The Jade Girl

by Daphne Clair

  He smiled at her as he stepped into the house, and leaned over to kiss her quickly on the mouth—a firm, brief kiss exactly like the one he had given her after their outing to the art show, the last time she had seen him.

  'You look lovely,' he said, stepping back to appraise her long cotton skirt and soft voile blouse in shades of green and grey. 'Merry Christmas, Stacey.'

  'To you, too, Alex,' she replied conventionally, leading him into the living room where the small pine, set in a concrete tub and decorated with tinsel, bells and baubles, stood surrounded by the family presents.

  'May I put these there?' he asked, indicating the brightly wrapped parcels in his hands.

  'Yes, of course,' she answered. 'When we were children Fergus and I opened our presents first thing in the morning, but now we generally wait until after Christmas-dinner.'

  'Can you bear to wait that long?' he smiled, as he placed the parcels along with those already there.

  'It's not so long, because we generally sleep in after going to church at midnight.'

  'Did you?' he said, straightening. 'So did I.'

  She wondered if he had gone alone, and was sorry that they had not thought to invite him along with them.

  'Is Roger here yet?' Alex asked.

  'Yes, he's in the kitchen, carving for my mother. She said, to ask you if you would look after the wine.'

  'Certainly. Show me where it is.'

  In spite of the warmth of a summertime Christmas, they had the traditional roast turkey, with lamb as well, accompanied by new potatoes and green peas from the garden. But a salad also graced the table, and for dessert there was a choice of traditional plum pudding or strawberries and cream. A well-known brand of sparkling New Zealand white wine added to the festive atmosphere.

  When the dishes had been cleared away they sat outside on the lawn with coffee, Helen and Roger side by side in a pair of deck chairs, and Stacey with her long skirt spread over a pile of cushions purloined from inside the house. Alex sat beside her, leaning against a tree.

  Lazy clouds hung suspended in a blue sky, and a soft breeze teased the leaves overhead and wisped some of Stacey's hair across her eyes as she bent to put down her cup on the ground.

  Before she could brush it away, Alex leaned over and did it for her, his fingers light and warm on her skin. She sat back, and saw his eyes smiling at her, his face close enough to touch. She gave him a slightly bemused smile in return, and then the moment broke as he picked up their cups and stood up to take them back to the house.

  Stacey shifted her cushions so that she in turn could rest her back against the mottled trunk of the lace-bark he had been leaning on. Alex was a long time coming back, and after a while Helen and Roger took their cups and went back to the house, too.

  Drowsily comfortable, Stacey watched a bee hovering busily over the daisies in the lawn, and the small blue-grey butterflies whirling and settling round a purple veronica in the garden.

  Alex came back, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses which he put down beside her. He sat beside her, and uncorked the wine and poured some, carefully replaced the cork and then handed her a glass, and picked up the other.

  'Merry Christmas, Stacey. And a happy new year for you.'

  She smiled and said, 'And you.'

  She took a sip of the wine—it was cool and sharp— but he didn't raise his glass. As her hand lowered again, he leaned over and kissed her, tasting the wine on her lips with his tongue. Then he sat back and sipped at his own glass, but she had seen the glitter in his eyes, and knew that the thrill of sexual awareness he had aroused in her had been mutual.

  She finished the wine in her glass slowly, intensely aware of the man beside her. He was leaning on one elbow now with all the appearance of indolence, not looking at her but apparently admiring the garden and studying the insects and the occasional bird which peopled it. He put out a finger and a small red grasshopper climbed on to it, waving its feelers in all directions. Alex put down his glass and brought up his other hand slowly, but before he reached the small creature, it leaped on to Stacey's outspread skirt.

  Immediately, his cupped hand clamped down over it. 'Sorry'. he said tersely, as Stacey cried, 'Don't hurt it 1'

  His hand scooped up the grasshopper and deposited it back on the grass, a good five feet away from her.

  'I wasn't going to hurt it,' he told her. 'I just didn't Want you frightened.'

  'I'm not frightened of grasshoppers,' she said scornfully.

  'I didn't know,' he said. 'Some women are terrified of creepy-crawlies. You don't mind them?'

  'Not really. I don't particularly like large spiders, and I have to admit that wetas rather send shivers up my spine.'

  'Mine, too,' he grinned. 'Repulsive things, aren't they? There were a few around my house before it was renovated. I always make the excuse that I'm wary of them because they bite, but the truth is I just don't like the look of them.'

  Thinking of the large scaly brown insects often found under logs or in rotting wood, Stacey shuddered. 'They jump, too,' she said. 'But I suppose they're fairly harmless, really. Their bite isn't poisonous, is it?'

  'No, just painful. And it can cause trouble because they live in such germ-infested places that the bite is possibly infected with them. Still, New Zealand is lucky that there are so few hazardous insects—or animals— to beware of.'

  'Yes,' she agreed. 'There's the katipo, of course,' she added, thinking of the spider related to the notoriously lethal black widow spider. 'But I've never seen one, have you?'

  'Never, except in pictures. Bites are very rare, and deaths even more so. And you're not likely to meet a kapito unless you're on a beach further south than here.'

  'Now, there's a beauty!'. said Stacey, pointing to a large monarch butterfly that had entered her vision, its brilliant orange wings patterned in black, making an exotic note among the more sober colouring of its tiny grey-blue cousins.

  Alex finished his drink and placed the glass against the tree with the bottle.

  'Would you like another?' he asked her, taking Stacey's empty glass.

  She shook her head, thinking she was feeling lightheaded enough with the wine, the hypnotic warmth and his disturbing presence.

  He shifted, and lay down on his back, his head on her lap. 'Do you mind?' he asked, looking up at her as he did so, with a smile in his eyes.

  Stacey shook her head. His hand found hers and took it to his mouth and he kissed the palm, eyes closed. Then he moved it to the open neck of his shirt and held it there, her fingers touching the skin of his chest.

  His eyes were still closed. She felt his chest rise and fall beneath her hand as he gave a sigh—of content or pleasure—and then he moved his head slightly to a more comfortable position, and seemed to go instantly to sleep.

  Stacey's quickened breath gradually slowed, and the sudden heat left her body. She looked down at his strong face, and remembered with a sense of wonder that once she had disliked him. Now she felt grateful that he had trusted her enough to let her see him so relaxed and vulnerable in sleep.

  She studied his face for minutes, then leaned back her head against the tree, and closed her own eyes. But not to sleep. She was too conscious of the sweet weight of his head against her thighs, the still strong clasp of his hand on hers, the warmth of his chest beneath her fingers. All her senses were conscious of him, while he seemed to have found complete oblivion.

  They were still there when Fergus and Tricia arrived. Seeing the car turn into the driveway, Stacey stirred and pulled her hand away, and the movement woke Alex. His eyes opened and focused on her, and then he sighed and sat up. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Are you stiff?'

  She shook her head, and took the hand he held out to her to stand up. 'I was dozing,' she lied.

  He retained her hand as they went to meet the other two and accompany them into the house.

  Now that Fergus had returned the presents were opened. He and Stacey had between them bought a handsome box of handker
chiefs for Roger, not knowing a great deal about his tastes and interests, but they had given separate gifts to Alex.

  He opened the book which Fergus had given, and thanked him with pleasure for it. Then, looking at the remaining two parcels which had been handed to him, he asked Stacey, 'Which is yours?'

  She indicated the smaller of the two, and he placed it beneath the one from her mother, and began to open that.

  He thanked Helen warmly for the handsome pair of book-ends with an inlaid design of native woods, and then turned his attention to the last parcel.

  The ornate oval frames in antique style were an unusual setting for the paintings, but she had felt they suited the subject. The subject of both of them was his cottage. One was a miniature version of the larger watercolour she had already given him, but without the paint pot and the ladder. The other depicted the house as it now was, with its new paint and fresh garden, and curtains blowing from an open window.

  'They're charming,' Alex said in pleased tones. 'Before and after. I know exactly where I shall put them.'

  Stacey had already opened a parcel from her mother containing a glamorous nightgown and peignoir set, and Fergus had given her a new set of brushes and some paints. She had almost missed the other small parcel beneath the tree, but now Alex was waiting expectantly for her to open it.

  The unwrapping revealed a small leather-covered box, which flipped open under her fingers and brought a gasp of delight as she saw the dainty bracelet and earrings inside. They were New Zealand jade mounted in silver, beautifully crafted.

  'Oh, it's lovely, Alex. Thank you!' She picked up the earrings and clipped them on, feeling the pendants swing against her skin below the ears.

  Taking the bracelet from the box, Alex said, 'May I?'

  He clasped it on to her wrist, leaning over her so that she could see the line of his jaw, and the curve of his mouth. On impulse, she kissed his cheek fleetingly as he straightened, and then, suddenly nervous, rose immediately and said, 'I must go and find a mirror to admire them in.'

  She went swiftly to her room and crossed it to gaze into her dressing-table mirror. With a shock she saw that her eyes were startlingly bright, their colour reflecting the colour of the earrings which Alex had given her—a soft, translucent green.

  She put up a hand to set one earring swinging, and the bracelet showed in the mirror in gleaming silver and sea-green jade.

  There was a sound at the open doorway, and Alex came into the room, murmuring, 'May I come in?'

  He was already in, so she didn't bother to answer. She watched in the mirror as he walked across the room and stood behind her.

  'Thank you, Alex,' she said again. 'They're beautiful.'

  He smiled at her reflection. 'In England they have mistletoe at Christmas,' he said.

  Her cheeks warmed a little, but she met his eyes with a shy smile of her own. 'Do you need mistletoe?' she asked.

  'No.' His hands on her shoulders turned her firmly to face him, and she offered her lips unresisting to his kiss. It was a very satisfying kiss, never less than tender, with a restrained passion that made her tingle down her spine and all the way to her toes.

  When she felt him lift his head she dropped hers against him, and pressed a kiss against his skin just where his shirt opened.

  His fingers suddenly tangled into her hair and pulled her away. It didn't hurt much, but the shock of surprise made her gasp with protest.

  His eyes were dark and glittery, his smile was slightly grim. 'You're too much temptation, jade girl. We had better join the others. I think there may be an announcement pending.'

  He dropped his hand and moved away, waiting for her at the door.

  They went into the other room together, and found that all the wrappers had been tidied away already. Roger was broaching a bottle of champagne that he had brought, and with an air of some solemnity he passed round glasses. When everyone was served he cleared his throat and said, 'I—we—have an announcement to make. Stacey—Fergus, your mother has done me the great honour of consenting to be my wife. I hope that you will both approve. I can only promise that I will love and cherish her as she deserves.'

  Amid congratulations, assurances that Stacey and Fergus were delighted, and the drinking of a toast, proposed by Alex, Stacey turned to Alex and' murmured, 'How did you know?'

  He grinned. 'Roger kept picking up that bottle of champagne, glancing round to see who was here, and putting it down again. I figured he was waiting until we were all assembled and not occupied. Elementary, my dear Watson.'

  She made a face and he laughed, and said quietly, 'Do you mind?'

  Firmly she shook her head. 'The idea is a little strange, but I think she will be happy. And she deserves it.'

  'Engagements seem to be in the air,' Alex said lightly. 'Do you think it's catching?'

  About to say, 'They do say things come in threes,' she bit her lip, throwing a searching glance up at his face.

  'Well,' he said, as she hesitated, 'how would you like to complete the Happy Families?'

  He was smiling, and she couldn't tell if he was merely teasing, or was half serious.

  'Don't be silly, Alex,' she said lightly. 'If you go round saying things like that, one day some girl will take you seriously.'

  'It's my constant hope,' he said drily. 'Why do you always assume I'm not serious?'

  She was saved from answering that by her mother, calling her to help get tea ready for them all.

  They prepared cold meat and potato and lettuce salads and sliced some white and whole-grain breads to be followed by Christmas cake.

  When Alex left, he took her hand and made her follow him to his car. He put his Christmas presents on the passenger seat and turned to her. 'I've been invited to a New Year's Eve party,' he said. 'Will you come with me?'

  'Thank you, I'd like that.'

  He touched his finger to one of the earrings she was still wearing, and said softly, 'Will you wear these?' „

  'Yes, of course.'

  His hand moved and found the chain of her locket. She felt his finger slide under it and lift the locket itself from its hiding place. His thumb ran over the engraved initials on the gold case, and found the catch at the side, and stayed poised there. She couldn't fathom the look in his eyes as he glanced up at her and said, 'May I?'

  Half afraid, she whispered, 'Yes.'

  He snapped the locket open and gazed for long seconds at the two small pictures within—the fair, smiling boy and the green-eyed laughing girl facing each other.

  'You look very young,' he commented.

  'I suppose I was.'

  He looked up as he closed the locket and let it fall against her breast.

  'Can I pick you up at seven-thirty, on New Year's Eve?' he asked.

  'Yes.'

  'Fine. See you then.'

  He stayed looking at her for a moment or two, then turned abruptly to walk around the car and climb in. Stacey waved as he drove off, and walked back to the house thoughtfully twining her fingers in the chain at her neck.

  On New Year's Eve she wore the hand-painted dress that he had once admired, and after clipping on the jade earrings and bracelet, she slowly unfastened the locket and dropped it on to her dressing-table.

  'You look beautiful,' said Alex as he started the car. His gaze lingered a moment on the earrings and slipped to her bare neck before lowering to the bracelet on her wrist.

  'Where are we going?' she asked. 'I didn't ask if I know the people giving the party.'

  'You would have met them at my housewarming,' he said. 'Ken and Diane Forrest. Carl is their son.'

  'I remember Carl.'

  'Yes. You had quite a long talk with him, didn't you?' He paused, then said casually, 'Did he remind you of David?'

  'No.' She spoke coldly, and turned her head away.

  He drove in silence for a while. Then he glanced at her averted profile and said, 'Don't you like to talk about him?'

  'I don't want to spoil the evening,' she said eve
nly.

  'You mean, it still hurts too much?'

  'No.' For lately, the memories had been happier ones, only tinged with sadness for what might have been. 'But it isn't very nice to be out with one man and continually talking about another.'

  'I brought the subject up, as I recall. And I wasn't thinking of encouraging you to "continually" talk about David. I was interested because I thought when I saw his picture that he and Carl were a similar type.'

  'To look at, perhaps,' she said reluctantly.

  'Graeme didn't like you to talk about David, did he?' Alex guessed perceptively.

  'At first, we talked of him a lot. He was a friend of David's. But later –' her voice trailed away.

  'After he fell in love with you himself, he was jealous of your memories.'

  'Yes. He said he would make me forget David, and when I couldn't, he was—difficult.'

  'I won't expect you to forget him, Stacey. Whatever you shared with him is a part of what you are now. Just as Gwen will always be a part of me. Will you mind if I mention her occasionally?'

  'No,' she murmured, calming her breathing. She had never been more sure of anything than that this was no flirtation. Alex was subtly telling her he was serious about her, and the knowledge made her both nervous and exhilarated.

  The party was in Titirangi, the bush suburb where nature-lovers hid their homes among the tall native trees that clothed the slopes of the Waitakeres, most of them removing only enough to make room for a house and perhaps a small lawn. It was a small but lively party, and at midnight the revellers sang in the new year with Auld Lang Syne in the traditional manner.

  Alex pulled Stacey away from the noisy aftermath of laughter and kisses,, through the long glass doors that opened on to the terrace , overhanging dark trees, through Which could be, seen the distant lights of Auckland like a handful of stars discarded from the sky.

  In a shadowy corner he stopped and pulled her close. 'Happy New Year, darling.'

  His kiss was brief and gentle, and she wanted more. But he was gently removing her clinging arms from his neck, and she was ashamed of revealing her need. She stepped back, but he had retained her hands, and held them firmly when she tried to pull them from his clasp.