by Gloria Bevan
‘Your funds are running low?’
She looked up, surprised. ‘Now how did you know that?’
He chuckled. ‘The free meal today, remember?’
She laughed. ‘But you don’t seem to understand. I don’t know a thing about real cooking. Just simple things I whipped up at the flat for Mary and me.’
He waved her misgivings aside. ‘What the heck? You’ll soon pick it up. Come on, give it a go!’ There was an urgency about his tone that puzzled her. ‘It’s only for three months, after all.’
It was true, she thought. The job wasn’t going to last for ever, and surely she could manage somehow. Two nice quiet elderlies. Probably they would be out working on the farm all day and there would be only one main meal to prepare in the evenings. A sheep farm ... they would be sure to live on mutton. All she need do would be to throw a roast in the oven each day or two.
‘Ever done any riding, Lanie?’ The masculine tones cut through her musing.
She raised a sparkling face. ‘Have I ever? I love it. Of course I’ve only had weekends to ride. I don’t even own a horse, but my friend Mary used to let me exercise her mare and ride at shows.’
‘Swags of room to ride up in the hills at Kangimarie!’
Her face was alight with interest. ‘I’d like that!’ Her voice dropped to a puzzled note. ‘Don’t any experienced cooks want to work in the country?’ she asked.
‘We’re a long way from civilisation, way back in the hills and fairly isolated. That means no social life to speak of, not much in the way of days off—’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind that!’ Lanie’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. ‘It would all be new to me. If only—’
‘You can practice on us. Sheep-farmers are a notoriously tough breed. We can take it.’
All at once she decided to take his advice and throw it over to fate. Her eyes were shining. ‘I’ll do it!’
‘That’s the spirit! Shake on it!’ Jim Sanderson extended a sinewy arm and Lanie was about to grasp his extended hand when his arm fell limply and his head drooped. There was a grey tinge creeping around his mouth and she barely caught the words that fell from his lips. ‘Pills ... pocket.’
It all happened so swiftly that she acted compulsively. In a second she had leaped from her seat and was bending over him, feeling in the breast pocket of his jacket. With trembling fingers she found a small cardboard box, opened it and forced a pill between his lips. Thank heaven he retained consciousness sufficiently to swallow it, she thought, supporting him in her arms. After a moment or two a tinge of colour returned to his face and his eyelids fluttered open. His gaze focussed on her anxious face. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, ‘I must have flaked out for a moment.’
‘You did! You gave me an awful fright, but luckily you told me you carried medication on you, and that was such a relief! Would you like me to call a doctor? There’ll be a phone handy?’
‘Lord no!’ For a moment he looked distressed. ‘Don’t do that whatever you do!’ He went on in a calmer tone, ‘All I need is half an hour’s rest and I’ll be as good as new. I get these turns once in a while—a damned nuisance, but they don’t last.’
‘Let me take you back to your hotel, then?’
‘No!’ the word came explosively, ‘that’s the last thing I want! Not with Jard due back there at any moment!’
Lanie said, puzzled, ‘But surely your partner will understand?’
‘He won’t get the chance.’ His lips were set in a determined line. ‘Not if I can help it!’
All at once she became aware of groups drifting towards the open doorway. ‘Come along with me, then, and you can rest at the flat.’ A taxi fare to the other end of town where she rented a modest bedsitter would make further inroads on her slender resources, but what matter?
Placing a guiding hand on Jim Sanderson’s arm, she accompanied him to the lift and luckily, she thought, for her companion still looked rather groggy, she managed to flag down a taxi immediately. She helped him up the stairs and into her bedsitter, then flung open the windows with their view of the busy port of Auckland, while Jim Sanderson dropped thankfully down to a low couch. Lanie covered him with a light rug. ‘How about a cuppa?’ she suggested gently.
‘Just what I need.’ He spoke with closed eyes. Moving into the tiny kitchen, she switched on the electric jug, but when she returned to the other room he was breathing deeply. Lanie let him sleep. Standing by the open window, she stared out to the sun-sparkled water where overseas liners lay alongside their berths. The suddenness of Jim Sanderson’s heart attack, if that was what it had been, had driven everything else from her mind, but now she recalled his offer of a cooking job in the country. Would he mention it again when he awoke from sleep? she wondered.
As he had told her, half an hour’s rest was all he needed to recover from the attack. He got to his feet, running a hand over tousled hair. ‘Good of you to bother with me. Sorry to be such a nuisance.’ All at once he was eyeing her with, his penetrating gaze. ‘Thought any more about that job offer of mine?' His voice took on an eager note. I’m hoping your answer is yes and we can take, you back with us tomorrow. How does that strike you?’
Lanie’s smile lighted up her small face. ‘I think it’s great! Always an enthusiast, she ran on happily. ‘I’ve been looking for a job in the country and you need someone to help out in the kitchen department, so why not?’
He looked incredibly relieved at her words. ‘That’s the spirit, girl! Give it a go, I always say!’
The nice elderly partners must indeed be worried over their lack of staff in their home, she thought, for her companion to look so downright delighted at her acceptance of his offer of employment. If only they realised ... Honestly impelled her to say, ‘I’m not a real cook, but if you don’t mind my practising on you and your partner—’
‘Not a bit. You’ll pick it up in no time, you’ll see.’
Seeing this was exactly the way she felt in the matter herself, Lanie nodded happily. Then a thought struck her. ‘Your partner—he may have found someone suitable at the agency?’
‘Not a hope! Unless they’re working miracles in the employment line.’
‘He won’t mind—about me being young and all that?’
‘Jard? Why should he? It’ll be all the same to him. He’d planned to take someone back with him he didn’t know from Adam, so what’s the difference?’ His lips twisted in a wry grin that she couldn’t fathom. ‘He doesn’t know yet how lucky he is!’
‘Lucky?’
He ignored the questioning note in her voice. ‘You’ll enjoy a spell on the station with us. It’s big country, way back in the hills. We run sheep and cattle on the slopes and I grow maize down on the flats. Lately I’ve been having a go at growing sunflowers as well. Seems there’s a good market for that sort of crop.’
‘It all sounds fantastic!’
‘Could be just what you’re looking for. We pay good wages up at Rangimarie, well above award rates. You’d have decent quarters with a room to yourself, of course—’ He broke off. ‘I’ve just, had a thought. Considering the state of your finances right now,’ his hand went to the breast pocket of his jacket, ‘how about something to go on with?’
‘No—please—’ Lanie stopped him with a determined shake of her head. ‘I’d rather wait until everything is settled.’ She smiled across at him. ‘Not that I can see myself needing much money where I’m going. Are there any shops in the vicinity of Rangimarie?’
‘Sorry, no stores, but not to worry.’ Clearly he was apprehensive that she might change her mind about accepting the position. ‘The boys are always taking a run into town for stores, stockfood, whatever. You won't be too cut off from civilisation.’
‘Boys?’ Alarm bells rang in her mind. ‘Do they live with you?’
‘Lord no. There are a couple of young shepherds on the place,’ he explained. They’ve got single men’s quarters and look after themselves.’
‘Oh!’ She breathed a sigh of relie
f. ‘That’s all right, then.’
‘Right! Is one o’clock tomorrow afternoon okay for us to pick you up?’
‘Oh yes, I’ll be ready. I’ve only got my suitcase to pack—’ She broke off, a hand to her mouth. ‘My electric range, what’ll I do about it?’
‘Bring it along with you. There’s swags of room in the truck. I’ll get an electrician up from town to make the connection in the kitchen and you’re away laughing! Give me the order on the warehouse and I’ll see to it for you,’
Lanie fished in her handbag, then handed him the long envelope.
‘Until tomorrow, then—’ At the doorway he paused. ‘Just one thing. About that little setback of mine today—’ there was an odd evasive note in his voice, ‘I’d be just as happy if you didn’t let on to Jard about what happened today. I get these turns occasionally, but there’s no need for him to know.’
‘I understand just how you feel.’ Lanie’s eyes were sympathetic. ‘I guess,’ she hazarded, ‘that he'd worry about you?’
A grin crossed the lined features. ‘Something like that. So, not a word about my health, agreed?’
‘Oh, you can trust me,’ she assured him warmly. ‘I won’t say a thing!’
‘Goodbye, then,’ his tone deepened, ‘and thanks for what you did today. You helped me a lot.’
‘ ’Bye, Mr. Sanderson—’
‘Make it Sandy,’ he grinned, and was gone.
Left alone, the thoughts tumbled wildly through Lanie’s mind. Events had happened so swiftly. Was this the result of throwing it over to fate? Feeling all at once extraordinarily lighthearted, she set about cancelling her occupancy of the apartment. Then she phoned the few friends who would miss her when she’d gone. Her flatmate Mary was away on honeymoon, but the two other girls whom she contacted, although plainly astonished at Lanie’s sudden decision to take on a cooking job in the country, wished her well. They would write to her, they promised, as soon as they were made aware of her new address.
Her new address! A thrill of excitement ran through her and she began jerking tops, dresses and slacks from hangers in the wardrobe and placing them in her suitcase. Lanie Petersen, she told herself, this is your chance at a whole new way of life! Enjoy!
CHAPTER TWO
Clear bright sunshine, streaming in at the open window, touched Lanie’s face. For a few moments she lay dreaming, then her eyes flew open and as her gaze went to the empty wardrobe, the events of the previous day came rushing back to mind and she leaped from the bed.
She took a quick shower and decided that for the job she was about to take on, clothes were no problem. All she would need would be her well-worn blue denim jeans, thonged sandals and her supply of knitwear tops. She chose a white T-shirt with its printed motif running across the chest: the time to be happy is now. Somehow the words seemed symbolic of the recent change in her fortunes. All at once her spirits were soaring. Could it be the golden morning, or was it the promise of an entirely new way of life, cooking meals for those two nice elderly fanners at their cosy property in the hills? Somehow she felt sure the farm would be of small acreage, just sufficient to keep both men pleasantly occupied. She imagined picture-book green paddocks surrounded by neat white paling fences enclosing a few grazing sheep and cattle, maybe a white goat to keep down the blackberries. The shabby little farm cottage would have tall hollyhocks leaning against the front fence and inside the dwelling there’d be comfortable worn chairs, old walnut chests, pipe racks along the mantel.
She decided that today she wouldn’t use any make-up except for a touch of mascara to darken pale lashes. Her freckles would just have to show. Oh well, the nice elderlies were in need of a woman to cook their meals, heaven help them, not a beauty contest entrant.
She mixed a mug of instant coffee and slid bread into the toaster. Soon she had cleared away the light meal and went book shopping.
As she pushed the new cookery books she had bought an hour ago into her suitcase she reflected that she had everything she needed for her new position, except maybe a sun-hat. After all, it was still summer and she was bound for the country. Oh well, her denim cap would have to do. Planting it at a jaunty angle over her forehead, she pushed away tendrils of bright hair that had escaped from the knot on the top of her head.
A glance in the mirror gave her a disquieting feeling that she didn’t look one bit like a country cook. The term conjured up a plump and matronly-looking woman wearing a crisp white apron. No matter, she would just have to prove her worth, electric range and all! Think of it as a challenge, she encouraged herself. Sandy’s got faith in me and that’s a start. All I have to do now is to get on the right side of that partner of his.
At that moment, alerted by a sound on the street below, she glanced out of the window to see a sturdy utility pulling up outside. The vehicle could have nothing to do with her, she decided, for the driver was a young man, very attractive in a lean, sun-browned sort of way. She pulled aside the curtain, for a second look—she couldn’t help it, for he was the most attractive-looking male she had come across in a long time—that thatch of dark blond hair against the smooth tanned forehead, the strong features and deeply indented chin. But it wasn’t just the way he looked, there was something about him, a vitality, an aliveness, that she could sense even at this distance.
It took her a moment or so to notice his companion, a thin figure seated beside the tall young man. Sandy! Apparently he was putting forward an argument, for he was flinging up work-lined hands, speaking quickly and defensively. Lanie couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was evident that the two were involved in some dispute. But where, she wondered, was the nice elderly partner?
At that moment she glimpsed in the rear of the vehicle a gleam of white. So Sandy had already collected the stove from the warehouse. Whatever the subject of the disagreement it was clear that the argument was becoming heated. Sandy’s face had turned to a deep brick-red beneath the tan and he was thumping one fist angrily on to his palm. Crikey, Lanie thought, in his state of health he’ll do himself a mischief if he goes on like that! Maybe I’d better go downstairs and do something about it. At that moment, however, the matter was resolved for her as the younger man—goodness, he was tall, and so very erect—flung out of the vehicle, his face stormy. ‘Okay, okay,’ he hadn't raised his voice, yet the vibrant deep tones reached her clearly, ‘get this straight, it’s not my idea!’
‘Right, I’ll take all responsibility!’ Sandy had got out of the utility. He was looking happier, almost smug, she thought, having apparently gained a point in the dispute with his passenger. Probably, she mused, the younger man was a neighbour whom they were taking back with them to the farming district where they all lived. She wouldn’t mind in the least being on the journey with the wildly good-looking young man if only he weren’t in that black mood! Thank goodness it wasn’t herself who was the object of his anger! All at once she caught the sound of footfalls on the stairs and hurriedly she dropped the curtain back into place. When Sandy tapped on the door a few minutes later she welcomed him in with a smile, trying to look as though she hadn’t been a witness to the brief violent clash of wills on the street below.
Sandy’s lined brown face lighted up as he eyed her suitcase. ‘Good,’ his tone was tinged with relief, ‘you haven’t changed your mind about our little business deal, then?
She wrinkled her nose as she smiled up at him. ‘Not if you haven’t had second thoughts about me.’
‘Not a chance!’
‘I’m all ready and waiting!’ She took the mauve-coloured orchid from its vase and bent to pick up her suitcase. It wasn’t heavy, but she knew Sandy wasn’t a fit man and there were the stairs to contend with.
‘Give that to me!' A deep peremptory voice cut across her thoughts as a sun-tanned masculine hand took the case from her grasp. She glanced up in surprise to meet the chilliest grey eyes she had ever encountered. They were like cold steel, yet a fire seemed to bum in their depths, an icy dislike especially for
her.
‘Lanie Peterson,’ Sandy was saying, ‘my son Jardin.’ She was so taken aback that the words fell unbidden from her lips. ‘But I got the idea that Mr. Jardin—’ what was she saying? she thought frantically—‘was your partner?’
‘That’s right.’ The stranger seemed to gloat over her discomfiture. ‘I’ll tell you something right now.’ He towered above her, his muscular height intimidating enough without the taut angry set of his lips. ‘My dad took it on himself to take you on without a word to me about it. I’m warning you that as from now I’ll do the hiring,’ his off-putting expression lent significance to the words, ‘and the firing!’
All at once it came to Lanie that it was she who had been the cause of that bitter argument down there in the utility, and a flame of anger shot through her at the thought. Who did he think he was, for heaven’s sake, this arrogant young farmer from the backblocks? She didn’t have to do as he said. She stood very straight and lifted her small rounded chin. ‘Your father offered me the job of cook on your farm. If you don’t want me to have the position I don’t need to come. I’m not sure that I want the job anyway!’
She saw his angry glance challenge the older man in a silent battle of wills.
‘It was only a suggestion,’ she said with spirit. ‘I happened to be on the look-out for some work in the country ’
‘Like a typing job in the outback?’ His lip curled contemptuously. ‘Don’t give me that!’
The low muttered words were scarcely audible. What was the matter with him? Why did he mistrust her so? A dark cloud of anger mushroomed up inside her, but she forced her voice to calmness, only the heightened colour that had risen to her cheekbones betraying her feelings. Your dad let me in on the job offering at your property at Rangimarie—’ Luckily she had memorised the soft Maori syllables.