by Bowes, K T
“What are you talking about, woman?”
“You know exactly what I mean!” Hana hissed and saw the corners of Logan’s lips curl upwards. “And you have the same eyes. I’d put money on you being related.”
“But you’re not a betting woman,” Logan replied, making her frown.
Hana felt self-conscious about her baby bump and smoothed her hand across the pretty green fabric covering it. Logan reached for her fingers across the table. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like the dresses I chose?”
“I love them, babe. It was sweet of you to go back to the shop and get me some more. You left the price tag on one of them though. I’m surprised your credit card didn’t melt.”
Logan snorted. “Who says it didn’t?”
“I just feel self-conscious,” Hana whispered. “I feel like an old person dressed as a pregnant woman. What will your parents think?” She heard the hysteria just below the surface and bit her lip.
“Hey! None of that!” Logan replied. “You’ve never looked more beautiful and I tell you that all the time. It’s what I think that counts. You were pregnant when I fell in love with you. How could I not love you pregnant with my baby?” He squeezed her fingers, forcing Hana to look up and see the love in his eyes. Feeling tearful, she gave a watery smile and looked away.
“I was eighteen and pregnant, not forty five.”
Logan gritted his teeth as the memory pushed itself forward into his vision. He glared at the menu. Despite the cruel and intervening years, Logan saw Hana exactly as she was on the tube train, pregnant and stunning. But he would never let her cry like she did that day. The sight of her tears infuriated him back then and again now. She sat next to the haughty Indian man while he dabbed at a cut on his lip and eyebrow with a dirty tissue. The child-Logan watched openly as Hana cried, wiping her tears on her bare arms, her green eyes filled with misery. Vik ignored her as though she didn’t exist. The feeling of wanting to smack the Indian guy was etched on Logan’s psyche forever. His life had been on hold from that moment, until he saw Hana in the car park at work, quite by chance and far too many years later. Then his existence shuddered back into real-time, as though he had held his breath for a very long time.
They ate well at the cafe and Logan Du Rose had an unaccustomed swagger in his step as he introduced Hana to the kitchen and wait staff. “Taku hoa wahine,” he said and they answered in Māori and shook her hand. Hana felt out of her depth, understanding only the word, ‘wife’. The younger staff stared at Hana with something like resentment and she felt uncomfortable.
Logan went to pay and Hana scuttled after him, not wanting to be left alone under the veil of awkwardness.
“No, man!” Alex insisted. “It’s an honour that you choose to bring your bride here. You’re my guest. Put your moni ukauka away, I insist. Go home to aunty. She’ll be thrilled to see you.” Alex held the front door open for his major shareholder and walked them to the car, while inside the cafe, his wife made a quick phone call of warning to a family member.
Logan made the most of the beautiful day. It wasn’t a long trip home, probably less than an hour and a half, but he wanted it to be special for Hana. It was the first time she had ever shown an interest in his family. The other visits home were fraught with conflict and Hana gained an unfavourable impression of the place he loved best. The tangata whenua, people of the land, called to Logan Du Rose wherever he was, summoning him home from the other side of the planet. They wouldn’t let him go and he didn’t want them to.
“Does your mother know we’re coming?” Hana’s voice wobbled, Miriam’s unpredictability making her wish she hadn’t suggested the visit.
“I didn’t tell her,” Logan replied honestly. He grimaced at the stupidity of eating at the cafe. He bet someone would have phoned ahead. They wouldn’t be able to help themselves. Bloody women!
Logan was determined nothing would go wrong; he needed Hana to love his birthplace. He fretted inwardly, hoping it worked out for good.
“Where will we sleep if she hasn’t got a room?” Hana asked, pulling Logan out of his private thoughts.
“My room is always free,” he reassured her.
“What if it’s not?” Hana persisted and Logan bit his lip, trying not to get cross.
“It will be. It’s mine.” It had to be. He owned the hotel outright. Miriam and Alfred ran it for him. The hotel profits and the farm were separate. Logan owned it all.
After school he trained as a teacher, a four-year honours degree. He did exceptionally well. He took English and Maths as a double degree and while he loved and taught English, he was mentally stimulated and fascinated by numbers. During his mid-twenties, Logan moved to England, to London, to the place he last saw Hana. He taught in poor, inner city schools filled with crime, drugs and gangs. His hard-no-nonsense outlook and olive skin gave him credence with the students. They didn’t mess with him like they did the weedy, white teachers.
During his years of teenage confusion and through university, Logan fooled around with Caroline Marsh. Sadly, so did his brother and most of his cousins, including Alex. But in England there was nobody who really interested him and he spent his time searching for Hana. Sometimes he would see a flash of red hair and feel a dart of hope spike his heart, only to crash to the floor when the woman turned around. It was futile, hopeless and he knew it. His wages, good for the time compared to those his fellow graduates collected in New Zealand, burned a hole first in his pocket and then in his bank account. His bedsit in a poor area of London cost little and he didn’t need a car. The tube could take him anywhere he needed to go. Some weekends out of sheer boredom, he rode the tube round and round, killing the hours until work on Monday. There was always the hope that today he would finally see the redhead getting onto the Circle Line train, towing the child her pregnancy had become. Though her heart shaped face was engraved into his memory, each failed trip became more bitter than the last.
His love of mathematics led him to fill his evenings with night school classes. His maths degree papers gave him a foot in the door and he acquired accounting qualifications. It was only a matter of time before he began dabbling in the stock market. At first it was just blue chip and then he got braver. Logan Du Rose lost a great deal of money on the London Stock Exchange, but he quadrupled in profits far more than he ever lost. His losses acted as a fuel. It was like legalised gambling, the same thrill and buzz, risk and daring. He became friends with his financial advisor who entertained him at posh restaurants, before going home to his luxury million pound apartment in Kensington, while Logan caught the tube home to his bedsit in Brixton.
Logan Du Rose bounced money around the globe like a tennis ball around the court, sending it back to his ASB account in Auckland, New Zealand where it sat patiently waiting for him.
The bank sent him letters via the hotel which were never forwarded on, requesting meetings about his account usage and the large amounts of cash stewing in his current account. They would be delighted to help him save it, but never got the chance as none of their letters were forwarded. Recession hit the UK hard and fast, coming like a thief in the night. Logan, realising the level of his addiction only a few months before, had already withdrawn everything. He went cold turkey, cutting ties with his financial advisor who was fat from the profits of advice he hadn’t given. The man went down like a hit warplane when the credit crunch really bit hard. By the time he came begging for handouts from his best client, Logan was long gone.
Logan quit his job and travelled for a few months before returning home. He was cash rich and it seemed as though everyone else back home was cash poor. The money meant nothing to him. It was a means to an end but inside, deep down, he was poorer than ever. He went through the motions empty and dead. He had bailed out the hotel years before and on his return, bailed out the failing farm. His parents buried their shame and told no one. Logan continued to speculate and invest. He re-registered as a New Zealand teacher and got a good job at the grammar school he ca
me from on the North Shore. He put up with Caroline because she suited a surface need to ‘look normal,’ but he didn’t love her and she knew it. He tried to act like a man in his thirties finally settling down. Yet even though he felt hard and dead inside, Caroline worked overtime to get to him, whittling her way through his armour, using anyone and anything to burrow in as though driven by an obsession. And then she wreaked the final havoc, standing him up at the altar and something snapped in him. Logan ran for the last time. And found Hana.
“What are you thinking about?” Hana asked softly and Logan smiled and covered the small hand she laid on his thigh.
“Seeing you again, after all those years.”
“That’s embarrassing!” Hana huffed. “I wish you wouldn’t! It was hideous.”
Logan smiled, his face wistful and filled with a mix of emotions. The stuff had spewed out of Hana’s bag and onto the gritty floor of the car park, as the leather handle caught around the car’s wing mirror. Logan remembered the sounds and the smells, the sight of her, recalling it at will. She bent down to pick it all up, clearly embarrassed, the sun glinting off her hair as the speeding vehicle narrowly missed her. She was utterly beautiful and for the first time in years, Logan was lost for words. He was paralysed, wanting to help her but unable to move. It was like a spell, which would break if he even breathed out. A little voice in his head taunted, it can’t be her, it can’t be her, but even after all this time, he knew it was.
For weeks he was a mess, not eating or sleeping. He watched Hana from afar, not knowing where to start. Was she still married? What happened to the baby? Why was she in New Zealand, of all the places in the world; Hamilton? He daren’t ask questions, hugging his interest to him like a precious secret thing. He found out her name from the staff list and discovered Pete shared an office with her. He hated Pete then. Poor, stupid Pete. Didn’t he even realise he was farting and burping in the same room as Logan’s soul mate?
Gradually curiosity got the better of him. He gently pumped the unsuspecting Peter North for information about all the staff, not just her, in case Pete suspected. He found out her sad story and knew he could make it right for her, just like he promised on the train. Destiny called him but something always blocked his way.
Hana pinched his thigh and Logan jumped. “Stop thinking about me grovelling on the car park floor for my lipstick. I feel embarrassed. Don’t you dare tell the baby that story!”
Logan smiled. “It’s my favourite story. I’ll write a waiata and sing it to our children. About how after weeks of watching from afar, their mother just sat down next to me at the table and their father was completely out of his depth.”
“No you weren’t,” Hana giggled. “You were gorgeous and you knew it.”
“Lies. All lies. My tamariki will listen to me, not you.”
“What’s all this about children?” Hana shot her husband a sideways look. “This is your lot, boy. I’m not doing this again!”
“Na, you won’t be able to help yourself.” Logan smirked. “You can’t resist me.”
“Yeah, well maybe I’ll have to learn.” Hana touched a hand to her belly and felt the movement under her fingers. She studied her husband’s strong profile as he negotiated sharp bends in the road. “Logan, I’m serious. I’m forty five. I’m not doing this again.”
Logan sensed her distress. “It’s fine, I’m joking. I’m already the luckiest man on the planet. “Before you, I was the loneliest. Now I share a house, a bed and a baby with the only person on the face of the earth who can make me feel anything. Not a day goes by when I refuse to take it for granted. I didn’t think I’d have any tamariki. One is fine.”
“You’re a gorgeous man.” Hana smiled lazily at him from the passenger seat. “I love you. But I will have to learn to resist you somehow.”
“You can try,” Logan joked, winking at Hana. “But I’ll try harder too.”
Logan parked in a lay-by on the final track down to the hotel and they got out and sat on the grass verge. It was a sheer drop and Logan laid his jacket down on the ground so they could sit, swinging their legs over the precipice and giggling. The hotel was far off in the distance, glinting and smiling in the sunlight. “It’s so beautiful up here.” Hana smiled, the rays of light catching her hair and setting it on fire.
“I’m glad,” Logan whispered. I’m bringing you home and one day, we won’t leave.
Hana felt the lightness in his mood and was glad for him. It felt like she had known him forever, even though there were so many gaps in her knowledge. The dark, foreboding thing inside him radiated out so that sometimes, she could feel it like an electrical pulse. The only blight was his secretiveness, which bothered her.
Hana kissed her husband’s rough cheek and snuggled into his armpit. With his guard lowered, contentment spread over him like a comfortable cloak. Unless he felt threatened. Then he morphed himself into a finely honed weapon set irrevocably to destruct. Hana took a sly upward look at her husband as he peered at something in the far distance. His long dark lashes and peculiarly grey eyes in his olive face were striking. “I hope our baby has your genes,” she said lazily. “I don’t want it to look like me.”
“Don’t say that.” Logan turned his grey eyes on Hana’s face, his expression serious. “I love everything about you. I’d love a child who looked like you.” His face held pain and Hana stroked the frown lines on Logan’s forehead. He looked troubled. “It would be better for the child to be more like you and less like the Du Roses.”
Hana opened her mouth to ask why but Logan put his lips over hers. He heated up the kiss, deliberately distracting her as she gasped for air and lay back on the ground. “Don’t!” Hana warned him as his hand worked its way up her dress and his fingers pushed under the elastic and into her knickers. “This is a public road!” Hana complained, trying to bat his energetic fingers away. “Someone might see.”
“No they won’t,” he reassured her, a smirk lighting his eyes. “The main road’s down there.” He undid the button at the top of his jeans and shucked his tee shirt free, dragging it over his head and revealing his strong upper body. The winter sun smiled on his olive skin and Logan’s eyes danced with risk and excitement.
“Promise?” Hana begged and Logan nodded his assurance.
“Promise.” He gathered her into his arms and returned to releasing her from her underwear. Hana’s red hair lay around her head like a scarlet halo and Logan dug his fingers into her soft curls and groaned. “I never knew it could be this good.” He settled over her and Hana clasped her fingers against his bare back.
“What could?” she whispered as Logan kissed her soft neck.
“Everything,” he muttered. “Marriage, sex. Especially the sex. It’s because I love you. I never knew it made things different.”
Hana opened her mouth to speak, finding it filled with Logan’s tongue. Her reply was stolen by his passion and later, she couldn’t even remember what it was.
Du Rose Legacy
Chapter 12
They sat on the ridge overlooking the hotel until the sun slithered down behind them. Logan pulled Hana in close and kissed the side of her face. His fingers twisted a stray curl, fascinated by the red glow coaxed out by the dying sun. “I love it up here.” His voice sounded husky and contented as he sighed and rested his chin against Hana’s cheek.
“Mmnn,” breathed Hana, “It’s quite lovely.” She sounded so English that it made him smile.
“I’d like to come back one day. For good,” Logan murmured. He felt her stiffen next to him and bit his lip, wisely deciding not to push it. But Hana had already seized on the cry of his heart and heard it call from deep inside him, sensing it in the sad depths of his sigh. She snuggled into his shoulder but lifted her face so she could see his expression clearly.
“What about Culver’s Cottage?” she asked.
“We could bring it with us,” Logan suggested, “put it wherever we wanted. Up here, in the bush, nearer the sea, wherever.”
Hana thought of not living next to Maihi, not having the imposing bush behind her, the river in front and her brow knitted. But she was also realistic and knew that life moved on and nothing ever stayed the same.
“We could,” she said speculatively, “I guess.”
Logan exhaled and flexed his shaking hands. He hugged his wife tight and kissed her long and hard on the mouth. Hana sensed something important had taken place, something wordless but massive in the grand scheme of things. She returned his kisses, folding her arms around his neck and soaking in her husband’s strength through his sweater.
The breeze picked up and rustled the grass around them. Logan got to his feet and carefully hauled Hana up to stand next to him. “You’re still not forgiven though,” she said, her voice barbed.
“I said I’m sorry!” Logan tried not to laugh but failed to dispel the lingering smirk.
“No you’re not!” Hana bit back. “You lost my knickers over the side of the cliff and now I have to meet your mother commando! I’m pregnant, Logan! I’m meant to have dignity.”
Logan snorted and Hana stomped back to the car. “I want to go and find them. They might be on the road, down there.”
“It’s windy, babe. They won’t be there, not flimsy little things like that.”
“It’s not my fault!” Hana stamped. “I have to wear those ones. My belly ones roll down. It’s why I can’t wear tights anymore.”
Logan looked down at her long tan boots, biting his lip at the thought of the shapely bare legs under her dress. He swallowed. “Can we stop talking about this now? It’s making me horny again.”
“Can’t we find them?” Hana begged and Logan shook his head.
“No, I don’t even want to think about them.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and paused. “They were nice though. I loved that black lace. Do you have any more in your suitcase?”
“Logan!”
“Ok, sorry. We’ll be fine. We’ll sneak into the hotel and go upstairs and...”