Читать книгу The Nanny Affair - Robyn Donald - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

‘ENJOY your morning?’ Kane asked as he turned the key.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘It’s a nice little town.’ He changed gear and inclined his dark head to someone who’d tooted and waved from another car. ‘How did that Rottweiler get its name? Lucky is all right for a sheepdog or a Labrador, but it’s no name for a guard dog.’

Emma was halfway through her answer before she remembered that she’d planned to stay stiff and distant all the way home. By then it was too late, so she kept on going in her usual pleasant voice.

‘He was lucky Mrs Firth came to collect Babe from the clinic I worked for in Taupo. Or perhaps he was lucky Babe chased a roaming goat out of Mrs Firth’s garden and hurt her paw. She stayed in the clinic overnight, and while she was there a man brought Lucky in. He’d been given the pup but his wife thought it would grow into a monster that might eat their children, so he dumped it on us. When Mrs Firth came to pick up Babe the pup was in a cage, bawling his head off.’

‘And she couldn’t resist him.’ He sounded amused and a little patronising.

A swift glance from beneath her lashes revealed that he was smiling. No doubt he never did anything on impulse.

Looking straight ahead, Emma said woodenly, ‘When she went over to say hello, Lucky rushed across and pressed his face into her hand as though she’d been sent to rescue him.’

Kane laughed quietly. ‘Did he do that to you too?’

‘Oh, yes, but I didn’t tell Mrs Firth that. He was going to be put down, you see.’

‘Not exactly good pet material,’ he observed. ‘They’re tough dogs, and they need a lot of work to keep them happy.’

‘Corgis might look very sweet, but they’re tough dogs too, and Mrs Firth trained Babe well enough.’ This was stretching the point; although Babe was devoted to her mistress, and more than amiable with Emma, she was inclined to snap at strangers, and she certainly ruled the roost in the house.

‘You can pick a corgi up if it misbehaves,’ Kane said ironically.

Emma shrugged. ‘Rottweilers are good, even-tempered dogs if they’re taught properly. They’re really clever—they remember almost everything. I think Lucky’s playfulness and exuberance comes from his grandmother, who was a boxer. His jumping ability certainly does. He’ll be fine.’

She hoped she sounded convincing.

The car slid into the supermarket car park. Kane Talbot got out and so did she, walking quickly inside to pick up her parcels. Again he caught her up before she’d taken more than a few steps.

It was, she thought a few moments later, rather like being with royalty. He knew everybody; they knew him. He greeted people as they walked through the shop, meeting smiles and interested glances. But he didn’t stop to introduce anyone. And he scooped up her three plastic bags without asking whether she needed any help.

The sort of man who simply took over, Emma thought, replacing a quirk of resentment with resignation. Good in emergencies, but unbearable in everyday life. That poor woman in Australia—after a year of marriage she wouldn’t have a thought to call her own.

Back in the car, groceries safely stowed, he switched on the engine and asked casually, ‘Do you ride?’

After a moment’s pause she said, ‘Yes.’

‘I have a mare that badly needs exercise. I’m too big for her and no one’s been on her for a couple of months.’

‘You don’t know whether I’m any good,’ she said.

When his tawny glance flicked across her hands, the fingers curled. She felt as though she’d been branded.

‘I think you’ll be all right,’ he said with cool, abrasive confidence, ‘but if you sit like a sack of spuds and saw at her mouth I’ll rescind the offer.’

Surprised into a short laugh, she said, ‘All right, I’d like to try her out.’

‘She’s not placid.’

‘Neither am I,’ Emma said dulcetly.

Something glittered beneath the long black lashes. ‘No? You look as sweet and demure as a good child.’

Slowly, with great effort, Emma relaxed her hands until they rested sedately in her lap. She’d like to hit him fair and square in the middle of that flat stomach, right on the solar plexus so that she winded him, so that he doubled up and gasped and had to wipe tears from those brilliant eyes.

Restraining the sudden and most unusual surge of anger, she looked down unseeingly. She’d probably break every knuckle if she tried to punch him, and besides, he didn’t look as though he’d accept an attack with equanimity. She stifled the quick, sly query from some hidden part of her brain about how he’d deal with a woman’s aggression, carefully smoothed her brow and leashed her imagination with a strong will.

He probably didn’t mean to sound patronising—and then she looked up and caught the narrow gleam of gold in his eyes and knew that he damned well did.

She produced a smile. ‘I know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I look like Snow White. That wretched film’s blighted my life.’

‘You wouldn’t have let the wicked stepmama drive you out into the snow?’

How did—? No, he couldn’t know! Colour seeped back into her suddenly clammy skin. When she’d been sixteen she’d fought her prospective stepmother with the only weapon she’d had, her father’s love, and she’d won. Now, seven years too late, she regretted it bitterly.

Fighting to keep her voice even, she said, ‘No. As for housekeeping for seven miners—never.’

‘And I don’t suppose you’re just hanging about waiting for the prince to ride by on his white horse?’

‘Give her credit,’ she retorted, ‘she was in a coma—she couldn’t actually go out looking for him.’

‘True,’ he said, and ruthlessly dragged the conversation back to the subject. ‘So you don’t intend to be any man’s reward?’

‘If we’re still talking about Snow White,’ she returned, ‘don’t you think that the prince was her reward? She’d put up with a lot, worked hard for years and fought off a couple of murderous attacks before succumbing to treachery, and then along came this nice young man who apparently believed in love at first sight. She deserved a treat, and he was it.’

He laughed. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Interesting—fairy stories read as feminist fables.’

‘Nothing as intellectual and rigorous,’ Emma said firmly. ‘It’s just that I got called Snow White so often that I had to develop some sort of attitude to the wretched thing.’

‘I’ll bet you were a tomboy.’

The arrogant, angular profile showed no emotion at all, but the corner of his mouth tucked up. It irritated her that he could read her so easily, and behind that chagrin flickered fear.

Men, Emma had discovered, didn’t really understand women. Seven years ago her father had refused to believe that his daughter was lying and cheating with one aim only: to smash his relationship with the woman he’d been having an affair with, the woman he planned to marry. Because Emma had never been rude, never thrown down any gauntlet, always been polite, he’d believed her and allowed himself to be manipulated by her feigned bulimia.

Looking back down the years, she shivered with dismay as she recalled how grimly she’d battled with the woman she’d believed to be a greedy, unprincipled interloper. Rage and grief had fuelled her determination. She hadn’t cared that her father had truly loved his mistress; she’d been determined to punish them for being lovers while her mother, made wretched by their affair, had suffered and died.

Punish them Emma had. Her father had sent his lover away, and—completely taken in by her pretence—devoted himself to getting Emma through her illness.

A year later he’d died of a heart attack. Sometimes, when she lay awake in the voiceless night, she wondered whether he’d have lived if she hadn’t taken it on herself to avenge his betrayal of her mother, if she hadn’t in turn betrayed her father by lying and cheating. The irony of her own behaviour was now very clear to her.

Kane Talbot seemed a lot more perceptive than most men. Those amber eyes, lit by a clear ring of gold around the dark centres, saw more than she liked.

More acidly than she’d intended, she replied, ‘Turning into a tomboy is the classic response to looking like Snow White. I climbed the highest trees, rode the toughest horses, broke arms and skinned knees galore, and had to prove myself over and over again.’

‘The onset of adolescence must have been a shock,’ he observed.

‘Isn’t it to everyone?’ Emma asked with offhand insouciance. ‘A friend of mine, a thin, shy redhead, was always the tallest in the class—everyone called her Legs. She got unmercifully teased all through primary school. At fifteen she shot up to almost six feet, developed a face to stun the angels, and is now one of the world’s top models.’

And Emma would bet a considerable sum of money that Kane had never had any problems with growing up—or with anything, unless it was swatting away women. That indefinable thing called star quality had probably been obvious from the moment he’d first smiled in his cradle.

Except that ‘star’ was a lightweight description, and there was nothing lightweight about Kane Talbot. The quality that made him immediately noticeable was based on calm mastery of his strength and dynamic power.

Of course, growing up heir to large amounts of money helped. People respected power and influence.

And even as that last snide comment popped into her brain she discarded it. Whatever situation Kane Talbot had been born into he’d still possess that air of authority and courage. It was innate.

Kane broke into her thoughts with, ‘And do you envy this top model?’

‘Good heavens, no.’ She thought a moment, then added fairly, ‘Well, the money would be nice, but I’d go crazy leaping around like they have to, not to mention the hours it takes to make up their faces and do their hair. Sorrel’s into meditation and poetry, so she just lets it all wash over her while she thinks out her next poem, or communes with the infinite, or whatever you do when you meditate. She’s giving it until she’s thirty, and then she’s going to retire and write the great New Zealand novel, which she’s sure is going to be difficult enough to keep her interested and striving for the rest of her life.’

‘She sounds interesting herself,’ he said.

Emma gave a mental shrug. ‘She is,’ she said sturdily. All men were intrigued by beautiful women; why be surprised—and, yes, disappointed—that he fitted the pattern?

He slowed, and turned into the gateway of Mrs Firth’s house. ‘I can hear the dogs barking from here,’ he said.

‘Babe never used to bark until Lucky arrived,’ Emma told him. ‘She taught him his manners, and he taught her that a dog is supposed to raise the roof whenever a stranger appears.’

‘And is she the leader of the pack?’

‘Well, she’s above him,’ she said, relaxing. ‘And I’m above them both, although I do have to keep reminding them that I’m top dog. Lucky is sure we females need protecting, and Babe thinks I’m a snippety young upstart who needs to be taught a few manners myself.’

Absurdly pleased at his laughter, she waited until he’d stopped to say, ‘I’ll get out here and then we won’t have to open and shut the gate.’

‘All right,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I’ll carry your parcels in.’

Emma sighed silently and got out. She needed fresh air to banish the sound of that low, amused laugh and calm her jittery heartbeat. ‘I’ll let the dogs out,’ she called, and walked smartly up the drive to the back door. Both dogs bounded out, although Babe stayed with Emma. Lucky, however, raced barking down towards the car and the open gate.

‘Sit,’ Kane said in a voice that held no fear and no apprehension of disobedience.

The dog skidded to a halt, then obeyed the repeated command and sat. Looking slightly bewildered, he stared up at Kane, who waited a moment to establish dominance, then held out his hand. Lucky made to rise, was bade sternly to sit again, and obeyed instantly. He sniffed Kane’s long fingers with interest and respect, then gazed up into his face. It was ridiculous, but Emma felt shut out from a purely masculine moment.

‘Stay away from my sheep,’ Kane said sternly.

Lucky’s tail, long because Mrs Firth didn’t approve of docking, swept the ground.

Kane said, ‘How do you release him?’

‘G-o-o-d b-o-y.’

He said the words and Lucky sprang up, eagerly sniffing around the car, getting ready to cock his leg until both Emma and Kane said ‘No’ sharply enough to make him look startled and back off.

‘Two nannies,’ Kane said with an ironic smile. ‘He’ll develop a complex.’

A sudden glow in Emma’s heart shocked her. Instinct warned her that Kane Talbot was not good medicine for inexperienced women. Although Emma enjoyed challenges, some, she knew, were not worth the exhilaration.

She and Kane had nothing in common. He was cosmopolitan, with a sophistication that was so essential a part of him he probably didn’t even realise he possessed it. Not for him the fake worldliness, the desperate effort to be cool of so many younger men. And he was almost engaged, whatever that meant.

Watching the broad shoulders flex as he hoisted the grocery bags from the boot, Emma thought that he’d know exactly how to make a woman so aware of him she’d begin to think of all sorts of disturbing things, like how good he’d be as a lover.

A disconcerting wrench of sensation in her stomach turned to heat. Fortunately he was so much older than her—ten years or so, she guessed—that he probably did think of her as barely grown up. He was just being a considerate neighbour; she was the one with the problem.

‘Here, I’ll take a bag,’ she said, when it was obvious he intended to carry all three in.

‘They’re not heavy.’

Setting her jaw, she followed him up the two steps to the brick porch at the back of the house. She didn’t realise that he’d stood back to let her go first until she cannoned into him.

‘Ouff,’ she muttered, leaping back with a memory of muscles like iron and a faint, sexy scent, not soap or shaving lotion, just Kane Talbot.

‘Sorry,’ he said calmly.

She gave him a brief glance, and muttered as she went in, ‘I didn’t see you.’

Leading the way into the kitchen, she took a couple of deep breaths to centre herself. ‘Just put them on the bench, please,’ she said, pointing to the smooth grey granite.

He did that, then glanced at her with amusement glinting beneath black lashes as straight as his brows.

Emma looked past him and said softly, ‘Oh, look outside—on the maple branch. A tui!’

The iridescent bird ducked and bowed along the branch, head held low as he sang a soft, seductive song. At his throat a tuft of white feathers bobbed like a stock in a lace collar when he fluffed his wings and repeated the sinuous movements and his song. Against the glowing red stems of the maple tree he looked superb.

‘What’s he doing?’ Emma asked quietly.

‘He’s courting.’ Kane’s voice was unexpectedly abrupt. ‘He knows how splendidly those branches set off his colours; he’s parading, looking for a mate, promising that he’ll give her ecstasy and young ones and keep all their bellies filled.’

A note in his words dragged her gaze from the bird strutting his stuff outside. Kane’s face had hardened into indifference, but there was a twist to his lips that gave his comment a satirical inflection.

Tentatively she asked, ‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’

‘No, thank you, I have to keep going,’ he said, the words so quick and cool they were a rebuff.

Brows pleated, Emma watched the big car go down the road and turn into his drive. He’d been reasonably friendly, and then suddenly, as though she’d insulted his mother, he’d withdrawn behind an impervious armour.

‘Perhaps he thought I was flirting with him,’ she told the dogs, who were eyeing the packets of pet mince with anticipatory interest. ‘Well, he was wrong. Men with dangerous eyes and tough faces and volatile moods do nothing for me at all. Even when they’re not virtually engaged to Australian women of impeccable family. Whoa, hold your horses; I’ll make your dog biscuits this afternoon. I want to do some weeding first while it’s fine.’

Once outside, Babe found a warm place on the brick terrace and went to sleep, while Lucky investigated a score of fascinating scents around the garden before settling close to her. As Emma tugged at weeds encouraged into growth by the warm touch of spring, she decided that her unexpected holiday had altered direction. Kane’s arrival on the scene had sent her stumbling blindly into perilous, intriguing, unknown territory.

She yanked out a large sowthistle, patted back into place the three pansies its roots had dislodged, and tried to persuade herself that the slow excitement that licked through her whenever she thought of the man next door was uncomplicated attraction, a pragmatic indication from her genes that she was old enough to reproduce and that for the survival of her offspring it would be wise to choose a tough man who was a good provider, with enough prestige to protect her from other men as well as the strength to beat off cave bears and sabretooth tigers.

Basic stuff, an inheritance from the primitive past, still powerful even though it was outdated at the end of the twentieth century.

‘And don’t forget,’ she reminded herself, ‘the almost-fiancée.’

After an hour of solid work she stood to admire a bed of pansies and tall bluebells unmarred by weeds. But as she scrubbed the dirt from her fingernails she admitted that her next door neighbour had been constantly on her mind, disturbing her usually serene thoughts and refusing to go away.

The telephone rang. She scrabbled to dry her hands on the towel and ran into the kitchen. ‘Yes?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘Were you outside?’

Divorced from the actual physical presence of the man, Kane Talbot’s voice made its own impression. Deep and level, with an intriguing rasp in the middle register, it brushed across her skin like velvet.

‘I was washing my hands,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful and bright and ordinary. ‘I’ve been weeding.’

‘I thought Mrs Firth had Fran Partridge to help in the garden.’

‘She does, but Ms Partridge went away this morning, and anyway, I like weeding.’ Fran Partridge was a single mother and the probable source, Emma had decided on meeting her, of Mrs Firth’s information about the locals.

How did she know Kane was frowning when he said, ‘Where’s Fran gone?’

A subtle undernote in his voice betrayed his expression. Before she’d realised it was none of his business, Emma told him, ‘It’s the school holidays and she’s on a trip somewhere with her son.’

‘Of course. I’d forgotten.’ He was silent, possibly thinking of Davy Partridge, who lived at the end of the road and rode his bike up and down on fine days, singing at the top of his voice. ‘It’s unusual for someone of your age to be interested in gardening.’

Emma bristled. ‘Is it?’

‘Most twenty-year-olds prefer to be out and raving.’ An ambiguous note of—amusement?—echoed through his words.

Emma’s teeth clenched for a second on her bottom lip. ‘Well, perhaps because I’m twenty-three instead of twenty, I enjoy gardening.’

‘Ah, a mature woman.’

Definitely mockery. Her chin lifted. Very clearly she said, ‘That, I suppose, is a matter of opinion. To someone of your age I might appear quite green and raw.’

‘Sweet, actually,’ he said odiously. ‘Eleven years is enough to make us different generations. Do you want me to ring Mrs Firth and tell her what the problem with the car is?’

Didn’t he trust her to be able to dial a number in Canada? Or did he think she was incapable of understanding the inner workings of an engine? Well, Emma thought, I’ve got news for you, Mr Talbot, sir. Lords of the manor have had their day; nowadays the peasants are more than capable of running their own lives.

Calmly she said, ‘That’s very kind, but it’ll be all right. I’m sure she has some idea of how the car works and the terminology won’t throw her. Or me,’ she added dulcetly.

There was a moment’s pause until he said in an amused voice, ‘That’s put me well and truly into my place.’

‘I—’

He cut in, ‘One thing I didn’t say before—if you need anything, let me know. We pull together in the country; it makes life easier for all of us. Goodbye.’ And he hung up.

‘And goodbye to you, sir, Mr Talbot,’ Emma said, crashing the receiver down. Lucky’s tail swept the floor.

Laughing a little to blunt the raw intensity of her feelings, she said, ‘Takes a dominant male to know one! Kane Talbot might be used to running everyone’s lives around here but he’s not going to run ours. We’d better go out and do some work together, Lucky. By the time your mistress comes back I’d like to have you able to stare at a sheep without wanting to chase it, which means you need to practise those commands. And, speaking of Mrs Firth, I’d better ring her right now and see what she wants done with her car.’

Next morning the sun was shining, and although the wind from the south was cold it had polished the sky into the radiant silvery blue that spring claims as its own. Yawning, Emma drew back the curtains and scanned the green, lovely contours of hill and valley.

Mrs Firth had given her permission to order a new clutch plate for the Volvo, so the part should be in Parahai by now. Thinking of that telephone call, Emma smiled. She’d had to field a couple of enquiries about Kane Talbot.

‘A very sexy man, isn’t he?’ the older woman asked slyly.

‘If you like them rough-edged and masterful,’ Emma parried.

‘Ah, I’ve seen him in evening clothes—no sign of rough edges then! You young things might like your idols to be pretty, but as you get older you appreciate the value of strength and power and discipline. He has a charming mother too.’

‘It doesn’t seem possible,’ Emma said delicately.

‘I’d like to see you both in action.’ Mrs Firth laughed. ‘I must go, Emma. Thank you so much for helping me in my hour of need. I’ll never forget it, and neither will Philippa.’

Philippa was her daughter, five years older than Emma, and as Emma had already asked after her she knew that her pregnancy was not being an easy one.

‘I had the free time,’ Emma said cheerfully, ‘and it’s no hardship to spend it in a place like this, I promise you! Northland in the spring is glorious.’

Halfway through the morning, while she was drinking coffee out on the terrace, she said sternly, ‘Sit!’ to Lucky, and waited for him to decide not to race across the lawn and bark fearsomely at the car pulling into the gateway. He obeyed, but he did bark.

Tamping down a flicker of excitement, Emma ordered, ‘Stay.’

Whining, he obeyed, and she left him to walk across the green damp lawn.

But it was not the car of yesterday, nor the Land Rover, and the driver, although tall, was nothing like the man who had managed to make himself so at home in her mind that she knew the exact shade of his eyes: a mixture of gold and bronze and flickering tawny fire that somehow chilled his gaze instead of heating it.

The woman leaning on the gate smiled at her, and as Emma was telling herself sturdily that she wasn’t disappointed she recognised the smile.

‘Hello,’ Kane Talbot’s mother said, ‘I’m Felicity Talbot, and you are Emma Saunders, and over there, looking desperate, is L-u-c-k-y, whose name I will not say in case it persuades him to disobey you and come across.’

How could Kane Talbot have such a laughing, lovely mother? Emma shook the hand offered to her and agreed, ‘It would indeed, and I shouldn’t push him too far. Do you like dogs?’

‘I love animals.’

So Emma said, ‘Good boy, Lucky. Here.’

Even he fell for that charm. After hurtling across to the gate, he smelt Mrs Talbot’s extended hand and gave her a swift swipe with his tongue before settling back on his haunches and beaming at her.

‘What a darling,’ she cooed.

‘Your son didn’t think so when he drove past as Lucky was chasing his sheep,’ Emma said stringently.

Dark eyes widened. ‘Goodness, it’s a wonder he didn’t shoot him then and there. Kane doesn’t usually hand out second chances.’

It figured. ‘I don’t suppose he had a gun with him, so Lucky was—well, lucky. And he came back when I called him,’ Emma explained. ‘Kane was angry, but I promised most faithfully not to let the dog off a leash again whenever we went near sheep.’

‘I should hope not! He looks as though he’s biddable.’

‘He’s very teachable.’ Emma turned as Babe woke up and realised they’d been joined by a stranger. Barking, she hobbled down from the terrace and sniffed her way across the lawn.

Stooping to let her smell her fingers, Kane’s mother asked, ‘Is she blind?’

‘Not quite, but her eyes are failing. She hates being put in kennels, which is why I’m here. I’ve always looked after her when Mrs Firth’s gone away. And Lucky had such a traumatic experience at the vet’s when he was a puppy that he goes to pieces in any sort of institutional place.’

Mrs Talbot gave the corgi a final pat and straightened. ‘How lucky for Mrs Firth that you could take over for her.’ She gave a charming smile. ‘I haven’t come to interfere with your day at all, but to ask if you’d like to come up to dinner at our place tomorrow night. It’s just a little dinner, no fuss at all, and you’ll meet some of the neighbours.’

Emma did not want to socialise with Kane Talbot, but it would be nice to meet the neighbours. So she smiled and replied, ‘I’d love to, thank you very much.’

‘Good. Around seven? I’ll get someone to come down and pick you up.’

‘No, no, I can walk up.’

Mrs Talbot looked startled. ‘You’ll get your shoes dirty. It’s no problem.’

Clearly one did not attend a dinner party at the Talbots’ place with dirty shoes, or even carry a pair to change into. Emma said, ‘I’ll drive up, then.’

‘I thought the car was in dock?’

Emma said, ‘It should be ready by tomorrow night.’

Unfortunately it wasn’t. Emma, now dressed neatly in a silk shirtdress of black with a soft violet pattern, had had every intention of donning gumboots and walking, but late in the afternoon Kane had rung and told her laconically that he’d pick her up at seven.

Emma had opened her mouth to protest, then shrugged and agreed. She’d have graciously accepted any other offer of a lift; it was only because it was Kane that she wanted to assert her independence.

He arrived exactly on time and in a downpour of rain. Warned by barking, Emma raced from the bedroom, grabbed her umbrella and shot out through the front door, closing it carefully behind her. She’d had a last-minute battle with the strap of her slip—it tore from the bodice as she put it on and had to be anchored with a safety pin—but she met Kane with a smile and her best social manner.

‘Good evening,’ he said, taking her umbrella and holding a much larger one over her.

In one swift, startled glance Emma understood what Mrs Firth had meant. Kane looked as completely at home in the well-cut trousers and fine cotton shirt as he’d looked in the working clothes she’d first seen on him—not a rough edge in sight.

Of course his tailor had a good frame to work on. Kane’s lithe, perfectly proportioned body enhanced anything he wore, but more than that, his powerful male potency reduced his clothes to mere accessories, carefully chosen and then forgotten.

‘Hello,’ Emma said, pretending that her heart was ambling along in its normal unnoticeable fashion. Rain hurtled against the roof of the house, and she raised her voice to ask, ‘Do you want to wait until it goes over?’

‘No. Guests will be arriving soon, and I need to be there when they come.’ He looked down at the narrow-heeled shoes she wore. ‘Would you like me to carry you out to the car?’

‘No,’ she said firmly as heat burnt across her cheeks. She peered out at the rain, driving in curtains of silver through the brilliant glow of the security lights, then said desperately, ‘I think it’s easing up,’ and set off towards the car.

He got there before her and opened the door with one strong, negligent hand.

While she did up the seatbelt she watched him walk around to the other side. He didn’t waste time or effort, moving with an economical, spare grace that liquefied her spine, and when he got in beside her the muscles in his thigh flexed beneath the superb cloth of his trousers. Swiftly, precisely, he put the car into gear, long-fingered hands casually competent.

Emma’s pulse began to throb in her throat. On the way back from Parahai the other day it hadn’t occurred to her that only a few centimetres separated her thigh from his; nothing had changed, so why was she so aware of it now?

She stared out at the avenue of magnolias, big, swooping trees holding their splendid flowers up to the dark sky. When they fell the petals would carpet the vivid grass in pink and white for two weeks of exquisite beauty...

And because the silence in the car stretched and simmered with tension, she said, ‘Those trees are a magnificent sight. Who planted them?’

‘My parents, when my mother came here as a bride.’

Emma said, ‘She must delight in them now.’

‘Yes.’

‘Will the rain spoil the flowers?’

‘No.’

All right then, she thought, irritated rather than hurt by his abruptness, you can come up with the next subject of conversation.

The drive swooped past paddocks where large red cattle placidly chewed cuds in the sudden exposure of the headlights, then it branched and almost immediately a cattlestop rattled under their wheels. Skilfully placed lighting illuminated a pond large enough to be called a lakelet. Framed by trees and gardens, it glimmered in the dusk and then was left behind as they drove beneath more trees and between wide lawns.

Emma said impulsively, ‘What a magnificent setting!’

‘My mother will enjoy showing you around,’ Kane Talbot said levelly.

‘My mother adored gardening. I remember her laughing at her grubby hands, and my father asking her why she didn’t wear gloves. She said she couldn’t work in gloves.’

‘It doesn’t sound as though she’s still alive.’

Emma said slowly, ‘She died when I was fifteen—almost sixteen.’

‘That’s a bad age to lose a mother,’ he said unexpectedly.

Emma nodded. ‘Yes. Too young to be able to view her with any degree of judgement—I just thought she was perfect—and I was so self-absorbed I couldn’t see past my own grief. But I don’t suppose there’s any good age to have your mother die. Oh!’

The drive had eased around a clump of large trees and run out in front of the homestead, a splendid, modern structure that fitted the garden and the landscape, both enhancing and being enhanced by its surroundings.

‘It’s lovely,’ Emma breathed. ‘But surely the framework of the garden is older than the house? Those trees have been here a long time.’

‘The original homestead burnt to the ground about thirty years ago,’ Kane said. ‘After that we lived in the manager’s house until my mother persuaded me to build this.’

Emma glanced up swiftly at a stony, unrevealing profile. Choosing her words, she murmured, ‘It’s always a shame when a piece of history goes up in smoke.’

‘It happens. And this is a superbly comfortable replacement.’

Gracious, too: behind big double doors the hall opened out in tiled splendour. Lit by a wide skylight, an indoor garden planted with leafy, tropical shrubs ran in cool, soothing harmony down the entire side of the hallway, set off by the white flowers of peace lilies hovering above their glossy green leaves like small doves.

‘My flight of fancy,’ Mrs Talbot confided when she saw Emma’s admiration. ‘Kane indulges me shamelessly, even though I’m only here over summer. I’m an Australian, and winter here is too cold and wet for me, so I flee across the Tasman for nine months of the year.’

It was difficult to imagine Kane indulging anyone, but when Emma looked involuntarily upwards she surprised an ironic amusement in those enigmatic golden eyes. ‘You and the architect waited until I went overseas,’ he said, ‘and then changed the plans.’

‘It was just going to be a pool of still water,’ his mother confided, ‘very modern and tranquil and lovely, but I prefer plants. And—be honest now, Kane—don’t you like the plants better?’

‘How can I know, as I never had a chance to enjoy the water?’

His mother said sternly, ‘It will be much better when you have children. If the reflecting pool was there you’d have to put up rails, and that would spoil the look of the hall.’

A hint of reproof in her hostess’s voice caught Emma’s attention. She looked at Kane.

Although not a muscle moved in his face, she sensed that he wasn’t pleased with his mother’s comment. When he spoke it was with an inflexible undertone that made his words seem dangerously close to a warning. ‘True. Shall we go through?’

As they went towards a door Emma found herself thinking that although the plants looked lovely she’d like to see a reflecting pool there, its depthless, gleaming surface emphasising the serenity of the hall.