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‘Gladioli—well, perhaps this baby will make you glad,’ smiled Frances. She gently wiped away beads of sweat from Jenny’s face and eased her over so that she could be more comfortable.

Frances gazed ahead at the straight band of black tarseal, hoping to see the white of the ambulance. At the speed Rupe was travelling the miles to the hospital would be covered in half the usual time. He was concentrating all his energy on driving, and glancing at the speedometer Frances was glad of his skill. She gave Jenny her hand to grip as a spasm of pain shook the heavy body. Jenny sighed, ‘I don’t think I’ll be having this baby in hospital!’

‘Still, the ambulance should be meeting us soon,’ soothed Frances. She could see the contractions were regular and the pattern of labour had changed. Gently she told Rupe and he slackened speed. Even to stop at the speed they were travelling had to be a gradual process. The last thing they needed was a sudden jolt, thought Frances apprehensively.

Rupe was swearing softly as he dived from the car and opened the boot. He pulled out a large first aid kit and Frances was surprised at the equipment it revealed. He washed his hands and arms liberally in the disinfectant and joked with his wife, apparently calm and at ease. Only the quick anxious glance towards the road showed his strain. Frances felt strange. She knew she was giving Jenny support and while she held on so desperately the tension was broken by the scream of a siren.

The relief they all felt was echoed by Jenny’s ‘Just in time!’ The ambulance staff took over and a few minutes later the baby had made its appearance. Rupert took the tiny wailing scrap of humanity. ‘A girl, my love!’ His joy showed in the few words as he bent to kiss his wife. Jenny gave the baby to Frances to hold as the men prepared to lift her into the ambulance.

One of the towels she had picked up in that last minute was wrapped round the baby, rather red, its hair looking wetly black against the tiny scalp. The eyes were wrinkled slits, but the incredibly small nose and the delicate ears were so exquisite Frances felt very moved. She looked up at Ian, sharing this very special moment with him. He took the baby from her with a deft gentleness and passed her to Rupe beside his wife in the ambulance.

There was a quick discussion as it was decided that Rupe would follow the ambulance in his own car and Ian would take Frances home.

Ian picked up the first aid box and shoved it back on the seat of the car as his brother-in-law waved a cheerful farewell. Frances watched as the big silver car swung behind the ambulance moving ponderously along.

Suddenly she felt weak and watery-eyed. Everything had happened so quickly, from those first panic-stricken moments of not being able to find Jenny, to the arrival of the baby, that now reaction set in and she shivered with emotion. Ian pulled her close and she leaned against him, grateful for his solid strength. For a few minutes they sat close together and neither spoke. Afterwards Frances realised that Ian was probably feeling just as strained, but she was glad of his silence. Eventually he leant and kissed her forehead, then turned the motor on. There was an easy companionship between them as he drove back towards Coppers. He explained that he had followed them as quickly as he could. T didn’t think you’d make it in time, so I thought I’d better be there just in case.’ The lazy grin was back now and the deep brown eyes held their trace of mischief. He swung into the drive of Coppers with practised skill and the light flickered a pattern of his face as he drove.

‘Come on and have a drink. We’ve the arrival of a baby girl to celebrate!’

Frances was glad of the brandy he poured. With a wry comment about his appearance he moved to ring up the farmer where he had been working earlier, assuring him he would be out soon. Frances replaced her glass and said she would run back to the farm, but Ian refused bluntly.

‘I told Rupe I’d look after you, so I’ll take you back.’ Meekly she followed him out to the car. Two minutes later she was back at the farmhouse and Jenny’s scones were still smelling delicious. It was automatic for Ian to pick one up and munch it approvingly. Quickly. Frances buttered a few and put on the kettle. Ian pocketed the scones and disappeared, not stopping for the tea. Frances felt oddly hurt, but later realised that he would have to work late trying to make up for lost time.

She had showered and changed before the phone rang. It was Rupe, his voice dancing as he told her that Jenny and the baby were both fine. ‘They did a great job in the ambulance, Frances. The baby’s hardly a pinup girl, but Jenny and I think she’s O.K. I’ve just rung through to Gam and the boys and they’re tickled pink. Would you tell Ian I’ll give him a ring tonight? And Frances, both Jenny and I want to say thank you.’

It had been arranged weeks before that Rupe would spend the first evening with old friends in town. His suitcase had been dropped there over Christmas as a precaution and now he would be glad of his spare clothes. Jenny would be pleased to have him so close at hand too.

Frances went back to Greytor, waiting in the stockyard under the shade of a willow tree. She whinnied indignantly, not used to being left, and Frances patted her as she swung herself up in the saddle. She was glad the water trough meant Greytor had at least been able to get a drink. She finished checking the stock, remembering too late about the feed paddock and the mob she had shifted out. Everything seemed fine, so she returned to the farmhouse.

Greytor rolled over on her back the minute the saddle and bridle were removed, rubbing herself in an abandoned frenzy. She then trotted down to the comer where the other ponies were feeding lazily. Frances decided she should take the ponies in turn for her morning rides.

She went for a swim, then ate her tea with an increased appetite. There were two programmes on T.V. she wanted to watch. The first was disappointing, but the second was rather good. It had just finished when the phone rang and glancing at the clock she saw it was nine-thirty.

‘You O.K.?’ Ian’s voice sounded deep in her ear.

‘Yes, of course,’ Frances replied. ‘Thank you for thinking of me, though.’

‘I’ll be at home if you need me. Goodnight.’

Frances heard the click as he replaced the receiver. She put down the phone feeling strangely warmed by his thoughtfulness. He had sounded so tired; perhaps he had just finished for the day. The conversation had been so brief, yet it sent her to bed at ten o’clock oddly content. When the phone rang early the next morning she answered it sleepily.

‘Up you get, sleepyhead!’ said Ian’s voice. Her heart lifted as he inquired if she had slept well. Immediately thoroughly awake, she could hear the lazy humour in his voice, but she answered politely. He told her where he would be working and was preparing to ring off when she interrupted his farewell by inviting him to dinner. She knew Rupe would be home and she planned to cook something special. He agreed easily enough, saying he should make a point of finishing earlier that night.

As Frances went round the big patchwork of the flat fields that morning she planned the meal. She thought of some of her more exotic recipes tucked away in town, but realised that neither Rupe nor Ian would appreciate them after a hard day’s work, so reluctantly she settled for simple food with fresh vegetables—fillet steak stuffed with mushrooms and served with golden chips and a side salad, then a dessert of pear Helene. She had made the dessert before for Rupe and Jenny and Rupe had liked it. The recipe for the chocolate sauce was one Frances had developed after a lot of experimenting and she prided herself on it. The meal had the added advantage that she could prepare a great deal of it earlier. The steak could be grilled at the last moment. Once back at the house she pulled out mushrooms and fillet steak from the deep freeze and set them to thaw. Afterwards she poured some cooking wine into a dish and set the steaks to marinade. She peeled and chipped the potatoes, then cooked them, leaving them to drain all the oil out. In between she prepared a bean salad ready to pop into lettuce cups later. The pears were already bottled, so she reached down a large jar and made her chocolate sauce. There was always plenty of icecream in the refrigerator, so, satisfied she had done as much as she could, she tidied the house. She cut some more gladioli for the lounge, arranging the tall spears against a background of copper beech. A glance at her watch told her she had time for a swim, so she gladly changed and dived into the pool. She swam strongly for a few lengths, then slowed to a lazy crawl, until she finally floated, content to relax completely, keeping only a faint balance by adjusting her feet. When she climbed out she felt refreshed and relaxed. 'She pushed her wet hair back from her scalp and dried the worst off, wrapping another large towel round her as she went to shower and change. She put on a wrap as she blow-dried her hair into soft curls, letting it tumble loosely around her shoulders. She applied her make-up meticulously, wondering why her eyes seemed so green with excitement. She put on the jade cotton frock she had worn at Christmas, justifying it by telling herself they were celebrating tonight too. She clipped on the tree brooch Ian had given her, and looked at herself critically. Regretfully she sighed, knowing she was kidding herself. The men would come in covered in dirt and seeds and she would look ridiculous. Angrily she pulled on a pair of jeans and pulled off the pretty green frock. She tossed on a baby blue shirt with a wrap-over bodice that ended in a bow. Thoughtfully she pinned her silver tree to the centre and once again studied herself.

At least now she looked much the same as always, on the farm. The jeans were her best pair and did suit her and the blouse was a dress-up one too, but the men would hardly notice the difference, she thought regretfully.

She put some perfume on as a final touch and wandered out to the kitchen. A glance at the clock told her she had plenty of time. She wondered what time Rupe had arrived that morning. He must have been in and out again while she was down the back of the farm. Calmly she set the table in the dining room for three, taking care to place each piece of cutlery carefully. She set out glasses, knowing that Rupe would insist on some drinks. Glad to have something to do, she polished the glasses till they shone, then wandered out to the garden. The swing couch stood rocking faintly, so she sat down, easing her long legs up too. It was very comfortable if not very elegant, she thought idly. Somewhere a blackbird whistled a warning and Frances wondered what had startled it. Night was approaching slowly, the sunset in the western sky was a brilliant tangle of red, orange and gold. Soon Ian and Rupe would be returning, the noise of their motors would give her plenty of warning. For a few moments she daydreamed, allowing herself to imagine what it would be like to be Ian’s wife, watching for his return. She smiled, remembering the gentleness of his touch after the baby had been born. That golden side in his nature so obvious with Jenny, Rupe and the boys, yet she was shown only lightning glimpses rather as snow highlights a mountain.

A brief laconic greeting brought her out of her reverie. Startled, she swung her legs down, abruptly sitting in a more conventional pose.

'I'll put dinner on now. Sorry, but I was expecting to hear the car. Where’s Rupe?’ she questioned, struggling to keep calm.

‘Rupe tried to ring you earlier, so he rang me. Apologies, etcetera, but he’s staying in town tonight.’

Frances drew in her breath sharply, feeling sudden panic at the thought of Ian’s company.

‘Sorry, water baby, nothing’s wrong. Jenny’s fine, the baby’s fine! I think Rupe just felt like staying in town another day. I didn’t mean to worry you.’

Frances nodded. Ian had misunderstood the reason for her sharply drawn breath, but she was glad about that. She felt much safer talking about the family.

‘What did Rupe say about the baby?’

Ian chuckled. ‘You mean what didn’t he say? I can give you height, weight, yells, opinions of doctors, nurses and even what the florist said. He’s obviously enraptured!’

‘So he should be! Wouldn’t you in the same situation?’ she said indignantly.

Ian stiffened. ‘The situation won’t eventuate. I don’t intend to marry,’ he finished curtly.

Frances looked at him, seeing him stare at her icily. She stood up and went to the kitchen. Ian chatted easily enough as she prepared the steaks and reheated the chips. Vaguely she realised he had been home and showered and changed into slightly more formal gear. His shirt was open though, and she could see the silver medallion shining brightly. Surely if she meant nothing he would not still wear it. The thought kept her going through the dinner. Everything had been cooked well, but it could have been stale bread as far as she was concerned. She picked up the plates, rinsed them and stacked them in the dishwasher. Earlier the percolator had bubbled and Ian had taken it into the lounge along with the cups. Dimly Frances heard the television sound and she relaxed a little. At last now she could delay facing Ian. She cleared away the pots and pans, scrubbing them angrily as she thought again of Ian’s words. She slammed the pots away and wiped down the bench. The kitchen gleamed and she had no further excuse to delay.

Ian was sprawled on the couch, his long legs angled easily. Casually he looked at her, then poured her a cup of coffee.

‘Do you mind watching this? It’s almost over,’ he said.

‘Of course not,’ she replied. Actually she was glad he had switched on the television; at least now they didn’t have to talk. She watched the last few minutes disinterestedly. It was a programme relating to growing crops as an alternative fuel source, so she understood Ian’s interest. When it was over he stood up and politely thanked her for the meal. He asked if she wanted the television left on.

‘Off, please, Ian.’

He flicked the switch. ‘Did you hear from Gam today?’

‘Help! I didn’t even think to check the mail box. I’d better run out there now,’ Frances replied with a smile.

‘I’ll come with you, then I can cut home round the road.’

They walked out together.

The house was set well back from the road. The trees whispered secrets in the softness of the wind. Overhead the lights of the stars glittered in the blackness of the sky. Frances caught her sandal in a stone and her balance wavered suddenly. She found a steadying hand on her arm, and replaced the sandal, glad of Ian’s support. She was aware of his stiff rigidity beside her, as though he had been carved from the hard rock of the mountains. When they arrived at the letterbox Ian handed her a postcard, and by the light of the torch she held they read it together. The news of the baby’s birth had been rung through earlier, but this card had been written before that event. As well there were one or two letters and Frances found one addressed to herself. She recognised Harry the photographer’s handwriting immediately, and this would be a cheque for the last modelling job up on Victoria Park. Unthinking she kissed the envelope extravagantly.