Читать книгу Summer Seduction - Daphne Clair - Страница 8

‘I’VE invited the neighbour,’ Blythe told her parents when they arrived. ‘He’s coming over.’

‘Not such a recluse, then.’ Rose, a petite woman who had passed on her dark eyes and soft feminine mouth to her daughter, was unpacking a bacon and egg pie and fresh bread, cheese muffins and a chocolate cake.

‘He’s a very private person,’ Blythe said anxiously. ‘Don’t give him the third degree, okay?’

Her parents exchanged a glance. Who, us? And then they both focused reprovingly on her. Blythe laughed and gave up. She suspected Jas Tratherne was quite capable of handling unwanted questions anyway.

When he arrived and she opened the door to him, he seemed less aloof, even giving her a smile as he handed over the bottle of wine he carried. She thanked him nicely, smiling back, and he blinked and she saw his eyes darken, become softer. Surprised at the unmistakable tug of attraction, she stared for a moment before stepping back, breaking the tenuous thread as she invited him in. ‘Come and meet my parents.’

He asked them to call him Jas, and shared a beer with her father while he enquired how the traffic had been from Auckland, commented on the weather, and showed interest in the headlines of the Sunday paper the Summerfields had bought. He even admired some of Blythe’s floral arrangements that she’d removed from the table and laid into open boxes ready for sale, studied samples of her work hanging on the walls and, raising his eyes, noted without comment the drying nets with their delicate, rainbow-coloured burden of flowers.

After they were seated around the table Rose asked what he did for a living.

‘Teaching,’ he said. ‘What about you and Brian?’

‘We’re farming,’ Brian Summerfield told him. ‘Out the other side of Auckland, near Wiri. But the land all around is being swallowed up in lifestyle blocks bought by Queen Street farmers—lawyers and accountants farming in their spare time. We’re thinking of selling…’

Rose slipped in a remark about the children not being interested in carrying on the farm after Brian retired, and added, ‘What do your parents do, Jas?’

‘My mother died when I was a teenager. My father’s living in a retirement home now.’

Rose managed to elicit the fact that Jas had come from Wellington before he deftly changed the subject again. He helped with the dishes and even accepted another cup of coffee, on the deck built to take advantage of the afternoon sun and the ocean view. And after a while he took his leave with a gracious thank-you for Blythe and handshakes for her parents.

‘Seems a decent sort of bloke,’ her father said.

‘I’m sure we needn’t worry about him,’ Rose agreed, ‘although he isn’t very forthcoming about himself.’ Looking slyly at Blythe, she added, ‘You didn’t mention he was dishy.’

Blythe laughed. ‘Dad—did you hear that?’

Rose refused to be diverted. ‘Don’t you think so?’

‘Personality is more important than looks.’

‘What’s wrong with his personality? He was very pleasant, I thought.’

‘He was trying to impress you today.’ And that was probably not quite fair. He had simply demonstrated ordinary courtesy.

‘Do you think so? Why?’

‘I told him you worry. That’s the only reason he agreed to come to lunch. To…set your minds at rest.’

Brian said, ‘Well, that was good of him.’

‘Sensitive.’ Rose eyed her daughter consideringly.

Blythe cast her a laughing glance, guessing the direction of her mother’s thoughts. Of course Blythe had noticed that her new neighbour was quite a handsome man. And today…

If she was totally honest she found Jas Tratherne surprisingly attractive, and for a moment she’d seen a spark of warmth, of desire, in his eyes, despite his seeming determination to repel boarders.

On Monday she took a load of flowers and notions into Auckland, and looked up an old schoolfriend who after a year overseas had just moved into a mixed flat.

Gina’s flatmates, a pleasant, casually welcoming crew, invited Blythe to eat with them. She stayed late, drank a few glasses of cheap wine and ended up spending the night on the sofa. While everyone was snatching some kind of breakfast-on-the-run next morning, she issued a general invitation to them to visit her.

On Wednesday morning Blythe donned her red sweatshirt over shorts and shirt, piled sacks into the van, and drove down the short distance to the landward side of the saddle. A stormy night and spring tide had left an abundance of seaweed on the high-water line.

Down on the beach she filled a bag with rapidly drying hanks of brown kelp, tied it with rope, and dragged her harvest back over the sand, ignoring the sand flurries that stung her bare legs.

At the slope the bag snagged on a bit of driftwood almost buried in the sand, and she turned backwards to pull it free, tripped on a tuft of pingao grass and sat down hard, letting out an exasperated swear word.

‘What are you doing?’

Jas’s voice came from behind her, and then he was at her side, looking down at her.

She lifted her head and squinted up at him against the capricious wind that worried her hair. He was wearing his track pants and running shoes.

‘Getting fertiliser.’ She tugged again at the bag.

‘Give me that.’ A lean hand took the rope-end from her, and Jas bent and swung the bag to his shoulder.

Blythe said, ‘I can manage—’ Already beginning to dry, the seaweed wasn’t heavy.

‘Sure,’ he said, and went on up the slope.

Given no choice, Blythe followed him.

He stowed the bag in the van and looked at the pile of empty sacks. ‘You’re planning to fill all those?’

‘It’s not hard. Just time-consuming.’

‘Right.’ He picked up the pile. ‘Let’s go.’

She gaped for a moment and then followed him up the slope. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘If you really don’t want my help you can say so.’

Blythe shook her head. She was actually dangerously delighted. Not only because it would take half the time to gather the seaweed, but because she liked the way the wind whipped Jas’s hair over his forehead and then smoothed it back, making him look younger. ‘This is nice of you.’

‘I can do with the exercise,’ he told her as they reached the beach again. ‘Besides, I owe you.’

‘Owe me?’

‘For a very nice meal? And biscuits.’

‘You don’t owe me anything,’ she protested. He’d only come to lunch as some sort of favour to her—or to her then unknown parents.

They didn’t talk much. He just filled a bag, working a few yards away from her, and then carried two bags back to the van while she started another.

‘Thank you,’ she said, closing the door on the last of them. ‘I appreciate this.’

‘I’ll come along and help you unload.’

She didn’t argue, allowing him to climb into the passenger seat as she started the engine. He slammed the door and briefly his shoulder touched hers before he raised a hand to smooth back his wind-tousled hair, and stretched his long legs as far as they’d go in the confined cab. He smelled of salt and seaweed, and so, she supposed, must she.

He helped her stack the bulging bags near the compost bins and eyed the petrol-driven machine standing nearby. ‘What’s that?’

‘A mulcher. I’ll put the seaweed through it later and add it to the compost.’

He studied the toolshed, and the huge stainless-steel tank on the rise between the garden area and the cottage, half hidden by leggy kanuka towering above a tangle of smaller native plants. ‘Your water supply?’

‘A holding tank. I’ve got three rain-collecting tanks behind that trellis at the back of the house, and the extra water’s piped down.’

‘That must hold about seven thousand gallons?’

‘Mm-hm. It came from a dairy factory that was closing. I had to get a bank loan to buy it.’

He looked at her with what might have been dawning respect. ‘You must have invested quite a bit of money…all that fencing, the shade house…’

‘My family and some friends helped put up the fences and tunnel house and install the watering system.’

‘This is quite an operation for a one-woman band.’

‘I’ll show you round if you’re interested.’

She thought he was going to say no. Maybe he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, because he said yes, he was interested, and followed her along the rows of growing plants, the ‘everlastings’ first, then the sunflower bed, where even the most recently planted row of tiny blind shoots yearned towards the sun climbing up the sky. At noon they would stand straight as soldiers on parade, and by evening would uniformly be leaning westward.

‘You must have planted some of these very early?’ Jas touched one of the taller plants. ‘It’s barely spring.’

‘I started the first batch in individual peat pots inside and planted the pots out when the soil warmed up.’

‘Why individual pots?’

‘Traumatising an immature root system can ruin a good plant,’ Blythe explained. ‘Sunflowers are hardy but if they’re to grow up straight and strong they need tender loving care, just like human children.’ She grinned at him and found him still staring at the sturdy young plants.

Then he turned to her and smiled back. ‘You’d be good at that.’

She felt herself grow warm at the unexpected gentleness in his voice. Trying not to sound breathless, she answered lightly, ‘I certainly hope so. It’s my livelihood.’

In the tunnel house she showed him her earlyblooming sunflowers in plastic pots, the buds tight in fat green pods but one or two showing tips of yellow.

‘How long before they grow to full size?’ he asked.

‘These are a dwarf variety, meant for pots. I’ll take my first trial batch to Auckland tomorrow.’

‘Well, good luck.’ He moved, preparing to leave.

‘I suppose I’ve been boring you,’ Blythe apologised. Not everyone felt about plants the way she did.

‘Not at all. I’ve rather enjoyed myself.’

The faint surprise in his voice assured her he was sincere, and a rush of gladness made her bold. ‘After all that exertion the least I can do is offer you a cup of coffee—or a beer. I wouldn’t mind one myself.’

‘Beer—you?’

‘Why not? I’m a big girl.’ She grinned at him.

‘No, you’re not.’ He gave her another of those looks that made her conscious of the few centimetres she lacked. His mouth hardly moved, but his eyes smiled at her. She saw the dark centres enlarge, and realised how close she was standing to him. Close enough to see the fine lines by his eyes, and the way his nostrils widened almost imperceptibly as he took a breath.

Then he stepped back and the humour disappeared from his eyes, leaving them bleak again. ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘but you must have work to do. Maybe another time.’

She didn’t press him, but turned and picked up one of the plastic pots. ‘Here,’ she said quickly, holding it out to him. ‘It’s called Music Box. All you need to do is give it water when the soil starts drying out, and cut off the spent flowers.’

He took the plant, holding it in both hands. If he couldn’t be bothered watering it, she told herself, it was no great tragedy.

‘If you want anything from Auckland,’ she offered, ‘the van will be empty on the return trip.’

‘There’s nothing, thanks.’

‘I could collect your mail with mine if the store’s open when I get back. Unless you plan to go yourself.’

He paused. ‘If there’s mail you could pick it up.’

‘Okay.’ She smiled at him, relieved that he hadn’t snubbed her again.

He nodded, hefted the pot-plant in his hand and said, ‘Thank you. I’ll take care of it.’

Next morning Blythe saw no sign of Jas as she passed his house. But at the end of the day, when the sun was already touching the seaward hills, she drew up outside and jumped out, a bundle of large envelopes in her hands.

Jas was seated at the desk in the front room, but as she approached he got up to open the door.

She held out the envelopes. ‘Your mail.’

‘Thanks.’ He took them, paused and asked, ‘How did the sales trip go?’

Her relief and excitement bubbled over. ‘The potted sunflowers sold well. I’ve got orders for more, and a lot of interest in cut blooms when they’re ready.’

‘You made a wise decision, moving into sun-flowers.’

‘I hope so. Now I know I can sell them, I should buy more seed, later varieties. There’s one called Autumn Beauty that sounds promising. On the other hand,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘I guess I shouldn’t get too hung up on one crop. I’ve been striking some lavender cuttings…maybe I could market them directly to retail shops, like the sunflowers.’

She looked at him eagerly, then flushed. He seemed very aloof today, his expression a politely interested mask. She stepped back. ‘Sorry, you’re busy…’

As she made to turn away, he said, ‘No, wait.’

Blythe reluctantly faced him again. ‘I was thinking,’ he went on slowly, almost as if he’d thought better of it already, ‘a walk would be a good idea before it gets dark. I suppose you’re too tired to join me?’

Surprised, Blythe gave him a wide smile. ‘I’m not tired. I’ll put the van away and meet you.’

She parked the van in the garage and waited on the track until Jas came along. There was no wind, and he wore a white T-shirt with jeans and sneakers.

She’d worn jeans today too instead of her usual shorts, with an ochre and rusty-red shirt that she’d thought smart enough for a business trip.

The sound of an engine made them turn. Jas’s hand closed about her arm and drew her aside.

A utility truck was lurching along to the beach. Blythe waved and the vehicle drew to a halt, the engine still throbbing as the middle-aged driver rested a brawny brown forearm on the window opening and grinned at her. ‘Kia-ora, Blythe,’ he greeted her.

Beside him a boy in his mid-teens leaned forward. ‘Hi, Blythe.’

She stepped forward. ‘How are you, Tau—and Shawn?’

‘Good, good.’ The man looked behind her to where Jas still stood at the roadside. ‘You’ll be the new fella in the Delaney place?’

Blythe introduced them, and Jas came to her side to shake the big, callused hand that Tau offered. ‘Tau runs a garage at Apiata,’ she explained.

‘Fishing’s good here,’ Tau said. ‘You tried it?’

‘I’m not a fisherman, I’m afraid.’

‘Come along and have a go,’ the man suggested.

‘How about you, Blythe?’ Shawn asked eagerly.

She glanced at Jas. ‘We’re just going for a walk.’

The boy looked disappointed, and she added, ‘We might come and watch for a while.’

‘We’ll give you some fish,’ he promised. ‘Eh, Dad?’

‘Sure, if we catch any.’ Tau had his foot on the accelerator. Winking at Blythe, he murmured, ‘Kid’s got a crush on you. See you, then,’ he added more loudly, including Jas in his glance, and released the handbrake.

As the vehicle continued along the track, Jas said, ‘Don’t let me stop you joining your friends.’

‘Not if you don’t want to.’

‘I thought we might climb to the headland. But maybe another time…’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘It’s a great view, from there.’

There was a path of sorts between the scrub and scraggly seaside trees, slippery in parts and uneven. Blythe led the way, sure-footed and unflagging on the steep, uneven slope. At the top the vegetation was wind-sheared, and a track led to the very tip of the headland above a thrust of wave-burnished rocks.

The sun shimmered over the trembling water. In the distance Apiata sat washed in soft yellow light.

The two fishermen had reached the rock outcrop at the foot of the headland and were preparing their lines. Shawn looked up and waved. Blythe waved back.

‘You’d know everyone around here?’ Jas guessed.

‘Just about.’ Blythe sat on the wiry dry grass at their feet, drawing up her legs and hugging them. ‘My brothers and sister and I spent lots of holidays here with my grandparents. Everyone was great to Gran and me after my grandfather died—and since she went the locals have all looked out for me.’

Jas sat with a forearm draped across a raised knee. Below, the fishermen threw out their lines and within ten minutes Tau reeled in a struggling silver fish.

‘That didn’t take long,’ Jas murmured.

They watched Tau and his son bring in more fish, and admired the changing play of the gradually fading sunlight on the ocean, until the dazzling disc had settled on the horizon. Then Blythe stirred. ‘We’d better go down before it gets dark.’

Jas offered her his hand, and although she didn’t need help she took it, oddly disappointed when he dropped hers immediately afterwards. She wondered if her eyes, like his, reflected the fire of the setting sun.

‘Let’s go this way,’ she suggested.

‘Down the cliff face?’

‘It’s quite safe if you know what you’re doing.’

She showed him the almost invisible steps in the cliff, and the handholds she’d known since childhood. Near the foot of the climb she grasped at the branch of an old pohutukawa, and the wood gave way. She heard Jas give a sharp exclamation, felt herself slide, and came to an ignominious landing on her behind in a rock pool.

Jas was beside her before she’d struggled to her feet, his hands lifting her. ‘Are you all right?’

Blythe laughed, despite the sure knowledge that she’d have a thumping bruise by tomorrow. ‘I’m okay. Lucky I was nearly down, anyway. Thanks for picking me up.’ She pushed a loosened curl from her eyes.

‘Nothing bothers you, does it?’

He sounded oddly tense, and she cast him a wary look of surprise. ‘A bit of water and a sore behind isn’t worth making a fuss about.’

Shawn came bounding towards them across the uneven rock shelf. ‘Blythe? You okay?’

‘I’m fine! Really.’ Shawn’s father was holding two rods and looking anxiously towards her, and she lifted a hand in reassurance. ‘Just wet.’

Shawn followed her rueful gaze down at her jeans, soaked from waist to knees, and said cheekily, ‘Suits you.’ His admiring dark gaze returned to her face, and she gave him a primly reproving look, then spoiled it by laughing when he looked instantly abashed.

‘We got some fish for you,’ he said.

They picked their way across the rocks, and Tau turned to greet them again. He offered his rod to Jas, and when Jas shook his head, saying he’d no experience of fishing, Shawn cast him a look of teenage scorn, but Tau insisted on teaching him, while Shawn tied a couple of fish together and handed them to Blythe.

Blythe watched Jas’s efforts with amused interest, and teased him with exaggerated admiration when he reeled in a respectable schnapper.

Jas grinned rather narrowly at her as he handed back the rod and thanked his tutor.

‘Know how to gut it?’ Tau asked him.

Jas shook his head. Blythe said, ‘I’ll do it,’ and expertly cleaned and gutted the catch and attached a loop of twine while Jas watched with interest. She handed it to him and rinsed her hands in one of the rock pools, shivering in a gust of wind coming off the sea.

Tau said, ‘You’re cold. Want to borrow my jacket?’ He indicated it, lying on the rocks.

‘Mine’d fit better,’ Shawn offered eagerly.

‘No, we’re on our way,’ Blythe told them, ‘but thanks. And thanks a lot for the fish.’

‘No problem,’ Tau assured her. ‘We’ll have to be packing it in soon too.’

Carrying his fish and hers, Jas walked beside her to where they could climb down from the rocks, and she paused to remove her shoes, ready to walk on the soft sand. Jas jumped down and turned to offer his hand. Blythe paused and stared at his palm, marred by a dark, bloody scrape. ‘You’re hurt!’

‘It’s nothing.’ He transferred the fish to that hand and reached up with the other, gripping her hand.

She climbed down and grabbed his wrist as he swapped the fish back to his uninjured hand. ‘That must sting.’

‘I said it’s nothing.’ He pulled away from her.

‘You did that coming after me when I fell?’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘You really didn’t need to worry.’

‘I wasn’t the only one. Your young friend’s a bit precocious, isn’t he?’

‘Shawn?’ Blythe smiled. ‘I’ve known him since he was knee-high. He’s just being a teenager… practising. I’m sure his parents don’t need to worry.’

‘Are they worried?’

‘He’s been running round with an older crowd, boys who’ve left school. Tau and his wife think they’re a bit rough. He’s got a great family—he’ll come right.’

‘You think that will stop him going off the rails?’

‘I’m sure it helps. Don’t you agree?’

‘Oh, yes.’ His voice sounded flat. ‘A caring family with decent values can make all the difference in the world.’ As she glanced at him, he added smoothly, ‘Isn’t that what all the psychology books say?’

‘I haven’t read a lot of psychology,’ Blythe confessed. ‘But it seems plain common sense to me.’

He smiled suddenly, almost indulgently, his eyes warming in a way that made her heart skip a beat. ‘And you have a lot of that.’

Blythe hoped it was a compliment.

When they reached the sandy flight of steps to the cottage Jas made to hand over Blythe’s fish.

‘Come in,’ she said, ‘and let me see to your hand.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with it—’

‘Yes, there is. And I feel responsible.’ She gripped his wrist. ‘Come on.’

He could have pulled away, but instead he followed her up to the cottage, depositing the fish on the porch, and let Blythe lead him to the bathroom and switch on the light. She inspected his hand. ‘That needs cleaning.’

She ran warm water into the basin and poured in a little disinfectant. But when she made to clean the wound, Jas firmly removed the cloth from her hand and did the job himself.

Blythe found a clean towel and gently blotted the water from his palm, then placed a piece of gauze over it. As she leaned forward to tape it with sticking plaster she felt his breath stir the tendrils of hair at her temples. But there was a resistance emanating from him, as though he hated her touching him.

Not a touchy-feely person, she thought, concentrating on her task.

As soon as she’d finished he stepped back, although there wasn’t much room. ‘I hope your conscience feels better now,’ he said, a touch of irony in his voice.

‘You’re going to have trouble making a meal. Why don’t I cook some of the fish, and we can eat together?’

‘Here? You’ve had a busy day—’

‘I have to have dinner anyway.’

After a moment he said, ‘All right. Use my fish, and you can put yours in the freezer.’

She let him get the table ready, and while she prepared the meal he sat on the sofa and looked through a pile of library books she’d left on the coffee table—a book on contemporary Maori art, a romantic novel, a thriller and a biography of the painter Raphael.

‘You have an eclectic taste,’ he commented.

‘I like variety.’

‘Mm. So I see.’

In a very short time she’d served them fillets dribbled with lemon-and-parsley butter and accompanied by new potatoes and a fresh salad.

‘That was very good.’ Jas pushed away his plate.

‘There’s nothing like fish straight from the sea. Do you want a pudding? I can open a can of peaches—’

‘No. Thank you.’

‘Coffee, then.’ Blythe got up to clear the plates.

When she put the cups on the coffee table he moved to the sofa beside her. The cup she’d given him was a hexagon, in alternating bands of green china and shining gold. He turned it interestedly, examining the pattern.

‘That was my grandmother’s,’ she said.

‘Tell me about her.’

She looked at him sceptically.

‘I never knew my grandparents,’ he said. ‘Was she like you? Do you take after her?’

‘Well…she was very independent…’

‘A family trait. And…?’

Beginning hesitantly, she soon launched into family memories, watching his face for signs of boredom. He slipped in occasional questions, and listened with an expression of alert curiosity, like a tourist in a foreign land, curious about the local way of life.

At last she said, ‘It’s a shame you didn’t know your grandparents. They must have died early?’

‘My mother’s parents did, and I think my father just lost touch with his.’

‘That’s sad. Do you have brothers and sisters?’

He put down his cup. ‘I had two half-brothers,’ he said rather curtly. ‘I haven’t seen them in years.’

‘Why?’ Her eyes rounded with sympathy.

‘We didn’t like each other much.’ He picked up the Raphael biography and started leafing through it. ‘You’re interested in Raphael’s work?’

Reluctantly, Blythe dropped the subject of his family. ‘Art history was my best subject at school.’

‘Why didn’t you go to university?’

‘I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, and I was offered a job at the nursery where I’d worked in the school holidays. I’d enjoyed that, so I took it.’

Jas paused at a page, and Blythe leaned forward a little to see what had captured his attention. The illustration was a round design divided symmetrically into panels painted with different designs. She read the caption aloud. ‘“The Cupola of the Chigi chapel.”’

‘It’s an intriguing pattern.’

Blythe shifted closer to see, her shoulder brushing against his. ‘It must have taken ages,’ she murmured. ‘And think what a crick in the neck he’d have had!’

Jas’s laughter stirred her hair, and she turned to smile at him.

His face was only inches from hers, the laughter in his eyes making them softer, darker, and his mouth curved, creasing his cheeks. For once he looked relaxed and happy, but almost immediately his head went back, his eyes leaving hers and returning to the book in his hands.

He closed it with a snap, and replaced it carefully on the table. Then he stood up. ‘Time I left,’ he said, although it was still quite early. ‘Many thanks for the dinner and coffee. Can I help with the dishes?’ He glanced down at the dressing on his hand. ‘I could dry.’

Blythe shook her head. ‘There’s not much. Don’t worry about it.’ If he wanted to go she wasn’t going to make excuses to hold him. She followed him to the door, and watched him descend the steps to the road, and then he lifted a hand and walked away.

* * *

Blythe couldn’t have said Jas was an intrusive neighbour. In turn she tried to respect his preference for privacy. Sometimes over the next few weeks they found themselves on the beach together and ended up strolling side by side. He watched her pick hare’s-tails and dry grasses and gather up the spiny heads of spinifex blowing along the sand, and helped her sift through the sea-wrack left by the tide, hunting for its hidden treasures. Occasionally he arrived at her door with a piece of driftwood or a bit of sea-worn glass that he thought she might like for her notions.

She had less time for them now. The bigger sunflowers in the open ground were ready for picking, and she had to watch for the right moment, just before the flowers burst from their buds, to harvest them and get them to her markets in Auckland.

One overcast and rain-misted day, Jas knocked on her door.

He held a bundle of envelopes and a large parcel. The clouds had parted on a sliver of blue behind him, but his hair was hazed with tiny droplets of moisture. ‘Your mail,’ he said. ‘Doug said you might want the parcel.’

‘Oh, thanks!’ A paintbrush in one hand, Blythe took the envelopes from him and stepped back. ‘That’ll be some craft books I ordered. Come in.’

She thought he was going to refuse, but he looked at the paintbrush she held and stepped inside.

‘Where do you want this?’

‘On the table,’ she said, hastily clearing a space among paints and flowerpots.

He put down the carton and straightened, glancing at the pots she’d decorated with brightly hued patterns—dots, stripes and wavy lines, even bows.

‘What do you think?’ she asked him.

‘Very colourful.’

‘I thought plain green pots were a bit boring. The next batch of dwarfs I’m going to slip into these. D’you think they’ll sell?’

‘I’m not qualified to say.’

‘Well, put it this way—would you buy one? With a sunflower in it?’

He picked up one of the pots by the rim, away from the wet paint. She had painted a bright yellow floppy bow on it, with red polka dots. ‘I might have…once. Yes.’ His voice had deepened, and the skin over his cheekbones seemed to tauten as he swallowed. ‘I’m sure they’ll sell.’

Blythe put her paintbrush down, reaching across beside him to place it in a jar of water, giving him a little time.

When he replaced the pot and lifted his head she looked at him searchingly but his face gave nothing away.

Then he smiled, a tiny movement of his firm lips. ‘You’ve got a bit of paint on your cheek.’

‘Damn, where?’ She picked up a paint-stained cloth.

Jas took it from her and gently rubbed at her skin.

Their eyes met and she gazed at him curiously, seeing her own trustingly upturned face reflected in the dark centres as he looked back at her. His hand had stilled and she was conscious of his thumb resting against her cheekbone.

His eyelids lowered, his narrowed gaze lingering on the soft, involuntary parting of her lips before he stepped back. ‘There.’ He put the cloth down.

Blythe stood for a moment, savouring a strange, bubbling delight. ‘Stay for coffee?’

‘You’re working.’

He hadn’t turned her down flat. ‘Time I took a break.’ She moved to put on the kettle. ‘Want a biscuit?’

‘Have you made some?’

‘I’m afraid these are out of a packet.’ She shook out a circle of ginger biscuits onto a plate.

He watched while she prepared the two coffees and added sugar into his, a splash of milk to her own. She had the feeling he was keeping his mind off something.

‘The sun’s come out!’ she said, turning to the sliding glass doors. ‘We could sit on the deck.’

Jas followed her gaze, then looked back at her. ‘So it has.’

‘Can you put a couple of folding chairs out for us? They’re hidden behind the curtain.’

Jas set up the canvas chairs and took his cup from her, and she placed the biscuits on the low wooden table, still damp from the rain.

The sea was deep blue, stippled with white; a few clouds hung raggedly above it. The wet leaves of the nearby trees were glossily shining in the sun.

Blythe breathed in the metallic after-rain smell, stole a look at Jas’s hard profile, then sipped at her coffee, cradling the cup in both hands. ‘I’m investigating other uses for sunflowers and lavender. Did you know you can make paper from sunflower stalks and dyes from the petals?’

‘Are you planning on making paper?’

‘Maybe. What do you think of handmade swing tags with my name on, attached to every pot or notion?’

‘Sounds good. What do you call yourself?’

‘Just B. Summerfield.’

‘Shouldn’t you use a catchy trade name like…Blythe Blooms or…Summers Fields?’

‘You could be right,’ Blythe said. ‘It didn’t seem to matter when my main business was selling dried flowers to florists. But since the notions took off, and now the potted sunflowers…Blythe Blooms.’ She gave him a delighted look. ‘I like it. I wonder if I should advertise for mail orders and sell direct to the public?’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ll have fun trying it out, anyway.’

‘I’ve no doubt you will.’

Blythe bit her lip. She’d been sounding as if life were a game.

‘What’s the matter?’ Jas asked.

‘You think I’m a lightweight person, don’t you? With no…depth.’

Jas’s brows lifted. ‘I think you’re a lucky person,’ he said slowly, ‘who’s been loved and cherished all her life. Also a hardworking one, and probably too kind-hearted for your own good.’

It wasn’t an unflattering assessment, but it didn’t contradict her original assertion, either. ‘Weren’t you ever loved and cherished?’

Jas didn’t react for a moment. ‘You’re getting into deep waters. I wouldn’t advise you to go any further.’

Blythe flushed. ‘I had no right to say that. But you started it…’

‘You asked.’

So she had. ‘I’m sorry.’

He seemed to be thinking, staring at the limitless view before them. ‘I appreciate your concern, Blythe,’ he said at last. ‘Only I can’t…satisfy your need to nurture. Keep that for your plants.’