by Daphne Clair
He dropped his hand and watched her trying to smooth her hair. She said, 'I left my comb in the bach.'
'Never mind. It suits you like that.'
Catherine wrung out some of the excess water and pinned her hair up again in a loose- casual knot.
'Bet you didn't bring any sunscreen lotion, did you?' Russel asked.
'Bet you didn't either.'
He reached over to his shorts and brought a small plastic bottle out of the pocket. 'You just lost that one,' he said. 'I'll do your back.'
She leaned forward while he stroked the cool lotion on to her skin, lifting the bikini strap momentarily while his fingers trailed underneath it. His touch was pleasant and impersonal, and when he had finished he handed her the bottle and she anointed the rest of her body.
'What about you?' she asked, handing back the lotion.
He smoothed some on his shoulders and chest, but didn't ask her to do his back, and she didn't offer. When she turned on her stomach, resting her head on her arms, he said, 'Want your strap undone?'
'Mm, spose so,' she murmured sleepily, starting to move.
it's okay,' he said. 'I'll do it for you.'
He was quick and efficient. It was a simple hook, but she wondered at his deftness. He settled back beside her and they lay in silence for a long while, enjoying the warmth, the soft sand, the persistent boom and wash of the sea.
Catherine was half asleep when Russel murmured in her ear, 'We ought to get out of the sun. Feel like another swim?'
She muttered a protest, and he laughed and placed his hand on her nape, the thumb stroking firmly at the groove behind her ear. 'Come on, wake up.
You could get sunstroke.'
'Beast!' She began to turn over, remembered her undone strap and was suddenly wide awake as she felt his hand move down her back, caressingly.
Then he was hooking the strap together again.
'Come on,' he said. 'Race you to the water.'
He had a head start on her, but he waited at the edge of the waves, and she plunged in and stood waist-deep and used her hands to splash water at him.
He came after her, laughing, and picked her up with remarkable ease to throw her in a tangle of arms and legs and loosened hair into the next wave as it foamed towards the shore. She came up with the light of battle in her eyes and managed to duck him once before she found herself held helpless and begging for mercy as he threatened to retaliate. He looked down at her laughing, wriggling and panting in his arms, and she saw his face change and stopped struggling, her heart suddenly lurching, her head jerking back automatically in denial.
It lasted only a moment. Russel said, 'All right, I'll let you off this once,'
and let her go, grinning at her as she fell back in the water.
She made a face at him, grateful that he hadn't spoiled it. She liked him so much, and this was fun. Such lovely, innocent fun, nothing to feel guilty about, nothing that she would have to conceal from Jason ...
There was nothing to be ashamed of. For a moment Russ had been tempted to kiss her—any man would probably have felt the same, with a squirming, scarcely covered young woman held in his arms. She supposed she shouldn't have allowed that horseplay, she wouldn't tempt him again, it wasn't f a i r .. .
She had never had much chance to indulge in that kind of harmless play with a man. She had been so young when she met Jason, there had been no real boy-friends for her before him, and he wasn't a boy, but a man. She had, always tried to be adult for him, to meet him oh his own level.
They ran back up the "beach to collect the towels. Russel wrapped his shorts in his, and went up the path ahead of her, holding her hand and laughing at her efforts to keep up while his thongs slipped wildly about on her wet and sand-dusted feet. At the top she kicked them off, picked them up and ran across the crisp buffalo grass to the bach. He came in behind her and asked, 'Would you like a shower?'
But she was looking at the kitchen clock that stood on the windowsill above the sink, crying in horror, 'Is that the time? I can't I'll have to get dressed.
Russ ---'
'Okay, I'm going!' He backed out, his hands before him in mock defence.
Catherine threw off the bikini and pulled on her underclothes, hastily dragging on her dress and sliding the zip up as far as she could before rubbing the sand from her feet with the towel, reddening the skin, and thrusting on her sandals. She pulled a comb from her bag and dragged it roughly through the tangles in her hair, leaving it loose because she had lost all the pins by now. She stuffed the towel and bikini into the canvas holdall and opened the door.
Russel was leaning against the porch, turning to smile at her. 'All ready?'
'Yes. I'm sorry I have to rush. I hadn't realised——'
'Will hubby be looking for his dinner?'
it isn't that. He won't know where I am, and he'll worry.'
'Had a good day?'
'Yes, very. Thank you, Russ.'
'Thank you. I enjoyed it, too. Come again.'
Catherine stepped off the little porch, not looking at him, and he caught her arm as she passed him, his grip light but firm. 'No strings,' he said. 'I promise.'
She smiled at him gratefully. 'Maybe I will,' she said. 'But next time you must let me help. I'll work for my dinner.'
'I'll hold you to that.' He released her arm and came beside her, accompanying her down the path. She unlocked the car and slid in, grimacing at the heat that had been locked in all this time. He closed the door and she wound the window down before starting the ignition. Russel stepped back, then leaned forward again and said, 'Don't drive too fast, Cathy. Your husband might worry, but he'll be glad to see you home in one piece.'
'I'll be careful.' The engine turned over, and he stood back again waving as she turned and made off down the sandy road.
She was late, but Jason was, too. He was standing at the door of the house just fitting his key in the lock when she arrived, and he waited while she garaged her car and picked up the holdall and joined him on the doorstep, where he now had the door standing wide.
'Hello,' he said. 'I thought you'd be getting on your glad rags. Sorry I'm late.'
He put his hand on her waist and kissed her briefly, his lips cool and firm.
Catherine went ahead of him into the house, feeling his eyes on her as she passed him, very conscious of her salt-dried, still slightly dishevelled hair, and the grains of sand that she could feel between her toes, as well as her total lack of make-up in spite of the elegant dress.
She had her back to him as he closed the door, and then he came behind her and tugged up her zip the couple of inches that she hadn't had time to reach at the bach.
'Thanks,' she said, 'but you needn't bother. I'll be taking it off to have a shower in a minute, anyway.'
'Well, in that case . . .' Jason said insinuatingly, and slid the zip down again, all the way. His hands came about her waist inside the dress, and his lips teased her shoulder. Catherine went rigid, and she felt him still suddenly, noticing. He lifted his head and moved away from her.
'You'd better hurry,' he said. 'I've booked a table for eight o'clock.'
'I think you'd better cancel it,' she said.
'What?'
'I don't think I want to go out tonight, thank you.' Her voice was brittle.
'Look,' said Jason, 'if you're annoyed because of lunch, it's understandable, but don't you think you're being rather silly and childish?'
'Because for once I've failed to fall in with your plans? It may have escaped your notice, but I've only just arrived home too. I just don't feel like dashing about in this heat getting ready to go out again in order to salve your guilty conscience. Anyway, I'll have to wash my hair, it's full of sand and sea water. I can't go out with it like this, and by the time it's dry it will be too late.'
'You've been to the beach?'
'Yes, I spent the day on the beach ---' She was going to add—with another man—because since they had come in she had felt the anger boiling
inside her, and she had a sudden desire to hurt him, to show him that although he had let her down, it hadn't been hard to find another male companion. The savagery of her own emotion stopped her, when she realised what she was about to do—use her day with Russel as a cheap weapon in a quarrel with her husband. She wouldn't do that. On all counts it was a mean and vicious tactic.
She didn't say it. Instead she said, 'I'm tired. I'll make us something to eat when I've had a shower.'
But to her surprise, when she came out of the bedroom dressed in a cool cotton caftan, her hair partly blow-dried and pinned back behind her ears, Jason had taken command of the kitchen.
'Sit down,' he said firmly, when she tried to take over. 'You said you're tired, and I'm not helpless.'
He was frying ham steaks, from a pack that had been in the freezer, and he broke two eggs into the pan and added tinned pineapple rings, sliding them on to plates with some leftover potato salad. He put one in front of her and said, 'Wait a minute.'
Bemused, Catherine watched him fetch two long-stemmed glasses and a bottle of white wine. 'You never cook,' she commented, as he put down a glass by her plate and poured wine into it.
'You never let me,' he said mildly. 'I used to cook for myself before I married you. How do you suppose I survived all those years?'
She had supposed that he ate out or from tins, or got girl-friends to cook for him when he was tired of doing that. She knew he had moved out of his parents' home when he was twenty or so. And of course it wasn't true to say he never cooked. When she had been feeling queasy during her pregnancies, he had managed to fend for himself quite often, but she had not seen the results, asking for only dry toast and tea for herself until she felt able to face the sight of food again.
This was the second time today that a man had made a meal for her. It was getting to be habit, she thought, smiling.
'What do you mean, I never let you?' she asked, as they began to eat.
'I remember you shooting me from the kitchen very firmly when we were first married,' he said, taking a sip of his wine. 'You told me the kitchen was your domain, in no uncertain terms.'
'Did I?' She hadn't remembered that, but she had certainly been eager to prove her prowess as a cook, to impress him with her efficiency as a housewife. She had been anxious to live up to his mother's standards.
'Mind you,' said Jason, 'I have to admit I was glad to let you take over.
Cooking isn't my favourite occupation.'
When they had finished the steaks he opened a can of peaches and poured the contents into dishes, topping them with a dollop of ice cream from the freezer. 'Who says I can't cook?' he demanded.
Catherine shook her head, smiling faintly. As she spooned up the smooth, sweet fruit, he said, 'I really am sorry about the lunch, but it was unavoidable. You see ---'
'It's all right,' she said stiffly, 'I'm sure whatever it was, was important.'
'Yes, it was. I want to tell you ---'
'Please don't.'
'But Catherine—'
The icy rage was welling again, she would scream, throw something at him.
It was impossible, ridiculous, but that was how she felt. She didn't want to know the precise details of the business crisis that had kept him. She had begun to regain her normal calm, she didn't want this tentative peace shattered. She probably wouldn't be able to judge the importance of whatever it was, anyway. Jason's work was very specialised, very complicated, and, as much of it was confidential as well, there were large gaps in her knowledge of what he did.
She looked up at him, and said fiercely, 'I don't want to hear! Just leave it, please! '
His frown was nonplussed. 'All right. I don't understand you ---'
She laughed, a brief derision. 'No, you don't.' Jason pushed away his plate and said, his voice hard. 'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Nothing. I'm sorry, I don't want to start a quarrel. I'm tired.'
Who was she to accuse Jason of not understanding her, anyway? she thought. She didn't even understand herself.
'You've been tired a lot, lately, haven't you?'
She thought she detected some sarcasm in his tone, but when he added,
'You'd better have an early night,' she could see in his expression nothing but a faint weariness. 'I'll get the coffee,' he said, getting up to make it.
He even did the dishes, insisting that he needed no help. He made her sit on the long sofa in the lounge, listlessly watching the television, while he cleaned up the kitchen. Later he joined her, and after a time he pulled her to him with an arm about her shoulders, and began to press light, warm kisses on her temple and cheek, wandering to her mouth. He paused then, his lips touching hers, before he began to part them with an insistent, restless movement of his mouth. Catherine let him do what he wanted, her eyes closed, her body slack against him. His hand on her breast stirred pleasurable sensations, and she let her mouth open a little further under the gentle exploration of his. He moved and picked her up, carrying her to the darkened bedroom, laying her down on the bed.
She stayed there inertly, waiting for him to join her, ready to snuggle into the hard, warm familiarity of his body, to let him gradually overcome the lethargy that held her and build the tiny spark he had started into a passionate blaze. Then she felt his lips feather across her brow, and he pulled the blankets from under her to spread them over her body in the thin caftan. 'Goodnight, my sweet,' she heard him murmur, then the door closed behind him.
She felt slow, hot tears well behind her lids and seep on to the pillow. She lay very still, and when the tears had stopped she drifted into sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
When next Catherine went to Russel's bach, she was wearing shorts and a plain button-through blouse over her bikini, and sneakers on her feet.
She stopped in the open doorway, looking for him, hearing nothing. She called his name, and when he didn't answer she went in slowly, feeling a little like an intruder, telling herself he wouldn't mind. She put the basket she was carrying on the little table, and looked about. The sawhorse was still there, and the smell of new wood, but the lining was finished. She wandered out to the doorway again, saw that Russel had begun building the deck, not far off the ground, resting on thick four-by-two joists, a few planks already nailed into position. It would be sunny, but in the afternoon one of the scraggy kanukas would shade it, its small aromatic leaves making a pattern of light and shade on the boards, and it had a great view of the sea.
As she stood there he appeared suddenly from the cliff path, his skin glistening with drops of salt water, his hair sleek and damp.
'Cathy!' he exclaimed, and came towards her, breathing a little hard. 'I thought I heard something—have you been here long?'
He was smiling, and she smiled back, glad because he seemed glad to see her. 'I've just arrived,' she told him. 'You're shirking.'
He put a wet arm about her, guiding her into the house.
'Smoke time,' he said. 'Give me a break. I've been working since six this morning.'
'I take it back.' Catherine laughed as he dropped his arm and went to pick up his shorts from the camp bed. 'I can see you've been making progress. It looks good.'
He glanced around. 'A coat of paint next,' he told her. 'I've done the ceiling.' He grimaced and held his neck, groaning in reminiscence. 'You any good with a paintbrush?'
'I haven't had much experience,' she admitted. 'But I've come to work, this time.'
On his way to the rear door, he grinned at her. 'I'll keep you to that. Won't be long.'
He didn't give her a paintbrush, but a foam plastic roller, a shallow tin dish and some ice blue vinyl paint. He left her to use them while he returned to nailing planks on to the deck outside. She soon got the feel of it, and enjoyed making long sweeps with the roller, seeing the paint flow on thick and bubbly, then gradually smoothing as she went over it, spreading the colour until it covered the greyish wallboard in a thin coat.
'Is it all right?' she asked Russel ap
prehensively when he came in and stood surveying the two and a half walls she had done.
He seemed surprised at her uncertainty. 'Terrific,' he assured her. 'One more coat and it'll be perfect.'
Another one?' Catherine moaned in mock dismay.
'This stuff dries very fast,' he said solemnly, and they both laughed.
Russel said, 'I'll get us something to eat.'
'No,' she said. 'I brought food with me.'
He watched as she lifted the folded towel from the top of the basket on the table, and removed the clean tea-towel beneath it, revealing a whole cold roasted chicken, bread rolls, a lettuce, boiled eggs and tomatoes. And lying on the bottom with an ice pad, a bottle of white wine.
He was bending close now, looking, smiling. 'Hey, that's great! I'm suddenly starving. Let's take it outside, away from this paint smell.'
They ate on the half-finished deck, leaning against the wall of the house, their legs stretched out before them. Afterwards they sat talking for a while until Catherine packed the leftovers up and took them inside, and when she had finished the walls she went out to help him while the paint dried.
He nailed on the last plank, and subsided, panting theatrically, on the new deck. 'A cold drink, and then a swim,' he decreed. 'We deserve it.'
They dived into the surf together, and this time Catherine was careful to avoid teasing him. As they lay on the sand later, he touched a finger to a wavy white line on her thigh, just below the bikini pants. 'What's that?'
She shifted quickly, and he took his hand away. 'A stretch mark,' she said.
'I don't have many, but-—'
'From having babies?'
'Yes.'
'You're so slim, I can hardly believe it. You don't have any marks on your tummy.'
She moved again, restlessly, under his inspection. 'Stop it, Russ! You're embarrassing me.'
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to.'
His apology was so sincere, she stopped being embarrassed and smiled at him.
'What's it like, having children?' he asked her.