Robyn Donald – Iceberg (5 page)

lashes prevented him from seeing into the depths of her eyes, she did not attempt to meet the icy dominance of

his, but contented herself with staring defiantly at his mouth. It was rigid with control, but there was a hint of a

softer side to his character in the sensual lower lip.

Lucky for Bronwyn, she thought, made frivolous by extreme tension.

After what seemed, to be hours but was really only seconds he released her, turning away as he said coldly,

'Your youth is some excuse for your pertness, I suppose, but don't push your luck. I don't like adolescents.'

Which was a pretty devastating parting shot, she owned reluctantly. At twenty she considered herself well past

the sighs and humours, of adolescence; it was rather clever of Justin Doyle to hit out at her confidence in such a

way.

But then he was a clever man. Bronwyn had told her so and she had seen it too. Still, she thought to reassure

herself, she wasn't stupid either, She had wanted to go to university, but Jennifer had not been well, so she had

stayed at home, helped. in the house and. worked the middle of every day at the dress shop. An empty

existence, but she had been warmed by her mother's love. And she had had time to write.

As she pulled on a light pair of slacks and a blouse she thought that perhaps she could go part-time to the

university at Auckland,, or take subjects extra-murally, and registered the decision to make enquiries.

There was little need for housework, but she did it anyway, to find herself only halfway through the morning

with time on her hands. Almost without thought she took out the manuscript of her book, sat down at the

kitchen table with a cup of coffee and began to read it. That led to corrections and before long she was busy'

writing, surroundings forgotten, the nasty little incident with Justin Doyle wiped from her memory as if it had

never happened.

Well after lunchtime she lifted her head, flexed her tired fingers as she looked ruefully at her watch. Writing

always made her ravenous, and as there was precious little in that pantry to stay her appetite, she picked up her

purse and headed down the drive.

The day had fulfilled its promise, scorching hot with barely a breeze to temper it. Whoever had set out the

garden had planted a wide shrub bed to hide the drive from the rest of the garden. The" plants were small yet,

but in a few years would form a dense screen. Right at the end, by the road, was one of the original trees, an

enormous jacaranda, and perched up in a nest made by branches was a child. She was reading, but as Linnet

came-towards her she closed the book and looked down with a flicker of curiosity -in the clear, pale eyes which

branded her immediately as Justin Doyle's daughter.

'Hello.'

Linnet stopped. 'Hello.'

'You must be Miss Grant's sister from Australia.'

'Yes, I am.'

The child surveyed her with some of her father's cool aloofness. 'I'm Sarah Doyle. What's your name?'

'Linnet Grant.'

The unfamiliar name brought a slight frown to the child's face. She attempted it, stumbled and said 'Linnet?

Like-a bird?'

'If you like. That's what my mother calls "me."

Sarah nodded. 'Why have you got such funny names, you and Miss Grant?'

'My father's mother came from Wales, and we were named after her.'

'I see.'

There was a moments silence, then Sarah said, 'I'm not bunking school. I've just had hepatitis and I'm not

allowed back until the doctor says so.’

'Tough,' said Linnet sympathetically.

But the child's delicate features set in lines of boredom.

'I don't mind. I don't like school. Uncle Stewart says it’s because I'm too snooty, but I don't care.'

'Why should you??

Those uncanny eyes fixed on Linnet's face with interest.

'Well, actually I do mind,' she confided, Td like the other girls to like me, but they're so stupid, and you have to

be stupid too for them to like you, and I'm not. Where are you going?'

'Shopping.'

'I'd like to go with you, but Anna won't let me go out. How long will you be?'

Linnet smiled. 'An hour or so, I suppose.'

‘I’ll probably be dragged inside by then. Can I come to see you in the flat?'

"Yes, if you're allowed.'

'Oh, I'll be allowed.'

As she walked down the street Linnet wondered at the existence of Justin's daughter, astounded that neither

Bronwyn nor Stewart had mentioned her. Incredible, she thought, feeling a sudden compassion for the

motherless child, who couldn't be much more than eight or nine. Such a pretty child, too, with her pale gold hair

and those unusual eyes, as pale as her father's but without the chilling hauteur which hardened his. No doubt she

looked like her dead mother with those sensitive features; Linnet found herself hoping rather fervently that

Justin didn't dislike her because of it.

She arrived at the flat five minutes after Linnet.

'I saw you from my bedroom window,' she announced, smiling triumphantly. 'You were an hour and a half.'

There followed an enjoyable couple of hours. Sarah must have been starved for conversation, for she chattered

and chattered as if Linnet were her own age, revealing an oddly mature mind and an imperious will which, no

doubt, was the cause of most of the tension she engendered among her own age group. The easiest way to deal

with it, Linnet discovered, was a cool refusal to give in to her demands; when she realised that linnet had no

intention of being dominated she conceded victory gracefully and generously.

Altogether an interesting child.

But Bronwyn dismissed her with a careless remark.

'Spoiled little brat! Justin dislikes her because she reminds him of her mother, so he bends over backwards to

give her what she wants. A good boarding school would do her the world of good.'

'She's only a baby,' Linnet protested, appalled at her sister's callousness.

'Old enough to be a damned nuisance,' Bronwyn eyed her, then smiled. 'Remember the sparrow you rescued

from the cat and nursed back to health? And the grasshopper which had lost it’s leg? You cared for it all one

summer. You haven't changed. Keep Sarah happy, by all means, if she's taken a fancy to you, but don't let her

monopolise you.'

Linnet let the subject lapse, realising that once more she and her sister shared no common ground. But she could

not prevent herself from thinking about Sarah, and what Bronwyn had told her made her even more sympathetic

towards the child.

So when she appeared the next afternoon, bathing suit over her arm, requesting her company in a swim, Linnet

asked merely, 'Does Anna know?'

'Oh yes. She said I wasn't to bother you, but if you wanted to go it would save her from having to watch me.'

Anger spun a small web about Linnet's brain. 'I'll come, then. Just wait while I get into my togs.'

The pool was at the back of the house, carefully planted so that it almost appeared to be a natural feature of the

landscape. Surrounded by split sandstone and beds of greenery, with tall tree ferns arching overhead to give

shade to the comfortable chairs and loungers, it looked like something out of a very exclusive magazine.

'You go in,' Sarah told her. ‘I’ll get into my togs in the dressing room. This is the deep end.'

The dressing room or rooms were covered in a gold-flowered creeper; everywhere there were trees and flowers

and something discharged a soft, sensuous perfume in the air.

Very easy to get used to, Linnet told herself drily, then dived in. The water was warm, not at all a shock to the

system. She swam three lengths before Sarah appeared, her slender little body clad in a bathing suit which

emphasised her too obvious bones. Linnet wondered if she was always so thin or whether her illness had

reduced her.

She swam well, but tired easily. After ten minutes Linnet climbed out and sat on the edge, pushing her wet hair

back from her face.

'Are you getting out so soon?' asked Sarah.

'Yes. This is my first swim of the season, so I'm not going to overdo it.'

Sarah considered her for a few seconds, then made her way to the edge. 'O.K., I'll get out
too
and keep you

company.'

Walled in as the pool was by greenery, it was hot enough to dry their bathing suits almost instantly. After she

had covered herself with sunscreen, Linnet made a joke of smothering Sarah in it too, and then led the way to

two loungers shaded by a screen of dainty Black-eyed Susan flowers.

'What a funny name!' Sarah was enchanted when her companion mentioned it. 'How do you think they got

called that?'

So Linnet made up a story as the sun crawled its slow way westwards and the perfume of the garden bathed

them in its sweetness.

'Lovely,' Sarah enthused when she had finished. 'Where did you find that? What book? I'd like to read it.'

'I made it up,' Linnet confessed.

'Gosh!' There was awe in the high voice. 'You'
are
clever. Daddy, Linnet made that story up! Isn't she clever?'

Linnet's eyes flew open, met the coldly sardonic gaze of Justin Doyle, and she blushed from her feet to the top

of her head, most of it, unfortunately, perfectly obvious be’ cause of the scantiness of her bikini.

'Very clever,' he agreed smoothly, lowering himself into a chair beside Sarah's. 'But I thought her name was

Eiluned.'

'I can't say that, and anyway, I like Linnet better. She says her mother calls her Linnet.' His daughter chuckled.

'I've got a picture of a linnet in one of my books, bat Linnet doesn't look like it.'

'Not in the least,' he agreed, that dispassionate, ironic glance traversing once more the full length of Linnet's

body.

She felt as though he had stripped her naked. With a gesture of anger she sprang to her feet, impelled to

movement by her humiliation.

‘Now that your father's here, I'll go,' she said to Sarah, the words tumbling over themselves in their eagerness to

be said.

'Don't got' The child's face crumpled. 'Daddy, tell Linnet she doesn't have to go just because you're here.'

He stood, took her wrist in a grip which seemed to burn her skin. 'As Sarah says, there's no need to go,' he told

her, his glance at once impersonal and bleak.

But she was close to panic. ‘I’ll have to,' she said rapidly. 'It's time to—to put the dinner on. I'll see you

tomorrow, Sarah.'

The grip on her wrist tightened. For one moment she thought that he was going to force her to stay, then he

loosed his fingers as though the touch of her was distasteful.

'But, Linnet------'

'Say goodbye, Sarah.'

The sensitive mouth quivered, then firmed. 'Goodbye, Linnet,' she said dully, 'Can we swim again tomorrow?'

'Yes, of course. Goodbye, Sarah. Goodbye, Mr Doyle.'

And she fled, wondering why the man had so unnerved her; aware that she was behaving stupidly, yet quite

unable to control that imperative desire to get out of his presence as fast as she could, without caring for dignity.

As she showered she realised that it was a kind of automatic reaction to danger, a physical need to flee. Fight or

flight, she thought. How appropriate!

The flat was hot, almost stuffy in spite of the windows being wide open, so she pulled on shorts and a brief

cotton top. It was half past four, she had no idea when Bronwyn was due home, but it would be pleasant to have

a meal ready for her.

It took only a few minutes to scrub the new potatoes, make a dressing of yoghurt and mint and vinegar and put

it in the fridge, then wash tomatoes and lettuce, slice ham and shell a bag of peas ready for her sister's arrival.

It was while she was doing this that the bell went. She knew who it would be, and quelled rite rising tide, of

panic within her by taking deep breaths as she washed her hands.

Her hope that Sarah might be with him was dashed.

'May I come in?' he asked, but without fear of a negative answer.

She led the way into the sitting room, turned, to face him with defiance, masking the fear she felt.

'What is it?' she asked distantly.

He paused a moment before replying, almost as if he chose his words, and when he spoke it seemed at a

tangent. 'Sarah has taken a liking to you.'

Linnet's golden gaze flew upwards. 'I tike her, too,' she said when it was obvious that he was waiting for some

reply.

'She was upset because she thinks it was my presence which drove you from the pool so abruptly.'

Was there a hint of satire in the deep tones? Almost certainly. Linnet flushed. 'I'm sorry about that,' she said,

aware that the was being manoeuvred into some sort of situation—one she knew instinctively, that she 'was not

going to like.

He smiled without humour. 'I doubt it. However, at the moment Sarah needs careful handling. She's been ill,

and isn't picking up as quickly as she should. What exactly do you think of her?'

Linnet looked down at her clasped hands, noted with detachment the fluttering of her pulse in a wrist. 'She's a

very definite personality—imaginative, forthright, perhaps a little too used to having her own way. I like her.'

The irony in his smile was unmistakable. 'Perhaps, he suggested blandly, 'a case of diamond cuts diamond.'

'I beg your pardon?’

'You also have a definite personality, you're imaginative, forthright and almost certainly too used to having your

own way.'

'Greedy, too, don't forget!' she retorted, angry with him for his patronising words, angry with Bronwyn for