feel grateful that he was offering her dinner and dancing to compensate?
'Because you're his wife, that's why!' she muttered to herself, her teeth clenched. Because wives were assumed to be able to take it, to be used to being pushed aside for more urgent matters, to being relegated to the less important side of their husbands' lives, to being taken for granted.That's the way things are, Catherine reflected bitterly. You're married, you're supposed to understand when your husband has to break his promise to you, when he doesn't have time for you, when he's tired and irritable and unreasonable.
Unreasonable ... But wasn't she the one being unreasonable? Making a drama out of a simple little cancelled lunch. It wasn't even an anniversary, or anything special. They could just as easily do the very same thing on any other day. Why was she so upset, so angry?
'I don't know!' she murmured, her hands gripping the wheel as the car began the descent to the coast road. But there was no denying that she was
—that the broken promise was a trigger for a whole lot of buried resentments coming to the surface in a gigantic, cataclysmic wave of anger.
CHAPTER FOUR
She had to park the car and walk the last two hundred yards to the bach, along a narrow, high path bordered by stiff marram grass and dark flax rearing six feet high. The small house stood on a slope overlooking the sea, the wide, flat, dun- coloured beach and the lazy rollers swinging into the long sweep of shoreline. A few tough, twisted trees snuggled about it, and as she drew near she could hear the sound of whistling and hammering.
She stopped for a minute to admire the view, the sunlight making diamonds in the water, and the white clouds spreading feathery strands across acres of blue. She couldn't walk fast because she had forgotten to change from her high-heeled sandals, donned for lunch in town with little walking, and the path was littered with small, flinty stones poking out of the sand.
She hitched the canvas bag on to her shoulder and turned to look again at the bach. It was small, sturdy-looking and new, a board and corrugated iron construction, simply shaped, the roof sloping from the sea view towards the hillside behind. She walked further up the path, on to a little porch, and peered into the open doorway. As she did so, the hammering and whistling stopped abruptly and a violent swear-word sliced the warm air.
Catherine laughed, her eyes searching the dim interior. Vaguely she could discern a room with a camp bed in one corner, a saw-horse in the middle of the floor and a pile of lining board stacked beside it. Across from her was a step-ladder, withRussel sitting on the top step, holding a hammer in one hand and looking disgustedly at a jagged crack in the piece of board he had just fastened.
His head turned at her laughter, and with her eyes becoming accustomed to the change from the sun's brightness, Catherine caught his blank look of surprise when he saw her.
Suddenly diffident, she stood silently in the doorway, wondering if he had regretted his invitation, if he had not really meant her to come. The blank look disconcerted her. Then he jumped lightly down from the ladder, placing the hammer on one of the steps, and advanced towards her. 'I'm seeing things, aren't I?' he said. 'I don't remember hitting my head.'
His eyes travelled thoroughly from her swept-up hair over the pretty summer dress to the unsuitable sandals, and he shook his head, beginning to smile disbelievingly.
'Do you mind?' Catherine asked. 'You did say to come.'
'Mind? If you're a dream, just don't let me wake up,' he said. 'Not yet.'
He wore only a dusty pair of denim shorts, and he was tanned and sweating slightly on his shoulders and chest. He looked down at himself and grimaced. 'If I'd known you were coming, I'd have cleaned up a bit,' he said. 'I've got a sort of shower arrangement out the back. Make yourself at home and I'll go and wash off some of this dust.'
He swept a pile of clothes off a kitchen chair that stood by a small table near a portable gas stove and small sink bench. 'Sit down,' he invited. His eyes went over her again as she moved into the room, a smile hovering on his mouth. Afraid that she might have given him a wrong impression, she said quickly, 'I don't usually go to the beach dressed like this. It was an impulse. I was supposed to be having lunch in town.'
He nodded, as though the explanation was the most natural in the world. 'I won't be long,' he promised, extracting a clean pair of shorts from the pile of clothing in his arms, and tossing the rest on the bed, before disappearing through a door at the rear of the room.
He came back wearing the clean shorts, his hair darkened with water, and two drink cans in his hands. 'I thought you might be a lemonade girl,' he said, 'but there's beer if you want it.'
'A shandy,' said Catherine, 'if you don't mind.'
'A shandy it is.' He found two glasses and poured straight beer for himself and a mixture of beer and lemonade for her. 'There.' He leaned on the table and smiled down at her as she sipped the refreshing liquid.
'Mm. How do you keep it cold?' she asked.
'There's a little trickle of a stream just up the hill. I have to boil the water for drinking, but it's a good place to keep the drinks cool. Why did you come?'
She looked up at him warily, and then down into her glass. 'You invited me.
And I wanted to come.'
'Did you stand up your lunch date?'
'Oh, no. I got stood up. So I was at a loose end, you see. It seemed a good opportunity.'
She smiled at him, her voice deliberately light, but the smile wavered a little as she met his gaze. It was grave, and too knowing.
Then he grinned at her, dispelling the gravity, and lifted his glass to his lips. 'I'm glad,' he said, as he lowered it again. 'Gives me a perfect excuse to take the rest of the day off and entertain my guest.'
'Don't let me stop you!' she protested. 'Can't I hold nails or something?'
'In that outfitr 'I did bring a bikini.'
'Now that would be too distracting. I'd be hitting my thumb instead of the nails.'
'Next time I'll wear overalls.'
He didn't answer, and there was a tiny silence as she carefully sipped her d
rink. Her nerves were jumping.
'Do you like canned bean salad?' he asked.
'What? Yes, I think so.'
'I was thinking of opening one for my lunch,' he explained.
'Oh, I'm sorry! I should have brought something ---'
'Rot. I don't expect visitors to bring their victuals with them. I've got tomatoes and some tinned lamb tongues, too. Suit you?'
'It sounds lovely. Are you sure you can spare them?'
'Don't worry—I'm well stocked up. And I brought my car. You must have seen it down the track there. If I run out it's only ten minutes to the nearest store. Let's eat, and then I'll take you down to the beach.'
He wouldn't let her help, and she went on drinking her shandy, watching him find plates and open cans, and then slice a couple of tomatoes on to the plates alongside the portions of tongue and salad. He seemed very competent.
As she finished the drink he put one of the plates in front of her and said,
'It might not be up to an Auckland restaurant, but it's all you're getting.'
'Don't apologise. It looks delicious.'
She ate with an appetite that surprised her. marriage under fire Afterwards, Russel put the dishes into a bowl, and offered a cup of tea which she refused, and a fresh banana which she accepted.
He took the skin from her and disposed of it into a plastic lidded bin under the sink, then straightened up to smile at her. 'Better?' he asked gently.
Catherine avoided his eyes, and said lightly, 'Much, thank you. I hadn't realised how hungry I was.'
After a moment he asked. 'Feel like going down to the beach?'
'Yes, please.'
'We won't swim until our lunch has a chance to settle, but you could put on that bikini now . Shall I go outside?'
She glanced up at him, saw the question in his eyes, and said. 'Thank you. I won't keep you waiting long.'
His mouth quirked with understanding, and he went out, closing the door.
Catherine tucked the towel about her, sarong- style, after changing, and went to join him. 'How do we get down there?' she asked him. 'I had to wear my shoes on your path, because of the stones, but they're hardly suitable for cliff climbing.'
it isn't exactly a cliff climb, but the path is steep. I'll get you a pair of rubber thongs. They'll be too big for you, but they should help.'
They both laughed when she slid them on. She negotiated the path slowly, clutching at Russel's hand so that he could steady her when her ridiculous footwear threatened to desert her. On the soft sand at last, she shed the thongs with relief, digging her toes into the gritty warmth with a long
'Mmm' of purely sensuous enjoyment as she closed her eyes, lifting her face to the sun and breathing in the salty breeze from the sea. marriage under fire 'You do love it, don't you?' Russel sounded amused, and she opened her eyes and found him watching her with a faint smile, his eyes warm with laughter.
'I told you I do,' she reminded him, looking about her at the broad stretch of sand, the breakers swelling and foaming in deep restless waves. The beach was almost deserted, only a couple of fishermen casting in the distance, and a family group sitting under a large striped umbrella in the other direction.
They walked along the beach side by side, not touching, taking small side excursions to investigate a shell tumbling up on to the sand on the last lick of a wave, a spotted jellyfish quivering glassily on the sand at the tidemark or a heap of glistening seaweed left behind by a receding curve of water.
Catherine's hair began to escape in long tendrils from its careful pins, and she pushed it out of her eyes as they walked, while Russel watched, still with that warm laughter in his eyes.
They sat down for a while, half reclining against a soft dune of sand, gazing at the hypnotic beauty of the sea, its blue merging on the horizon with the blue of the sky so that only a faint shimmer betrayed the dividing line.
Catherine drifted sand through her fingers, staring down at her hands, a faint frown emphasising the brooding look on her face. She knew when Russel shifted his eyes from the seascape and the sky, and turned to her instead. She moved, dusting the sand from her fingers, drawing up her knees to wrap her arms about her legs, staring out again to the horizon.
Quietly, Russel said, 'Want to tell me about it?'
She stiffened. 'About what?'
'Don't pull wool with me, Cathy. Tell me to mind my own business if you like. But don't pretend there's nothing wrong. You're all wound up as tight as a clock spring. And you didn't come here just to admire the scenery. You were running.'
Why must he be so damned perceptive? 'I didn't come here to bare my troubles to you,' she said.
'Look, I'm glad you came, no matter why. But you're unhappy, and I'm a friend—aren't I?'
She turned her head and looked at him searchingly. 'Is that what you are, Russ?'
'If that's what you want.'
She dipped her head, running her fingers over the wayward strands that persisted in flying across her face. With a small bitter smile, she said, 'Do you think I need a friend?'
'Looks like it to me. What happened, Cathy?'
She felt sudden tears prick at her eyelids, and shook her head, bewilderedly. 'Nothing, really. It's stupid. My husband and I had a date for lunch. He couldn't make it. That's all. Nothing to make a fuss about.'
'So why are you hurt?'
'Hurt? I don't know if I'm hurt. I was angry— furiously angry. It's so silly.
So childish.'
'We're all entitled to be childish now and then. So you had a row over a trivial let-down. Doesn't it happen all the time, in marriages?'
'We didn't have a row. I told him not to worry, not to apologise—he thanked me for understanding. And I put down the phone and I wanted to scream, throw things, break something.'
'Like his neck?'
She grinned faintly. 'Yes. Only he wasn't there.'
'So you came to see me instead. To get your own back?'
She stared at him. 'No!' Then, more uncertainly, trying to be honest, she said, 'No, I don't think so. I just wanted to get away—go somewhere. I remembered you'd be here, and I came. Do you mind?'
'You asked me that before. No, I don't mind. For a lady with so much going for her, you're very insecure, aren't you?'
'Am I? I don't know. Is it insecure to get so upset about a thing like that?'
'Depends. Why were you so upset, do you think?'
'I don't know! I think ---' She frowned, concentrating, attempting to analyse her feelings. '—it wasn't just that he had to break our arrangement. It was
—it felt like a last straw, and yet I can't think of another instance where the same thing happened—or anything similar. Oh, it must be me! Maybe it's not having the children around—I'm being over-sensitive.'
'Maybe.' Russel sounded enigmatic, almost sceptical. 'And maybe it's a symptom of something deeper. Something that's been going on for a long time.'
'Like what?'
'Like-—your unhappiness in your marriage.'
Catherine straightened up, her glance at him knife-sharp. 'There's nothing wrong with my marriage!'
'So you keep telling me. Methinks the lady doth protest too much!' he quoted.
'Do you make a habit of telling married women they're unhappy? Is it a successful line?'
She knew immediately that she had made him blazingly angry. But when he spoke his voice was even. 'Do you really believe that?'
Catherine held on to her own anger a moment longer. But his eyes met the challenge in hers, and she said, 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean that.'
Russel touched her hand, a gentle, fleeting contact, then leaned back on his hands, watching her. She looked down, digging her fingers into the soft grains of sand. He was right, of course. There had to be some deeper, more long-standing reason for her exaggerated reaction today. But she couldn't discuss it with Russ. She wouldn't answer any more of his disturbing, probing questions.
As if he was aware of her decision, he refrained from
asking any more. After a while he asked, 'Ready for a swim?'
She nodded, and pulled off the towel sarong as he stood up and shed his shorts, revealing a skimpy, closefitting garment. He had a trim, lithe body, the sprinkling of masculine hair on it slightly darker than that on his head.
He looked good, and she experienced a certain faint satisfaction in the fact.
He caught her eye and gave her a slight grin, his eyes laughing knowingly into hers. Suddenly bold, she made a face at him, disparaging the hint of smugness she detected, and he laughed aloud and took her hand to tug her with him as he ran down the beach to the sea.
The first shock was cold, but once they were in deep enough to swim the water rapidly warmed. They were careful not to go out too far, breasting the waves and turning with them to ride into shore, then swimming out again to deeper water. It was exhilarating, and when they finally came out and collapsed side by side, panting, on the towels, Catherine felt tinglingly alive and refreshed. The shadow that had overlaid the day disappeared, and she rolled over on her back and surveyed the blue sky soaring above her with a smile of sheer pleasure.
Russel propped himself on his elbow beside her. 'Good?'
She transferred her smile to him. 'Fantastic!'
His eyes slid over her damp, almost naked body. 'You look gorgeous.'
She felt her face stiffen, and sat up, bending her head to take out the remaining pins. 'My hair's a mess,' she said, shaking down the wet strands over her shoulders so that they shielded her face.
Russel moved so that he was beside her, pushing back the inadequate veil, his fingers brushing her cheek. 'You paid me a compliment the other night.
Why can't I pay you one?'
His face bent close to hers, his smile tolerant. She looked at him with a slight effort, and said, 'No reason. Thank you.'