The action caused cool reasoning to seep into her brain as she stared at a seagull flying overhead. Wasn't he going to tell her he loved her? Apparently the words were not in his mind at all. These moments so precious to herself were merely an incident that would satisfy his male sexual needs. They were, in fact, like that bird with its white wings outspread against the blue sky—here only briefly and then gone without a trace to show they had ever existed.
Suddenly she was thankful that he hadn't said he loved her because she knew that if he had uttered the words she would have given herself to him. Her longing had been so intense there would have been no hesitation. But obviously he did not love her and could see no reason to lie about it, and for this much she was grateful.
In some way Brett sensed her sudden coolness. He removed his hand from her belt, turned on to his back and lay still for several moments before he said, `What's the matter, Lisa?'
`Nothing.' Her voice came as a muffled whisper.
`You can't fool me. Something tells me you've gone cold. Why?' He leaned over and stared into her face.
She made an attempt to sound normal. 'Actually, I am feeling a little cold. Perhaps it's the breeze or the coolness of the sand.'
`It's more than that. Something also tells me you don't want us to make love. Why, Lisa? Tell me why?' His voice was urgent.
`You—you wouldn't understand.' She turned her face away.
`Try me and see.' The words came harshly.
She sat up abruptly, searching for words and fighting her tears. `Because—because—I think I'd rather have a cup of tea.'
`Cup of tea? Hell's bells, you can't mean it!'
`Yes, I can—and I do. Catherine put it in the car. It's on the back seat waiting for us. It'd be dreadful to take it home untouched after her trouble preparing it for us—
She sprang to her feet and ran as swiftly as she could, making her way over the stones and dodging between the rocks. Tears blurred her vision and stung coldly on her cheeks, but still she raced along, hardly pausing for breath when she came to the cliffside track, and panting laboriously as she made her way up it.
A hasty glance over her shoulder showed that Brett followed slowly, and by the time he had reached the car she had dabbed at her eyes, powdered her nose and had better control over her emotions.
The sipped their tea in silence until Brett said coldly, 'Were you trying to make a fool of me, Lisa?'
The suggestion amazed her. `Me? Make a fool of you? I don't know what you mean.'
`I think you do. You called to me, then slammed the door in my face.'
Her jaw dropped. 'I—called to you? Well, I like that!' she flared indignantly. 'As I see it, it was the other way round. It was you who led me to that isolated place. It was you who pulled me down on to the sands—your only intention being to use me to satisfy yourself. Then let me tell you this, Brett Arlington, I don't intend to be used in that way!' Her voice rang with accusation as she almost choked on the last words.
`You're quite wrong, Lisa,' he said quietly.
`Oh? In what way am I wrong?' She turned towards him hopefully. Was he about to tell her he'd wanted
her because he loved her, that he was not using her to satisfy his own sexual needs?
But he said nothing, finishing his tea in glum silence as he stared through the front windscreen towards the surf that pounded over the black sands.
Following his gaze, Lisa knew that the scene reflected her own inner turmoil and the darkness of her depression. And as her eyes moved towards the heavy clouds gathering on the western horizon she wondered if there could be worse to come.
A short time later, with the thermos and cups packed into the basket, Brett snapped abruptly, 'Well, I presume that's that, Lisa. You have no need to fear for any further cause for complaint from me. In future I'll control my imagination. When I see that come-hither look in your eyes I'll know it's pure fancy on my part. I'll understand it doesn't mean a thing.' He switched on the motor and the engine roared as he turned the car and headed for home.
Lisa remained silent during the journey, her heart heavy, and when they reached Lynton she was aware that Catherine watched them closely. The sharp hazel eyes moved from Brett to herself until at last the question came.
`Well now, tell me everything. How did it go?' Catherine asked with a hint of bright expectation. `How did what go, Cathy?' drawled Brett.
Lisa met the glint in the dark eyes. It was almost as though he was asking Catherine whether she meant the purchase of Dreaming Sam, or his moments on the beach with herself.
`The bull, of course,' Catherine pursued. 'I presume you bought the animal?'
`Yes. He'll take up residence as soon as I can arrange with the transport firm to bring him here.' His eyes were still on Lisa, an enigmatic expression on his handsome face.
Lisa was still clutching the bundle of work she had
brought in from the car. 'I'll return these papers to the library,' she said hastily as she left the room to escape the accusation that had crept into his gaze.
The library with its book-lined walls felt like a haven of refuge, and instead of leaving it immediately she settled down to work with an urgency that helped to brush her emotional problems into the background. Nor did she leave it before Catherine called her for the evening meal, her excuse being that she wanted to make up for lost time. However, there were moments when her concentration slipped--moments when her mind flicked back to the beach, and although she longed for Brett to come into the library his absence made it clear he had no wish to do so.
During the following week her determination to keep her thoughts under control never wavered, although there were moments when difficulties raised their heads. There were times when she heard Brett's footsteps in the hall. Her heart quickened as she paused and waited for him to enter the room, but this never happened. His steps passed on and she was then conscious of deep disappointment. As he had indicated, he was finished with her.
And then an incident occurred which really upset her. It happened late on Wednesday afternoon when Catherine had driven to Eltham for mid-week stores, and after Gwen Yates had left for home. The house was silent until Lisa heard the steps in the hall.
Pen poised, her pulses racing, she heard them stop outside the library, but it wasn't Brett who pushed the door further open—it was Paul. In his arms he carried a large bouquet of flowers—carnations mixed with gladioli in shades of pinks, yellows and orange. The gold ribbons, cellophane and green waxed paper indicated a florist's arrangement, and as he laid it on the table she could only gape at it in silence.
At last she found her tongue and raised questioning
eyes to his face. 'These are for Mary? A peace-offering, no doubt.'
He made no denial but asked, 'Where is she?'
`Staying with relatives. That's all I can tell you.'
`I suppose Brett told her he saw me last Saturday. He couldn't get to her quickly enough, I'll bet!' His tone held a sneer.
`Naturally she was told why you'd let her down,' Lisa told him evenly. 'Brett gave her a full description of the bundle of charms that had happened to crop up.'
`Huh, I'll bet he did!' Paul's mouth twisted.
Lisa glanced at the bouquet lying on the table. `Does your blonde friend know you've brought these flowers to Mary?'
He shrugged the suggestion away. 'Of course not. In any case she's gone home to Inglewood. She was only here for the weekend.'
`But no doubt she'll be back?'
Paul looked amused. 'It's possible. She's the niece of my share-milker. She's just left school and everything's new to her.'
`Ah, a fresh bloom to be plucked from the field, crumpled and then tossed aside,' accused Lisa.
`Maybe. A bit cloying, though. Nor am I keen on clinging vines. But never mind about her—I want to know about Mary. When did she leave?'
`As soon as she was able to see the light.'
`I can at least apologise to her. What's the address of these r
elatives?'
`I've no idea. You'd have to get it from Catherine or Brett—that's if they'll give it to you, of course.'
Brett's voice spoke from the doorway. 'Get what from Catherine or Brett?' Ignoring Paul, he strode into the room and stood glaring at the flowers which were making a colourful splash on the table.
`He wants Mary's address,' Lisa explained.
`He's got a damned nerve!' snapped Brett. 'I doubt that she'd want to see him.'
`That's for her to decide,' Lisa pointed out.
`If she's got any sense she'll tell him to go hopping sideways,' snarled Brett, still scowling at the flowers.
Paul made a sound of protest. 'I say, you two, I'm still here you know!' He became affable, ignoring Brett's belligerent attitude by changing the subject and moving towards the table to examine the neat piles of paper. 'By Jove, Lisa, you've sure been getting on with the job!'
`Yes. I'll begin typing next week, and that will be the first step towards the end.'
`You'll be going back to Auckland?' Paul asked casually.
`Of course—where else would I go?' She glanced at Brett. Had he caught the quaver in her voice she'd been unable to control?
Paul said, 'Well, I'll see you there. You'll recall I said I'd thought of applying for a job on the North Shore. I've had an answer from an accountant who used to work in New Plymouth with my father, and I'm taking a trip to see him next week. There's no doubt about it—it's not what you know but who you know.' His light laugh of pleased satisfaction indicated that, for him, getting a job would be the easiest thing in the world.
Lisa looked at him in silence, her spirits plummeting to zero. On the North Shore Paul would be more than capable of making a real nuisance of himself, and this fact seemed to be confirmed as he made his way to the door.
`Cheerio for now,' he grinned. 'I'll call and see you at the office—we'll go down to the beach at Takapuna—'
`Wait!' Brett's voice cut the air like sleet. 'You're forgetting your flowers. You'd better take them, as Mary's not here.'
Paul's grin became even wider. 'Oh, they're not for Mary. I knew she wasn't here because Gwen Yates
told my share-milker's wife she'd gone to New Plymouth. They're for Lisa, of course. Who else?' Another laugh and he had gone.
In the silence that followed his exit Lisa felt herself go cold with anger. She spun round to face Brett. `He's lying, of course. I hope you realise he's lying. They were for Mary.'
His voice became hard. 'Don't try to dodge the issue, Lisa. They were not for Mary and you know it. Didn't he admit he knew she'd gone to New Plymouth?'
She shook her head helplessly. 'Well, I'm not accepting them.'
`Okay, if you don't want them I'll be only too glad to toss them out on to the rubbish heap.'
Catherine's voice came to them. 'Toss what on the rubbish heap?' She stood in the doorway, having returned from Eltham earlier than expected, and her eyes were riveted on the flowers as she moved towards the table for a closer examination. 'They're beautiful!' she exclaimed. 'I don't know when I've seen such long-stemmed carnations. And these lovely gladioli
`Paul brought them for Lisa,' Brett gritted angrily. `He knew Mary wasn't here, so they must be for Lisa.'
His eyes held a strange glitter that puzzled Lisa. Surely he couldn't be jealous because Paul had brought flowers for her? Her heart lifted at the thought, then sank as she realised that yes, Paul had brought them for her.
Catherine said briskly, 'Well, whoever they're for, they're certainly not going out on to the rubbish heap. I'll take care of them.' She swept the flowers into her arms and carried them away to the kitchen.
The momentary silence that followed her exit was broken by Brett. 'She's taking it very calmly,' he said with a hint of surprise in his voice.
Lisa's brows rose. 'Calmly? What do you mean?'
`To be honest, I expected her to become all agitato. Annoyed, in other words.'
`I'm afraid I don't understand. Why should she be annoyed?'
`Because Paul bringing flowers for you is not in accordance with her own plans,' he explained patiently.
`Plans? I don't know what you're talking about.' Her eyes were wide, the shadowed room causing them to take on their ocean-depths blue.
`I think you understand very well. You're not so dumb you haven't guessed she has plans—for us.'
Lisa found herself unable to look at him, and to hide her acute embarrassment she moved to the window where she stared out at the gathering gloom. 'Are you accusing her of—matchmaking?' she asked at last.
`Of course. It's been obvious to me for some time.'
She swung round to face him. 'Really? Why this sudden change? If I remember correctly you were positive I'd come here with the express purpose of finding Paul. Are you saying you've changed your mind on that point?'
`Have you never heard the old Spanish proverb—a wise man changes his mind, but a fool, never?' `That's not answering my question.'
`So what if I have changed my mind? I'll admit I was mistaken. At first the conviction that you'd come searching for Paul was strong enough to put me off the scent. It clouded my vision to the extent of blinding me to Catherine's tactics—until Gordon Bishop proved otherwise.'
`Gordon Bishop?' Lisa was surprised. 'When did he do that?'
`When I spoke to him on the phone. He assured me that Catherine was determined to have the manuscript edited under her supervision at Lynton.'
`But there's been so very little supervision,' she pointed out.
`Exactly.' Brett's mouth took on a hard line. 'And that makes it clear you were manipulated into coming here to be laid across my track. Can't you see that?'
This was not something Lisa cared to admit, so she forced herself to give a light laugh. 'Don't worry, I'll get off your track as soon as possible,' she promised, `especially when I recall your words up on the mountain.'
He frowned. 'My words? What did I say?'
She quoted him. 'You said that any girl brought into your house with a view to matrimony would get short shrift. She'd be tossed out on her neck and right smartly at that. Okay, message received.' She turned away from him and again stared through the window, this time unseeingly.
CHAPTER NINE
BRETT crossed the room to stand beside her. His face was earnest, his mouth set into a firm line. 'Please believe me, those words spoken on the mountain were not meant to give offence. At that stage I hadn't woken up to Catherine's little game. I hadn't realised she'd brought you here with more than the editing job in mind.'
`Please don't let the situation concern you,' Lisa lashed at him haughtily, her chin in the air. 'I doubt that I'd marry you if you were the last man on earth!' It was a blatant lie, but pride forced the words from her lips.
`I'll marry a girl when I know I can't live without her,' he gritted in even tones.
`That's if she'll accept you,' she snapped back. `True. Obviously it's useless trying my luck with you,' he drawled mockingly.
`Quite,' she retorted, her heart twisting. But perhaps you could enlighten me on one point. Suppose Paul did bring me flowers, why should you be so angry about it?'
`Who says I'm angry?' he demanded quietly.
`You're not? You could have fooled me! In that case, do you mind if I get on with my job?' She turned to the table and sat down at the manuscript. 'I'd like to get it finished as soon as possible.'
`So you can hurry home to the beach on the North Shore. I understand perfectly,' he snapped, then strode from the room.
For several moments Lisa saw the papers on the table through a blue of tears, controlled only by an effort. Concentration became difficult, and at times
she paused as Brett's face rose before her vision and snippets of their conversation echoed in her ears.
His attitude puzzled her. She knew she had not been mistaken, and that he had been annoyed because Paul had brought her flowers. Nor had his anger been on Mary's behalf—so why should he be upset to this extent?
`They're so beautiful,' she said to Lisa during the evening meal. 'You should have a vase in the library.'
`No, thank you.' Lisa's tone was firm. 'I'd prefer to have a small bowl of blue and yellow violas from the garden.'
Brett's amused glance indicated that he didn't believe her. 'Be honest,' he taunted. 'Beneath it all you're glowing with quiet satisfaction. You know perfectly well that a rugby, racing and beer type of man is not one to carry flowers. It was probably an effort for Paul to walk into the florist shop. It proves you must mean something very important to him.'
'Brett's right,' Catherine said thoughtfully. 'New Zealand men are not noted for their flower-buying activities. They're not like the Continentals, to whom it's second nature. Nor has Paul ever brought flowers for Mary
Lisa snatched at the opportunity to change the subject. 'Have you heard from Mary?' she asked.
Catherine shook her head. 'She hasn't even phoned. I'll admit I'd like to be sure she's settling down fairly happily in New Plymouth, but if I ring her it might make her homesick.'
`Perhaps you're wise to leave well alone,' Brett agreed.
However, Mary's state of mind was revealed to them the following Monday. They were sitting at lunch when she walked into the room—a smiling Mary who appeared to be entirely different from the unhappy girl who had driven from the house almost a fortnight previously.
Catherine's eyes narrowed as she observed her. `You've come home to stay?'
`No. Only to collect some clothes,' Mary told her brightly. 'Don't get up—I can help myself to some of that soup.'
Brett waited for her to be seated at the table. 'How are things with you?' he demanded abruptly.
`Marvellous!' Mary's voice held a lilt of enthusiasm.
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