He's being nice to me, Lisa thought wildly. It's—it's almost as though he's longing to make love. Why is he being so nice?
It was then that a wave of common sense swept through her chaotic mind and brought her down to earth as she recalled the accusations Brett had previously levelled at her—accusations which amounted to a barrier of distrust. He had been so bitter and suspicious, but now there appeared to be a complete turn-about on his part. Why, for heaven's sake?
It wasn't because he was in love with her, that was
for sure. How could he be on such short acquaintance? Could it be that he was merely testing her reaction to another man's caresses? If so it meant that he didn't really believe in her immunity to Paul's attentions.
The jumble of questions continued to dart through her mind until she felt thoroughly bewildered. A sense of shame at having found herself so susceptible to Brett's magnetic personality engulfed her, and, suddenly infuriated, she wrenched her mouth from his. Her hands found their way to push against his chest while she struggled from his grasp, then fled to her room, where she paused to lean against the closed door.
At last she stirred herself to cross the room and gaze into the mirror. Her blue eyes, fringed by their dark lashes, were shadowed by anxiety as she still pondered the question of why Brett should kiss her with such ardour. Was it sheer male dominance—a warning that he would take what he wanted when he was ready to do so? Or was this the pretence of an affair that would lead to nowhere and merely keep him amused while she edited Catherine's manuscript?
At the same time the memory of his demanding kiss as his arms crushed her against his body caused her to flush as her breath quickened, and in an attempt to calm her jangled nerves she straightened her back, picked up her brush and applied strong vigorous strokes to her dark auburn hair.
`Oh no, you don't, Brett Arlington!' she muttered fiercely to herself. 'You can't fool me with those phoney kisses. I can see through your little game!'
So what attitude should she take? Ignore it, she resolved. Treat it as though it had never happened. And with this decision fixed in her mind she set about changing from her track-suit to an attractive dress of fine dark red wool that sent a glow to her cheeks. The skirt hugged her slim hips before swinging out in a flare of pleats, while the bodice, moulding her
rounded breasts, was cut low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage.
Her reason for putting on what was literally one of her best dresses was something she avoided asking herself, nor did she pause to wonder why she paid so much attention to her make-up. However, as the final smoothing of colour was giving Lisa's lips an inviting gleam, Catherine came into the room.
The older woman stared at her with undisguised admiration. 'My goodness, you do look nice,' she declared with sincerity. 'That's a most attractive dress—it gives you warmth.'
`Yes, it's wool,' said Lisa, deliberately misunderstanding.
`I didn't mean that, and you know it,' Catherine's tone was brisk. 'I meant it makes you look vibrant—as though you've suddenly come alive. I wish you'd take Mary out on a shopping spree to find a few garments that'd give her a lift. Now then, Brett's pouring the drinks, so come along.'
As they walked along the passage towards the lounge Catherine's words echoed in Lisa's mind. As though you've suddenly come alive. Had Brett's kiss brought her to life? Certainly not, she told herself firmly. According to her own analysis it had been more in the form of an insult. Even so, her heart fluttered slightly as she entered the room.
He was standing at the cocktail cabinet, a glass of golden liquid in his hand, and she noticed he had changed into a well-cut jacket of dark brown which contrasted with his light tan trousers.
He turned and stared at her for several moments, his dark eyes raking her from head to foot before placing the glass on a small silver tray and carrying it to her. 'Very nice,' he murmured, his glance flicking to the cleavage at the deep neckline of her dress.
`Thank you.' She took a small sip. 'Yes, it is very nice. Is it a New Zealand sherry?'
`No, it's an Australian cream—one of Catherine's favourites, it's so smooth. But I wasn't referring to the sherry, as you were probably well aware.'
`No?' She looked up at him, innocent of the fact that her eyes shone and that an exuberance from within was reflected in her face.
Mary, still in her tan track-suit, spoke from the settee. 'Why did you bother to change?' she asked in a slightly petulant voice. 'Paul's not coming, you know.' The last words were spoken with a sharpness that betrayed an underlying suspicion.
Lisa ignored her tone. 'I hadn't forgotten. A prior engagement, wasn't it?'
`He said so, didn't he?' Mary snapped crossly, then went on ungraciously, 'Very well, if you've changed I suppose I'd better do likewise.' She put her glass down with a slight bang which caused the contents to splash, then left the room.
Catherine's eyes followed her exit before they turned to Brett. 'Is Mary annoyed about something?' she asked mildly.
He shrugged. 'It's possible she's disappointed because she expected Paul to be with us for dinner. I must admit I also expected him to be here—with bells on.' He turned to Lisa. 'Didn't you think he'd be with us for evening meal?'
She knew he watched her narrowly, but she sent him a look that was both wide-eyed and direct. 'I hadn't thought about it at all—however, I recall that one never could tell with Paul. He arrived if it suited him, otherwise he'd cook up a prior engagement.'
`Let's not talk about Paul,' Catherine said impatiently. She turned to Brett. 'Have you plans for tomorrow?'
`Yes. I've decided to examine the mountain track at the end of Lynton Road. I'm wondering if some of it has fallen away after the heavy rains we had earlier this month. I'm taking Lisa with me.'
Lisa was startled. 'You're taking me? Where, exactly?'
But before he could answer Catherine said. 'Oh, that'll be nice.' She turned to Lisa, a pleased expression on her face. 'Now you'll understand why I advised you to bring strong rubber boots with you. You did so, I hope?'
`Yes, I brought them—but it's the first I've heard of this particular outing.' She looked at Brett, awaiting further explanation, but he merely poured himself another sherry. She went on, 'Actually, I'd intended to continue with my reading project tomorrow. There's so much of it to get through.'
`How far have you got with it?' Catherine asked eagerly.
`I'm about to begin on the first six sailing vessels to reach this part of the colony.'
`You can forget them.' Brett snapped the words as an order. 'We'll set off before lunch with a pack of sandwiches, and we'll ride on my Honda farm bike—at least as far as it'll take us. Have you ever ridden on the back of a motorbike?'
She shook her head. 'No, nor am I sure that I want to!'
`Then you can look on it as a new experience. Have you ever walked in natural bush?' Again she shook her head. 'That'll be another new experience,' he pointed out drily.
Catherine protested, 'You're being very highhanded, Brett! She doesn't have to go with you if she doesn't want to. If she'd prefer to read about the early ships she's at liberty to do so.' She turned to Lisa. `Some of them had ghastly voyages—'
Brett cut in, 'Leave it, Catherine. She'll read about them eventually, but not tomorrow, because she's coming with me. The bush is alive with birds and today's growth of native plants, which are much more interesting than yesterday's records of old sailing vessels.'
`We all have our own interests,' Catherine pointed out crossly. 'Mine is history. Yours is the mountain with its tracks, routes, vegetation and birdlife—'
`To say nothing of its geology,' he added as he refilled her glass.
Lisa remained silent as she wondered about the next day's outing. Why was it necessary for Brett to take her with him? Was it possible that he genuinely wished for her company? Her heart lifted at the thought and she knew it would be pleasant to share his interests for a few hours.
His voice broke into her musings.
'You're very quiet.'
She raised her eyes to his, knowing she must say something. `I—I was just wondering if Mary has a special interest,' she prevaricated.
`Only her trousseau.' Brett's tone was sardonic. `Most girls collect items for a bottom drawer or hope chest,' Catherine defended.
`Hope being the operative word,' added Brett.
Looking from one to the other, Lisa guessed the answer to her own question. Mary's special interest was Paul Mason, but whether she was his special interest was something yet to be learnt.
At that moment Mary returned to the room. She had changed into a jersey and skirt of drab brown which did little for her as it needed the addition of a bright-coloured scarf to give it a lift. And as she crossed self-consciously to the settee Lisa caught a resigned glance pass from Brett to Catherine, although neither made any comment.
`Drink up, you're behind us,' Brett said kindly. Mary gulped the remains of her sherry and he refilled her glass.
Watching them, Lisa realised that Brett was fond of his sister. He wanted her to be happy, and in that moment she had a clearer understanding of his suspicions towards herself. However, only time would
really assure him that she had not come to this place in search of Paul Mason.
During dinner Mary had little to say, and her silence made Lisa wonder if she also had begun building antagonism towards herself. Mary, she decided, needed diversion in the way of a change of environment, and Lisa could think of no better place than her own home on Auckland's North Shore.
Almost as though reading her thoughts Brett said, `Tell us about life at home, Lisa. Is it very gay?'
She smiled. 'It depends upon what you call gay. At Takapuna, which is across the harbour bridge, we have the beach at our back door. We can swim in the sea, walk on the beach or sit beneath old pohutukawa trees that are covered with red blossoms at Christmas time. Most of my friends live on the North Shore, so it's never far from entertainment of some sort.'
`Your father's interests are on the North Shore?' Brett put the question politely.
`Yes. He's a barrister. During the summer evenings and at weekends he relaxes by going out on the harbour to fish from his launch.'
Catherine was interested. 'Your mother fishes as well?'
`No. She plays bridge, because she says it keeps her mind alert.' Lisa turned impulsively to Mary. 'When I leave here would you like to come home with me? You might enjoy a change at Takapuna.'
Mary shook her head, her eyes holding a sad expression. 'It's kind of you to suggest it, but no, thank you. I—I don't want to leave home at present.'
Brett became impatient. 'Snap out of it, Mary—you're wearing your doleful spaniel puppy look! What's the matter with you? Things are sure to be better tomorrow—just you wait and see!'
She gave him a wan smile before her face suddenly brightened. 'Do you think so?' she asked eagerly. 'Do
you think that perhaps—I mean, have you any reason to b el i eve—?'
`Of course. I'll bet on it,' he assured her.
Lisa was puzzled, trying to follow the trend of their rather vague conversation. Did Brett mean that things would improve tomorrow because Paul would be sure to arrive? And was this his reason for taking her to examine the mountain track? Was it his intention to get her out of the house so that Mary and Paul could have time alone together?
Her spirits plummeted. So much for his desire for her company! She must have been crazy to have imagined such a thought existing in his mind.
As though deliberately changing the subject Brett turned to Catherine. 'Gwen has excelled herself with this lot.' He poured more cream on the crusty apple and date dessert before him.
`Who's Gwen?' Lisa felt compelled to ask.
`Mrs Yates,' explained Catherine. 'She's the wife of Brett's farm manager, John Yates. She comes every day except Tuesday and at the weekend to do part-time work in this house. When I became so involved with my book I felt it was unfair to leave all the cooking and housework to Mary, so Gwen was only too pleased to earn some money.'
Brett said, 'Their house is the next one along Lynton Road. You'll see it as we pass.'
Mary sent him a sharp glance. 'Where are you going tomorrow?'
`To examine the Lynton track for washouts. Lisa will ride behind me on the bike.'
Mary giggled as she continued to brighten visibly. She smiled at Lisa and said, 'You'll have to sit mighty close to him and hang on tight with your arms round his waist.'
`Yes, I suppose so.' Unable to meet Brett's eyes, Lisa stared at her plate. The thought of clinging to him caused a tiny pulse to hammer in her throat and
she could only hope her entire neck wasn't slowly
becoming scarlet. She felt she had to say something, so
she asked, 'Where does the name Lynton come from?'
`It was given by the first owner of this property, who came from Lynton in North Devon,' Brett told her. 'He applied for the right to mill the timber on this land, and years later the place became his son's estate. It was then put up for auction and purchased by my father.'
`It's hard to imagine those green fields as standing bush.'
`You'll see standing bush tomorrow,' he promised.
Next day it was after mid-morning when he ran critical eyes over Lisa's blue track-suit, jacket and rubber boots. 'You'll do,' he approved at last, then carefully placed a yellow motorcycle helmet on her head. 'See that you keep your arms firmly round my waist.'
She nodded as she watched him put a similar helmet on his own head. Nor did she need any second bidding as they made their way towards the blind end of Lynton Road, which dipped occasionally to cross small streams, then rose to wind between boxthorn hedges. It was an ever-upward grade, becoming steeper as they drew nearer the mountain, and at one high lookout point Brett stopped the Honda to give Lisa a panoramic view of the landscape below.
She gazed down on what appeared to be an enormous patchwork quilt of varied greens patterned with hedgerows and dotted with plantations of darker pines and macrocarpas; and despite its low undulations the land looked surprisingly flat, while peeps of the road they had recently traversed could be seen as a narrow strip of grey ribbon.
`The fields appear to be divided into rectangles,' she remarked.
`That's for rotational grazing,' Brett explained. 'The cows go into the fields first and clean up the long
grass. They like to get their tongues round it and tear it off. Then the sheep are put in to nibble the shorter grass left closer to the ground. After that the field is given a rest to allow the sweet new grass to grow long again for the cows.'
He was standing close to her, his hand resting on her shoulder while he pointed out various landmarks, and as her gaze moved from north to south she became vitally conscious of his nearness. In fact it became an effort to keep her gaze directed towards the view instead of giving way to the urge to turn and look up into his face. She shook herself mentally. What on earth was the matter with her?
At last he turned towards the Honda, and as she clambered on to the seat behind him he adjusted the small canvas shoulder bag which hung at his side. It contained a thermos of coffee, mugs and two packs of sandwiches which Catherine had prepared for them. `Hold on,' he commanded.
Lisa put her arms about his waist, then found difficulty in resisting the temptation to rest her head against his back. And again she told herself she was being idiotic. Nor did her chaotic thoughts allow her to notice how far they had ridden until they came to an area where the land had become littered with half-burnt stumps and fallen logs. The pale grey trunks of dead trees gave an air of desolation as their ghostly bare branches became silhouetted against the darkness of the nearby bush.
The road had now deteriorated into what was little more than a rough farm track, and a short distance further on Brett stopped the motorcycle near a stile set in the fence. They dismounted, removed their helmets which they left beside the bike, then moved towards the steps.
Brett said, 'Y
ou're about to enter the Egmont National Park by one of its back doors.' He sprang across the stile, then turned to offer Lisa assistance.
Avoiding the helping hand he held towards her, she said coolly, 'It's all right, I can manage, thank you.' But as she flung her leg across the top bar and began to descend her rubber boot slipped on the damp moss covering the step. She lunged forward and would have fallen if his arms had not caught and held her against him.
A gasp escaped her, and, aware that her heart was thudding, she laughed shakily as she looked up at him. `That was stupid of me!'
But there was no laughter in the eyes that looked down at her. His mouth tightened and an intangible expression crossed his face. 'Let that be lesson number one,' he said grimly. 'I offered to assist you across, but you refused. In future you'll do as I say, particularly when we're in the bush. Agreed?'
`Yes, I'll remember.'
`Good.' He continued to hold her against him, his eyes still raking every feature of her face. Her heart quickened its pounding as she waited for his lips to descend towards her own, but this did not happen. Instead he released her abruptly, and she became conscious of an acute disappointment.
`Let's get going,' he snapped.
They left the sunshine and passed into the coolness of the bush, walking along the path where soggy dead leaves formed a damp brown carpet on the rich black soil. It was like stepping into an enchanted world where great tree trunks towered like stately grey pillars above the tangle of undergrowth.
At the same time she became conscious of an eeriness about the place. The stillness made her want to walk on tiptoe, while the silence forced her to whisper, 'It's like a fairy-tale forest!'
Her tension conveyed itself to him. 'Are you feeling nervous?'
She peered through the trees towards shadowed gloom that was pierced by shafts of golden sunlight, then admitted, 'Yes, perhaps I am a little.'
`Don't worry, there's no reason to be afraid. There are no snakes in New Zealand, even if some of those twisting mossy boughs look like green pythons. Would it help if you hold my hand?'
Call of the Mountain Page 5