Hana Du Rose Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1 - 4

by Bowes, K T

  Hana rationalised and reasoned with herself, knowing at heart she would have been better to have talked things through with Pastor Allen first. Thinking about how attracted she was to Logan, Hana smiled guiltily to herself in the big bed. She was determined her marriage was going to be good, whatever. She had once heard a preacher say marriage was a covenant with God before the Fall of Adam and Eve from grace and so God would speak into every marriage, whether or not the couple believed in Him. On that Friday in April, Hana prayed very much it was true and that God would forgive her for ignoring sensible rules in favour of passion. “Please bless my marriage to Logan Du Rose?” she begged.

  “You’re ready too early, idiot!” Hana groaned to herself an hour later. She was showered, had her make up on and had fought the good fight with her hair, pulling it up loosely into a bun and allowing tendrils to curl around the nape of her neck and down the side of her face. She found a matching green clip in the bag, which Anka had obviously sneaked in. It was the same shade as the dress, a delicate flower made from fragile cloth petals that looked striking in Hana’s dark auburn hair. A momentary fight with a stray and unexpected grey hair left Hana feeling a little annoyed and then it was time to pull the dress on over her underwear. That proved a lot harder for some reason than it had at Anka’s house. It seemed tighter and less co-operative. “Oh, why me?” she hissed.

  Hana found herself stuck in the dress half in and half out of it, her head and arms poking through, but unable to go any further in or extract herself either. After a few minutes of undignified wriggling, Hana started to feel claustrophobic and a rising panic built in her. The more she panicked, the hotter she got and the more stuck she felt. “You stupid woman, you’ve fallen at the first hurdle!” she railed at herself and then at God. “Is this your idea of blessing me? Thanks so much!”

  A knock on the door made her whip-round, catching sight of herself in the mirror and feeling dismayed at her redhead poking out of the green shroud, with a white body and belly-hugging black knickers poking out of the bottom. Hana berated herself for her underwear choice. Why, oh, why had she not got anything nice? Remembering too late, some slinky briefs she had never worn and which were in the dresser drawer, she contemplated trying to switch undies, but in this position she may well end up wearing nothing. Concerned at not hearing a reply, Logan knocked again. “Would you like a cuppa? I’m ready a bit early.”

  Hana ran round the side of the bed facing away from the door and sat down, taking a big deep breath before she answered, “I have a bit of a problem...I’m stuck!”

  Before she finished the sentence, Logan opened the door and was with her in a few long strides. Hana felt about as embarrassed as she could possibly imagine. Actually she could never have conjured up anything this humiliating, even with her overactive imagination. Hana kept her eyes closed and her arms raised above her head to avoid seeing the smirk, which had to be on Logan’s face. All she missed was the glance of admiration at her shapely legs as she sat on the bed, her belly-knickers safely hidden underneath her. Logan peered around the side of the dress and quickly found the zipper which Hana had failed to open and released her from the death grip of the dress. Hana felt the tension go in the fabric and opened her eyes.

  Logan’s face was close to hers as he yanked at the hem of the dress, pulling it down over her torso so slowly and sensuously it felt obscene. Carefully he pulled up the zipper so the dress fit neatly and snugly as it had been designed to do, hugging Hana’s slim figure beautifully. He concentrated on not snagging the fabric with the zip and when his eyes moved to look into hers, she felt as though she could see right into his soul.

  They were inches apart and tension hung in the air like a palpable thing and he made as though to kiss her, but stopped himself. Clearing his throat, Logan stood up straight and left the room, striding purposefully out of the door and closing it behind him. Hana felt as though the electricity still buzzed through her and found it hard to shift herself up from her awkward position in the dress. Logan had taken an embarrassing moment and turned it into something different. Hana found him hard to fathom sometimes like a bottomless ocean. Yet other times he was straightforward and readable, overly compulsive, a closet neat freak who liked things done properly.

  “Start again,” Hana told herself firmly. She restyled her tumbled hair, which meant straightening it again and recoiling the bun. She reapplied some of the lipstick and foundation, which was now on the lining of the dress. Deciding not to wear the tights as she felt she was asking for disaster in the shape of a ladder, Hana tried on the high-heeled shoes Anka lent her. Standing on the rug in front of the long mirror, Hana looked at herself, pleasantly pleased with the woman she saw staring back at her. “Not bad at all girlie. For an oldie, anyway.”

  She looked shapely and attractive, young looking for her age. In her face, she detected the glow of anticipation and hope. Hana nodded to herself before taking off the shoes. She spent too many hours sanding the rimu floorboards to want to dent them with stiletto heel marks. “This is it. Too late to change your mind now.”

  Inadvertently the dress fiasco killed some minutes and it was almost time to leave. Hana was incredibly nervous. Her marriage to Vik was a rushed affair, a matter of shame and disgrace. Her father refused to attend the ceremony. Disgusted and angry at her choice of husband, he went to his grave having never even seen her children. Vik’s parents were quietly disapproving of this ‘white girl,’ assuming his ‘experimentation’ in the face of an arranged marriage had simply gone wrong. They would have been happier back then if Hana had shuffled off and left their son to live the life they carefully mapped out for him. They saw the wedding day as a simple and short-lived rebellion on his part.

  On the day, Hana was neither nervous nor happy. Numbness was her only recollected feeling, her comfort being the small kick in her belly from her unborn son as she endured the registry office, followed by the Indian service in a language she didn’t understand. Her partnership with Vik had not changed with marriage one bit. In fact she hardly felt the ceremony was a marriage, so alien it seemed. Their lives were little altered. They continued to live together in a house share, only permanently instead of covertly. They went to lectures, fitted in jobs, coexisted.

  The birth of their baby wrought the biggest change as he demanded to be fitted into their busy college lives. He conveniently appeared during a mid-course break. Hana breast fed whilst reading Keats and Wordsworth and Vik changed nappies amidst papers covered in biological formulas and ecological reports. Bodie chucked up on English essays and science ones without prejudice and the newlyweds had struggled on regardless. Hana asked Vik during a depressed moment, “Would you have stayed with me if I hadn’t got pregnant?”

  The question irritated him greatly and remained unresolved for her throughout their marriage. She only realised after his death that Vik had never answered her. Eventually, her spirit crushed, Hana subdued herself and tried to be a good wife, feeling as though he had sacrificed his own choices for her. This time it would be different. I’m no longer that numb young woman. I’m expectant and terrified but at least this time, I’m in no doubt about how my groom feels about me!

  Hana stole quietly into the kitchen in her bare feet to find her fiancé sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee. He peered into it as though it possessed hidden depths, his long legs stretching out under the table. His white shirt looked as though it had been ironed to within an inch of its life as did a pair of crisp slacks. His cuffs were done up with neat gold cufflinks and he looked dashing. A pale green tie lay over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

  Hana’s heart skipped with excitement, taking her by surprise with the unexpectedness of the emotion. It instantly blotted out the fear and overwhelmed the nervousness. Hana surprised Logan by squeezing onto his knee in the small space between his body and the edge of the table. Hana reached both arms around him, holding him to her and breathing in the scent of his aftershave. She kissed the top of his head and he
ld him tightly, drawing strength from his returned embrace.

  “How are you feeling?” Logan looked up at her, his dark hair tousled and his fringe falling into his nervous eyes. Hana pushed it gently away, smoothing her fingers down the scar which had started their first conversation and healed to a welt under his eye. She kissed it slowly and gently, trying not to put her lipstick onto his face. Logan relaxed underneath her, letting go his grip almost a little too much so Hana started suddenly, afraid of ending up on the floor. He tightened his grasp and sat back to appraise her. “You look absolutely stunning.” His voice was so soft Hana almost didn’t hear, “I’m a lucky man. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  “I’m terrified,” Hana admitted. “But really excited at the same time.”

  Logan laughed and raised a shaking hand to rub his eyes. “Me too. Scared, that is. But it’s gonna be good. I just can’t believe I’m actually going to marry you.”

  What are you waiting for then?” Hana replied with mock indignation, “Marry me!”

  Chapter 52

  They rode to the registry office in the Honda, which Logan had somehow found time to clean and spruce up to carry his bride. He was careful with the route he picked but Hana was oblivious to anything after the clang of the gates, which shut Culver’s Cottage safely up behind them. Desperation and anticipation vied equally inside her. It meant she was unhappy when they could only find a parking space in the multi-storey car park in town. “But what if those men see us?” she panicked.

  The sound of the V8 engines racing around the streets, roared in the distance and the town heaved with visitors in between races. Logan held Hana’s hand tightly, ignoring the interested looks of passers-by as they made their way down the street to the registry office, dressed to kill on a Friday morning.

  Finally, they reached the wide colonial steps and started up them but Logan stopped suddenly and stood still, biting his lip as if he had just remembered something. “Wait here,” he told her, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be back I promise.” Leaping down the steps, he rushed around the corner into Hood Street. Hana was instantly filled with dread and fear rose in her throat like bile. Had he left her already? How long must she stand here waiting for him before she conceded he wasn’t coming back?

  Hana became acutely aware of cars moving down the road and people hurrying by, some of them glancing over their shoulders at her as she stood paralysed on the steps, stunningly overdressed. Across the street, she became aware through her panic that one figure remained standing, mirroring Hana’s own stillness. Hana peered through her terror, focusing on the person. Anka. Her heart lifted. Hope flooded through her. All was not lost.

  Hana raised her hand to wave, at the last moment changing it to a frenzied beckoning movement. Anka shook her head, blew her a kiss and then walked quickly away. Hana spotted the glistening tears on her friend’s cheek and tried to negotiate the steps in her heels. She had only managed a few of the concrete stairs when Logan appeared back around the corner, dragging with him an elderly lady with an equally crumbly gentleman in tow. The man walked with the aid of a stick, but the lady was sprightly and bright and carried a cup and saucer with what looked like half a cup of tea sloshing inside. The cup clearly stated ‘Esquires’ on its rim, so probably should have remained on the premises. Undaunted, the woman scurried up the steps ahead of the men and bounded in through the double doors to the registry office.

  As Logan came level with Hana, he looked afraid. “Were you leaving?”

  “No, no. I promise, I wasn’t. I thought I saw...you left me and I thought...”

  Logan smiled apologetically at her. “I forgot the bloody witnesses!”

  Bill and Esme Wilson, proud witnesses to the quick but legal marriage of Mr. Logan Henri Jackson Du Rose and Hana Elizabeth Johal, were an absolute pair of loonies as it turned out. Logan simply grabbed them from their seats outside the coffee shop without explanation and ushered them up the steps to the registry office. Having ascertained they weren’t being kidnapped, Bill settled back into his seat to enjoy the unexpected spectacle, punctuating the ceremony with the occasional cough that sounded more like a death rattle. “I thought we’d been arrested,” Esme chortled loudly. “Bill hoped we were being kidnapped. Such excitement!”

  Bill shared another phlegmy cough with the room. Esme banged him on the back like Hana’s mother used to pound the hall rug over the washing line a couple of times a year, only her mother hadn’t spilled her tea all over the floor when she did it. The rattle of the cup and saucer as Esme retrieved them with difficulty from under Bill’s chair, set Logan off smirking and the registrar, a stern gentleman with a lisp, got annoyed. “I hath another wething in ten minuth!” he exclaimed in a stage whisper, lisping and spitting all over Hana’s hand as Logan struggled to wind the ring onto her finger. Another chesty cough from Bill, accompanied by what was unmistakably a fart from Esme as she bent over him, was almost the undoing of the newlyweds. The registrar declared them, “Man and withe!” to an empty room, if you didn’t include the dying chap in the corner and the erratic wife who seemed to be doing a good impression of a whoopee cushion. Logan didn’t even get to kiss his new bride before Esme tapped him smartly on the arm and asked for a lift home as they had missed the bus.

  Signing all the paperwork turned into something of a debacle as Bill being slightly deaf, couldn’t grasp what he was meant to do and wrote, ‘Lovely sea view; will definitely come again,’ forcing the poor registrar to reissue the documentation. Some forty minutes later, the odd little group emerged from the room and became entangled with the next wedding. The bride was in full rig of white Pavlova dress and the groom plus attendants were entirely decked out as characters from ‘The Matrix.’ Logan and Hana were almost killed in the crush as the next party hurried through and Bill and Esme were swept back in again. The Du Roses hesitated on the steps outside, hoping they would emerge so they could give them the promised ride home, but after ten minutes it seemed they had somehow blended in and didn’t reappear.

  It was cold on the steps and Logan took the executive decision to leave. “Come on. I’m sure they’ll find someone to take them home. Far out! When she farted, I thought I wasn’t going to be able to stop laughing.”

  Retrieving the Honda from the multi-storey, Logan drove north, only stopping when they came to the outskirts of Hamilton and pulled up outside a mock English pub called The Dog and Duck. Once he put on the handbrake and turned off the engine, he leaned across and took Hana in his arms, kissing the bride for much longer than he would have dared with the angry registrar and random old couple watching. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his breath caressing Hana’s cheek. “It wasn’t exactly how I imagined it. Does it matter?”

  Hana shook her head and crinkled her eyes. “Not to me. It definitely distracted me from my nervousness.”

  Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be scared, Hana. It’s going to be ok.”

  “I know.” She watched a sparrow play with a piece of paper in the car park. “It’s just we haven’t worked out how any of this is going to work yet and...”

  “Sshh.” Logan put his index finger over her lips and replaced it with a kiss. “Just enjoy today. Marriage for my ancestors involved taking a woman to their bed and it was a done deal. Be grateful you got the lisping registrar, farting witnesses and a certificate first.”

  Hana laughed and slapped Logan’s muscular arm. “Ok then. I’m stunned at the extra effort you went to.”

  They had a bizarre wedding breakfast of fish and chips in a basket, dressed to the nines amongst a clientele of men with beer bellies and a gaggle of mums with small children in buggies. They laughed at the images of Coughing Bill and Farting Ethel until Logan had an accident on the floor with a bottle of tomato ketchup and then they laughed at that instead. Hana caught hold of Logan’s left hand and peered at the ring on his finger. She raised it to her lips and kissed it, looking at him shyly. “You have grown up hands now.”

  Logan sm
iled and took her hand in both of his, admiring her matching wedding band. “How does it feel to be Mrs Du Rose?”

  Hana felt like she had as a little girl, when she awoke on the first day of the school term and looked at the new shoes by her bed. She couldn’t wait to get dressed and put them on. Her life held that same newness and excitement and her face shone. She shrugged. It was too hard to explain. Instead she smirked. “From what you said about your forebears, I don’t think I fully am yet.” She bit her lip and Logan looked strangely shy.

  Hana thought they were going back to Culver’s Cottage. Logan had asked about the possibility of getting someone to feed Tiger for a few days but then they hadn’t been able to think of anyone. Nobody would come all the way out to Ngaruawahia without forcing Hana to give away her secret. So she was surprised when Logan headed further north, straight past the house on the wrong side of the river. “Logan, where are we going? What about Tiger? I don’t have a change of clothes!”

  Her husband ignored her protests, assuring her good-naturedly that all would be well. “Trust me,” he said secretively, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time in their joined lives he would have to ask her to do that.

  After another half an hour, they pulled off State Highway 1 and drove towards Rangiriri Pa. Going past the sign to the historic site, Logan turned left and the Honda made its way down a tree lined driveway towards a big house peeking through in the distance. The Rangiriri Hotel and Golf Club was an exceedingly posh affair with a reasonably affluent golf course attached, an indoor swimming pool and its own gym. Usually catering for golfers and retirees looking for an expensive break, there was no honeymoon suite, but a spacious double room with an ensuite bathroom overlooking the undulating golf course was more than adequate. An attendant led Hana upstairs to the room while Logan retrieved the bags he sneaked into the Honda the night before, consisting of clothing for himself and his new wife. He even swiped her make up bag as she finished with it that morning and stuffed it into the glove box. Hana was glad she hadn’t wasted time trying to retrieve the new knickers from her dresser as they seemed to have found their way into her bag anyway. “I can’t believe you went through my knicker drawer,” she giggled, pretending to be offended. “Is nothing sacred now?”