Robyn Donald – Iceberg (10 page)

and rather more approachable.

'How long have you been there?' she blurted, because it was obvious he wasn't going to talk, and she couldn't

think of anything else to say.

'About ten minutes.'

She disliked the thought of him watching her as she slept, and said so.

'Yet you were watching Sarah.' .

'I didn't say it was logical,' she returned crossly, 'I just don't like it.'

He chuckled at that and swung himself down from the tree to sit in the deckchair beside her. 'Because you feel

unprotected?'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

'Asleep you look scarcely older than Sarah. But then—' With a measuring glance down the length of her body

—'even awake you don't look much older than Sarah.'

For some reason this calm dismissal irritated her. Although she knew it' would be wiser to say nothing she

couldn't prevent herself from retorting, 'Don't forget I'm old enough to be------' the word greedy hovered on her

tongue.

'Don't say it,' Incredibly he leaned over and put his finger over her lips.

Linnet's eyes widened to their fullest extent; after the first second her mouth stopped movement, but during that

second it felt as though she had kissed his finger.

'Let's call a truce, shall we?' Justin removed his hand, smiled full into her astonished face. 'It's too hot to be

angry, so don't pick another fight with me.'

'I don't pick fights.' But she was too bemused to be able to infuse her voice with the right amount of defiance.

And he smiled again. There, you're trying it now.'

When Justin Doyle smiled like that, his already potent attraction became overwhelming. Linnet found it hard to

believe that the man beside her was really the icy tyrant she had met in Auckland her last lingering queries as to

why Bronwyn wanted to marry him were swept away.

But she couldn't just sit and stare at him, or he'd think she was mad. With an effort she replied, 'No, I'm not

trying to—pick a fight, I mean. And I think a truce is a good idea. I don't
like
quarrelling.'

He laughed at that, a' soft sound which had something of satisfaction in it. 'You could have fooled me, but I'll

believe you. Now, tell me why you’re so determined to be a librarian.'

He' really wanted to know, so she told him. 'Because I love books. Not just reading them—I love the look of

them and the feel of them, the smell of them when you open a new one, and the funny musty smell that catches

your breath when you open a really old one. I can spend hours in bookshops, and I love talking about them.'

She' smiled, aware that those penetrating eyes were fixed-on her. 'And I love reading them too, of course. And I

like people. And you have to add to that what my mother calls an insatiable desire to know.'

He lifted his brows at that. To know what?'

'Everything.' She gestured largely at the horizon. 'For instance, what's that we can see? That chunk of land?'

That's the mainland. Those two islands are Pine and Rabbit Islands.'

'And that double-peaked hill on the skyline? Tamahu.'

'How high is it?'

He laughed at that. 'I see what you mean. Do you like maps?"

'Oh, yes, very much.'

'I'll show you one of the area later, when Sarah wakes, then you'll be able to work out exactly where you are—

and how high everything is!'

A small boat tore across the harbour, distance muting the high-pitched whine of the motor. Overhead two

seagulls circled slowly in the sun, while kahawai birds followed a shoal of the tiny fish they fed on, and a man

in a dinghy up-anchored and rowed carefully towards the opposite shore, the creak of the rowlocks resounding

across the bay.

Justin asked, 'If you wanted to marry, what would happen to the desire to become a librarian?'

Instantly her thoughts flew to David, and to her surprise she felt nothing, only a profound relief that he had had

the tact and compassion to save her from making a fool of herself.

'Most women work until they want a family,' she answered dreamily, immensely relieved at her heart-free

condition.

'If there was no need to?'

She laughed. 'Very few men can afford to keep an idle wife nowadays! Anyway, I think that I'd still like to work

so that I had some qualifications.'

'Sarah tells me you write.'

'Oh!' She sat up, then forced herself to relax back into the lounger. 'Well, yes,' she said warily, 'but I haven't had

anything published yet.'

'If you had, would you give up outside work?'

She pondered. 'I don't know. Yes, I think so. I'm a compulsive writer, even if it's not very good, If anything else

got in the way of it, I'd probably dump it to write, I think.' Then she went on, 'I started when I was five or so,

and I've always kept it up—I feel bereft if I haven't got a project going.

It was oddly easy to talk about her writing. Normally she hated discussing it, but Justin seemed genuinely

interested; he certainly wasn't patronising; as some people were inclined to be.

'And what standard do you think you've reached?'

Linnet
-'
sighed. ‘I don't know. Sometimes I think it's good and I get excited, and then I decide it's absolute

rubbish. I'll have to leave it to the publisher to decide.'

'But you wouldn't be writing if you didn't think it was worth publishing,'

Linnet looked at him with surprise and respect. 'True,' she said ruefully, 'but quite often when I re-read something after it's corrected I think it's rubbish.'

‘I’d say you've reached the stage where it's impossible for you to =be objective. The only thing to do is to get

something off and get an impartial opinion.'

'Well, that's rather encouraging.' She wriggled rather uneasily in her hair. For some reason she didn't want to

find Justin too approachable? things had been simpler when she could dislike him enthusiastically.

And her writing was too personal tor her to be able to discuss it at any length. Fortunately he seemed to realise

this, or perhaps he was just bored with a subject which could really be of very little interest to him, for he began

to talk about a play which had been brought by an overseas company to Auckland. It was one she had seen in

Sydney, "so she was able to hold her own in the ensuing conversation.

Later, as they swam, she scolded herself for being surprised at his interest in theatre. That house in Auckland

proved that he was no hard-headed business man with a nose for nothing but profits, so she should not have

been surprised at his intelligent and hard-hitting comments. She rather thought that he had been a little startled

by her, too. And she grinned rather complacently at a piece of seaweed floating by. It would be good for him to

learn that someone of her age wasn't interested only in pop singers!

When the evening cooled down, they sat in the shade of a wide terrace roofed by a pergola almost smothered in

heavily scented white mandevillea flowers; Linnet awl Sarah played Chinese Checkers, and then Sarah coaxed

her father into a game of chess while Linnet read. Not for long, however, as Sarah decided that she needed help

and with a return of her imperious manner demanded her presence.

'I can't play chess,' she protested.

'Can't play? Daddy, Linnet can't play chess!' Sarah was clearly appalled at such ignorance.

'Then we'd better teach her, hadn't we?'

Of the two of them Justin was by far the better teacher, Linnet discovered. Surprisingly he had reserves of

patience when he cared to use them, and a clear way of explaining things which helped her considerably.

Sarah thoroughly demoralised her by pushing back a bishop after what she considered to be a well-thought-out

move 'and saying gently, 'Now, Linnet, just think hard! Daddy and I won't mind if you
try
again, will we,

Daddy?'

Linnet looked up, caught Justin's eye and began to laugh. After a moment he joined her. and then Sarah, quite

unable to see any joke, but not wishing to be left out.

'Dinner's ready!'

Cherry's gay voice broke up the chess party. She didn't ask what the joke was, but Sarah told her anyway on the

way to the dining room and was rewarded by her laughter too.

Somehow the incident set the seal for the evening. They dined alone, the three of them, Sarah in a mad mood

which lit up
her
eyes and coloured her expressive little face rosy with excitement.

Linnet was intrigued by the relationship between her companions. She had heard of small girls who flirted with

their fathers, but Sarah did not do that. And she could not imagine Justin responding to a flirtatious attitude

from anyone; he was too aware of big dignity for that. But Sarah definitely sparkled when she had his attention,

and he paid her the compliment of responding as if she were an adult, while never forgetting that she was a

child.

Intriguing, definitely. Unbidden came the thought that if Bronwyn were here the delicate balance of

personalities would be upset. Naturally, for Bronwyn would 'expect— and receive—a considerable amount of

Justin's attention for herself as a desirable woman. It was only because Justin did not see Linnet in that light that

she was able to see father and daughter as they really were.

Pensively demolishing a bowl of delicious strawberries and cream, she was startled to find herself feeling

wistful, and wondered crossly why.

Then Justin smiled at her. 'You look rather triste. Is the meal not to your liking?’

‘The meeal,' she returned with deep conviction, 'is superb. I can see I shall have to ask Mrs MacCarthy to give

me lessons.'

'Me too.' Sarah looked enthralled at the prospect.

'I'm sure she will, if you ask politely.' He smiled down at his daughter. 'Finished?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'Then let's go. It must be very close to your bedtime,'

Sarah wailed at this, but he was inexorable, and within half an hour she was in bed, storied, kissed and tucked

in.

And that left Linnet alone with him in the big living room with its quarry tiled floor and great banks of indoor

plants. At once the room seemed far too small. Restlessly she wandered over to a cane whatnot piled high with

African violets, the flowers in all shades of amethyst and blue and white, wine-coloured and pink, held on

slender stalks above their dark velvety leaves.

They had dined late, but as it was summer time the sun had only just sunk behind the pine-clad hill to the west

of the bay, and it was still quite light.

'Would you like the television on?' His voice was remote, yet there was a note of irony in it.

For a moment she was tempted. At least the television was impersonal. Unfortunately she was almost certain

that she hated the programmes on both channels at this time. .

So she said, 'No, thank you. Not unless you want to.'

'Not tonight.'

Silence. A rustle of paper made her peep sideways. Yes he was reading the newspaper. Obviously bored to

death. It was a blow to the ego, of course, but she hadn't been hired to keep him entertained, so why get so

uptight?

Restlessly she moved across to the wide, sliding glass doors out oh to the terrace. On the lawn below a harassed

female blackbird hopped here and there, chased by her large and pugnacious offspring demanding with angry

quink-quink' the worm she had in her beak. After a minute or so she turned, stuffed the worm down its throat,

then hopped off, her sleek form expressing outraged huffiness.

Linnet chuckled. The newspaper rustled 'behind her, but no other sound came. Slowly, so as not to disturb the

birds on the lawn, she stepped out on to the terrace. The sky was that peculiar washed-out blue which marked

the approach of twilight, but there was not a cloud to be seen. Tomorrow would be another hot day. The air was

absolutely still, so still that the harbour and the sea beyond
it
looked like a sheet of steel, silver-grey and smooth

as glass. Soon The sky would darken and the moon would rise...

'Full moon tonight. It's always a magnificent sight over the harbour.'

Heavens, but he moved as quietly as a beast of prey! Linnet managed to prevent the nervous jump his voice had

aroused in her, but her voice was uneven as she replied.

'I can imagine it. This is a beautiful spot, Justin—like paradise.' .

'It's very quiet at this time of the year, of course. In the summer there's considerably more activity.'

'Oh, I like it the way it is now.' She leaned against the upright, keeping her voice soft so as not to disturb the

birds. 'It's so peaceful.'

'More than it used to be, now that the hotel licence has been taken from Governor Sir George Gray's Mansion

House and it's been restored. Have you been there?'

The air flowed softly over her hot cheekbones as she shook her head; 'No, I've seen photographs, of course.'

Everyone had. The Mansion House had been the refuge of that complex, interesting man of the last century,

who had set down his version of many Maori myths and legends, governed New Zealand, returned as Prime

Minister and lived like a lord in his sub-tropical bay at the mouth of the harbour.

'If you're interested get Rob to take you there. Or you can walk up the hill and go by the track. It's a pleasant

walk along the old coach road, the only road on the island. It was Governor Gray who liberated wallabies and

kookaburras on the island.'

Linnet turned a dazzled face to him Truly? Are there any left?'

'Oh yes.' He sounded a trifle grim. "That's why this peninsula is fenced off with deer-proof netting. Otherwise