by Daphne Clair
THE JADE GIRL
Daphne Clair
Why did Stacey resent Alex Lines so much when he came to live in her family home for a few weeks? She wasn’t, after all, interested in him or in any other man; since her darling David, her childhood sweetheart and the man she had been going to marry, had died, there had never been anyone else, and there never would be. And Stacey only resented Alex when he told her firmly that it was time she stopped living with a memory. So why was she so uneasy, now, when Alex began to show definite signs of interest in her attractive, still young mother?
CHAPTER ONE
The car drew up in the driveway of the Coleman house and Graeme King pulled on the handbrake and cut the engine. His arm slid along the back of the seat and on to Stacey's shoulders to pull her towards him. She let him kiss her, even while her mind was occupied wondering who was visiting her mother or her brother. For there was a strange car ahead of them in the drive, and the sitting-room lights were on although it was close to midnight.
Graeme seemed to sense that she was preoccupied, and his lips on hers became more urgent, his arm tightening and pulling her closer still. Remorseful, Stacey snuggled into his arms and let his searching mouth open her lips, but when his fingers began searching for the fastening on her dress, she pulled away with a sharp, 'No!'
With an exasperated sound, he grabbed a handful of her soft fair hair and turned her face again to his kiss, but her lips were firmly shut against him now, and her body went rigid in his hold.
'Why not?' he asked in a hard voice, as he let her go. 'I'm not just out for a bit of cheap fun, you know, Stacey. I'd marry you tomorrow if you'd only say yes —you know that.'
'I know,' she said softly, troubled. 'I'm sorry, Graeme.'
Encouraged, he moved his hand to stroke her cheek and stray down her throat caressingly. 'Please, Stacey. I won't go too far, I promise --' he moved closer to her, but she pushed away his hand and shook her head.
'No,' she said again.
'Don't you trust me?'
Stacey almost smiled at the age-old cry of the thwarted male hoping to get his way with a woman.
'Of course I trust you,' she said. 'But I don't love you, Graeme.'
'You will. I can make you --'
'No. It's no good, Graeme. It doesn't work that way. I like you very much, I hoped—but it's no good, and I'm not being fair to you. You deserve someone who can really love you.'
'You mean someone who isn't still in love with a dead man?' he asked brutally.
Stacey went very still, not saying a word.
'I'm sorry!' said Graeme. 'But it's true, isn't it? No one has ever come up to David in your eyes, have they?'
'If you want the truth, no,' she answered in a low voice. 'I'm sorry if I've hurt you. It would probably be better if you didn't --'
'If I didn't see you again?' he interrupted. 'No, it wouldn't. I love you, Stacey Coleman, and you may not love me yet, but you don't hate me either. So there's a chance for me. I know David was a great guy—he was my friend, in fact the best I ever had. And I know damn well that you started going out with me because of that.' Ignoring her small sound of protest, he went on, 'You're only twenty-four, and one day there'll be another man to put a ring on your finger. I want it to be me. So don't send me away, because I won't go. I'm going to be here when you finally come out of mourning.'
'Oh, Graeme!' she sighed, shaken by this.
'Well, if you didn't know before, you do now!' he muttered, as though slightly ashamed of his outburst.
Stacey felt a sudden wave of fondness for him, mingled with remorse. She felt him grip her hand, and moved slightly towards him in the darkness.
It was enough. His arms came up and held her close to him again, and his kiss was at first fierce and then extremely gentle. When he let her go she slipped out of the car without a word, and he didn't follow, only waited until she had stepped up on to the lighted porch and opened the door to the hallway before he started the engine and drove away.
She hesitated inside the door, closing it quietly, curious about the visitor, but thinking that after that slightly devastating interlude, she would like to slip quietly away to her room.
Her mother must have heard her, though, for she came out of the sitting room and smiled as she greeted her daughter.
'Hello, darling. You didn't bring Graeme in?'
Stacey murmured something about it being late, and her. mother took her arm and said she must come and meet Fergus's visitor, so Stacey reluctantly put her fine wool shawl and her tiny evening bag on the small corner table by the door and followed her mother's slim, pretty figure into the sitting room, hastily trying to gauge the dishevelment of her hair and do something about it with one hand, as she entered.
The strange man sitting in what her mother always referred to as 'Your father's chair', although their father had died when Stacey was only four, and Fergus six years old, rose immediately to his feet and faced them, and Stacey dropped her hand.
'Stacey, this is Mr Alex Lines, the new head of the English Department at Akona Piki College. My daughter Stacey, Alex.'
Alex, Stacey thought, as she took in the tall, well-knit figure in a dark suit and toning blue shirt. So it was first names already. Her brother's new superior must be the easy-going sort.
Then her eyes rose to his face and she changed her mind. He might allow junior teachers—and their mothers—to call him by his first name, but she was very sure that this man could keep them well in line when he had to. There was unmistakable strength and possibly obstinacy in the jaw, a hint of firmness in the well defined mouth. A classically straight but undeniably masculine nose could have made him almost too good-looking, but uncompromising black brows over dark—grey? eyes and lines of maturity on the broad brow disappearing under a thick mat of dark hair, worn slightly long but neatly cut, dispensed with any filmstar image.
Realising that he was expecting her to shake hands, Stacey held hers out, smiling coolly and pleasantly into his eyes, which close-up were definitely a deep blue-grey and, she saw, regarding her with speculation, interest and a hint of amusement. He held her hand not a second longer than politeness required, but she was conscious of the warmth and firmness of his, and an odd sensation which was physical—a sort of shiver up her spine as he took her fingers in his.
His look unnerved her, too, making her more than ever aware that her hair was ruffled and her lipstick had probably disappeared altogether. She sat down abruptly on the nearest chair to his because he obviously wasn't going to resume his seat until she did, and even with high heels adding to her five feet seven inches, she had to look up to his six feet plus, and she didn't care for it. He sat down, too, smiling slightly, and she had a sudden urge to sneak a hand up her back and discover if Graeme's probing fingers had managed to lower her zip a couple of inches. Quelling it, she said politely, 'We've heard a lot about you from Fergus, Mr Lines.'
His eyebrows rose a fraction. 'What—even before I arrived?'
Fergus answered that. 'The staff were all very impressed with your qualifications for the job,' he said. 'I told Mother and Stacey that you have an Oxford degree in English, among other things.'
'Are you English, Mr Lines?' Stacey asked.
'No. I'm a Kiwi—born and bred right here in New Zealand. But I was lucky enough to win a scholarship for Oxford some years ago, and afterwards I taught in England for some years.'
Her mother said, 'Alex has been telling us about some of his experiences. It's been a very interesting evening.'
She was looking unusually animated and pretty tonight, Stacey realised. Her mother was a young-looking forty-five, her hair was hardly darker than her daughter's and styled in soft curls that enhanced her nice blue eyes and still youthful complexion. But she s
eldom went out and usually entertained only to please her children.
Stacey let her eyes stray to the clock on the mantel, with its hands getting close to midnight, and said cheerfully, 'It must have been. I'm sorry I missed it.'
Alex Lines followed her gaze and when she looked innocently back at him, the amusement in his eyes seemed to have deepened. He stirred and got to his feet. 'I've kept you up long enough, Mrs Coleman,' he smiled. It was a particularly nice smile, Stacey thought, even while she registered an odd relief that he had not called her mother Helen. The smile lit his face and lightened the slight sternness of his features, and she really couldn't understand why it should antagonise ;her, but it did.
He turned to her and said goodnight without shaking hands again, and although the smile was still on his face, its quality seemed somehow changed, and she thought his eyes narrowed a little. She said goodbye casually and with a bright smile of her own and turned to contemplating the pink-painted toes peeping from her fashion sandals as she swung a foot gently to and fro before her, waiting for him to go.
He didn't go right away, however. He was thanking her mother for taking pity on him and giving him a meal, and Fergus for bringing him home, and making some polite comparison between the cold comforts of a motel and the superior ones of a colleague's home.
So he was staying in a motel. Stacey didn't care; she was tired and wanted to go to bed and she wished that he would go.
But her mother was asking questions. It seemed Mr Lines wanted to take time to look around for a permanent home—-Stacey wondered idly if his wife and family would follow when he had found a house for them. But no—it seemed he was not married. Surprise, thought Stacey. He must be in his thirties—perhaps he's divorced. So many people were these days; the thought depressed her.
'A flat, I think,' he was answering her mother. 'Although I have thought of boarding. One has the advantage of freedom for coming and going in a flat of one's own, without having to fit into mealtimes, etcetera. And of course there is more privacy. I may even buy a home unit, rather than renting. I must move from the motel soon, but so far I've failed to find what I'm looking for.'
'We-ell --' her mother began in a considering tone, and Stacey, suddenly alert, whipped round her head in horror. The movement attracted Alex Lines' attention and briefly his eyes met hers across the room. With a feeling of inevitability, Stacey heard her mother's voice. 'We may be able to solve your problem.' She sounded pleased.
Oh no, oh no! Stacey thought, shutting her eyes.
'We have a room,' Helen Coleman was saying. 'Not very large, but it does have its own shower and toilet, and a sort of kitchenette arrangement in one corner. I used to have boarders, when the children were younger, to help supplement my income. If you'd like to see it— you could have meals with us, or make a snack for yourself just as you like. It may be too small for a permanent arrangement, but it would be more comfortable for you than a motel, while you look for something more suitable.'
Fergus was being enthusiastic. Stacey had turned her head resolutely the other way. It was done now, the offer made, and not a thing she could do about it— except hope that he would turn it down.
Perhaps he was going to, because he refused her brother's offer to show him the room right now. Her mother wasn't insisting on that, either—no doubt she was 'wondering how' dusty the little apartment was, and whether Stacey, who sometimes used it for painting because the light was good, had left a mess in there.
'I'd like to look in after school's out tomorrow, if I may,' he was saying. 'It's very kind of you.'
He was going to turn it down, Stacey told herself. A quick look round, a polite 'No, thanks', and that would be that. He wanted, of course, to take time and be tactful about it.
All the same, she was uneasy, and when he had finally gone she jumped up and, hardly giving Fergus time to shut the door behind his guest, burst out, 'We haven't had a boarder for years! What on earth did you do that for?'
She hadn't meant to sound accusing, but that was how it came out, and her mother looked at her in astonishment.
Fergus came back into the room and demanded, 'Why on earth not?'
'Because we don't need boarders any more. You and I earn enough to keep all of us quite comfortably, and Mum has her part-time job at the wool shop as well as this house to look after. I don't want to see her skivvying for strangers again.'
'Neither do I,' said Fergus, beginning to look angry. 'But this is different —'
'How is it different?'
Her mother broke in. 'Of course it's different, Stacey. Not that I ever minded doing things for my boarders —a very nice lot of lads we had over the years. But this is different. Alex is a friend. I'm just doing a favour for a friend.'
'But you've only just met him!' For her reserved mother to claim friendship with someone she had just met was unprecedented.
'Well, yes,' her mother admitted. 'But he's very nice, and it isn't like "just meeting" someone we know nothing about. He works with Fergus, and we've heard a lot about him, as you said.'
'What's the matter with you?' Fergus asked curiously. 'Don't you like him?'
'Don't be silly, Fergus,' his mother said mildly. 'She's barely spoken to him.'
True, thought Stacey. But she didn't like him, all the same. Alex Lines apparently had some sort of instant impact on everyone: instant liking from her mother and her brother, instant dislike from her. Useless to wonder why she felt as she did. She only knew that she didn't want that man living in this house, occupying the room which had once been David's.
Oh, David. The sudden pain of loss hit her unexpectedly. It happened less often now, but hardly less sharply. Other people had used that room since David. Why did she so hate the idea of Alex Lines doing so ?
'I'm tired,' she said suddenly, with truth. 'I'm going to bed.'
'Yes, me too.' Her mother kissed her cheek, still slightly puzzled. 'Did you enjoy your evening out with Graeme?'
'Oh, yes, we had a lovely time,' Stacey replied automatically.
She washed quickly and brushed her teeth and got into a cool short nightgown. As she bent to lift the cover from her bed in her pleasant, pretty little room, the gold locket that she nearly always wore around her neck swung forward on its slender chain. She caught it and flicked open the tiny catch to stare down at the two small photographs it held. She sat down on the bed for a few minutes and looked at them cradled in her hand, then sighed and turned off the bedside light.
For a long time she lay awake, although it was true she had been tired. She began to think about Graeme, because she knew she must think about him, and how he felt about her. It was probably true that she had first gone out with him because he had been David's friend. She had known him only slightly before, and then he had gone away after he qualified as a solicitor. She had known David had liked him—they had been boyhood friends. She had hoped that he might prove to be the one who could bring her back to life, give her something real to live for. And he was nice-—very nice. Only he could never fill her life as David had. None of the men she had met since could do that. Mentally she reviewed their faces—nice young men, several quite handsome young men. But no one like David, never another like him. His face kept coming before theirs.
And then, just before she went to sleep, a dark, strong-jawed face floated into her consciousness -with a startling clarity, and she thought, He's coming tomorrow. But I won't be here, I'll be at work. Then the shiver of apprehension that had started up her spine, stilled itself as she sighed with sleepiness and relief.
When she woke in the morning it was to bright sunlight and she realised she had forgotten, last night, to draw the curtains. Remnants of dreams clung to her consciousness as she opened her eyes, but as she tried to remember what they had been about, the ephemeral memories floated away. But her hand was closed about the locket on her breast, and her cheeks were wet with tears.
CHAPTER TWO
She had hoped that Alex Lines would have seen the room a
nd left before she arrived home from work the next day. It had been a busy day in the small city bookshop in Auckland, and she had to stand most of the way home in the bus. She had often thought of buying a car, but parking was difficult in the city and the buses serviced their quiet suburb fairly well.
As Stacey walked along the tree-lined street from the bus stop, admiring a few early blossoming trees in the gardens behind their neat fences, she was thinking of a theme for a special display of books she had promised to make up for the shop. She was fortunate in being able to make use of a modest artistic talent in her work, her boss being very happy to encourage her to design and execute eye-catching displays as well as carry out the more mundane tasks of sorting, invoicing and selling books. She had worked there ever since leaving school and Mr Grace, the owner, appreciated her intelligent approach and her interest in the work to the extent of paying her a handsome salary as well as being an extremely reasonable and friendly boss. The two junior girls and Stacey got on very well, and all in all she was contented with her job.
The early signs of spring were an obvious source of inspiration, and she began to think in terms of a bare tree hung with book-covers in lieu of blossom. If she could cadge a fair-sized branch from somewhere --
As she turned into the gateway of her home she noted with relief that there was no strange car standing in the drive. She had half-feared that when Alex Lines stopped by to see the room, her mother would have felt obliged to invite him to stay again for a meal.
Her relief was short-lived, however. Her mother, busily stirring a sauce on the stove when Stacey entered the kitchen, greeted her with an anxious query as to whether she was planning to go out that evening.
'No,' said Stacey. 'I've nothing particular to do tonight except think up a slogan for a book display. Why?'
'Alex wasn't able to get away this afternoon in time to come round. I invited him to come to tea, but he said he would rather come later. I told him you and Fergus could show him round, because it's my club night. But Fergus tells me he has a meeting on tonight that he can't get out of. Thank goodness you're going to be here. Fergus can't remember the name of his motel, and he didn't mention it to me last night. It would have been too bad if you were going out too.'