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‘My goodness, the boy-friend’s letter here and you hadn’t even bothered to collect it! What a shame he can’t see how you greeted it. Still, as I’m here I’ll kiss you for him.’ Ian gripped her savagely as she turned to leave. It was an angry, hard, demanding kiss that bruised her into response, but it turned then to a more gentle quest melting her agony. Frances drew closer, feeling the quick sensual replies of her own body.

Ian thrust her from him, the hateful, now familiar cold mask shutting her out. She did not attempt to speak, but gathered up the mail and turned and walked alone back up to the house. Aware in every cell of her body of the dark figure leaning against the mailbox, she finally reached the open door. Her heart was pounding and her mouth still suffered from the hard pressure of Ian’s.

She tidied up the lounge mechanically, straightening up cushions, removing the coffee percolator, rinsing the cups. Finally she glanced at Harry’s letter, and a wry thought made her stop for a moment. Could Ian have been jealous? It had been such a primitive kiss of angry passion. Frances remembered more clearly and realised that she was almost certainly right. The strange reaction they had on each other, the continual denial by Ian of love and marriage, yet his apparent inability to control his jealousy at the thought of Frances and another man. She knew that their lovemaking would be a natural blending. Physically they matched so well. Yet instinctively she recoiled from a purely sexual relationship. She loved Ian and wanted him to love her. She wanted to look at him with love and see him return the look. She wanted to smooth away the pressures and tensions when he was tired and for him to cherish her. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, having his children, being a part of him and he of her. Quite suddenly she knew that if she did not win his love her life would never hold the joy it was meant to have.

She poured herself a cup of coffee from the still hot percolator she had placed on the bench. ‘My, I’m getting sentimental!’ she smiled to herself. The problem was there, but she did not know how to handle it. If Ian did not love her there seemed to be nothing she could do. She jumped up and put away the coffee. Although it was quite late she knew she wouldn’t sleep, so she started polishing the furniture. It was a job she had meant to do the next day. The furniture gleamed mirror-like with her efforts when finally she went to bed.

Early the next morning she rode out, not bothering to have breakfast. It was another fine day and all around her was full of a warm sunlit peace. At one stage she heard the roar of Ian’s motorbike as he went round his farm. She waved an acknowledgment of his presence, then cantered on her way. It was one of the few times she had seen him, but she knew he must go round his stock early in order to have the rest of the day harvesting. When she did return to the house she found lunch quite enjoyable. She did vegetables and pulled a small casserole for Rupe from the deep freeze. It would be ideal for Rupert as tonight she was leaving, due for the weekend off. On Monday she would return early as Jenny should be sent home later that day with the new baby. She stayed at the farm until quite late in the evening making sure that everything was in the order Jenny liked. It was very hot, so she went for a swim before she left. The water soothed her and cooled her down. She showered and changed into one of her town dresses, then put her small suitcase into the Mini.

As she drove along the familiar roads electric cable poles flashed past as regular shadows. She noted their mast-like shape, the crossbars reminded her of a child’s attempt at Christmas trees. The thick brown insulators looked rather like saucers with inverted cups balanced like decorations on each end.

Lines of trees and the odd farmhouse surrounded by trees helped split the landscape into patterns. In the distance Frances began to see Christchurch’s Port Hills and in her rear vision mirror the mountains ran in a great line. The journey passed quickly as she skirted the centre of the city and drove direct to her home.

For once everyone was home and dinner that evening was a relaxed, happy meal. Martin had a girl-friend along and Kathy had brought along a pal from school too. Mr Elaman started playing the piano and soon everyone was joining in the songs. Then Kathy started on charades. They were an old family favourite game. No one wanted to break the fun up until it was quite late, and as she went to bed Frances was glad she could sleep in as long as she liked the next day.

By the time Monday morning came the, lassitude of spirit she had felt over Ian had lifted and she was able to drive out to the farm with some of her former gaiety. She arrived early and was glad to read a note Rupe had left her. He told her that he would do the farm work that morning and would be going into town about half past twelve. Jenny would be ready at three, so he would have time to do a few things first.

Frances was very pleased. Now she could make sure the house was organised for Jenny’s arrival. She found the washing basket and put the big machine on. While it was working she picked flowers and arranged them through the house. After the washing and the flowers she vacuumed quickly. Apart from Jenny and Rupert’s bedroom and the lounge and kitchen, the house had a strangely unlived-in look. Normally the boys’ toys and books had to be shifted. The boys were pretty good generally, but naturally there were times they forgot. Frances wondered how the holiday was going. She missed their gay conversation and bright presence in the house. As she worked she planned the dinner for that night. As it was cooler today she would make a cream of chicken casserole. She found a boiling chicken in the deep freeze and set it to thaw, then she selected a packet of mushrooms which had been frozen earlier, and peas.

When Rupe arrived to shower and change she stopped to give him some soup and toast for lunch. He thanked her for her efforts and said that Jenny and he had decided to give her a bonus. It was rather a nice gesture, thought Frances as she pocketed the cheque. She thanked him, feeling slightly shy about it, but realising the money would be useful for her trip. Her salary on the farm was not great, so this was a nice supplement.

After lunch she carried on with her work, straightening kitchen cupboards and drawers, and wiping them down. An hour before Jenny and Rupert and the baby were due she put on the casserole and peeled the potatoes and tender young carrots. She set the formal dining table with some care, using the heavy silver plate cutlery Jenny was fortunate to have. A glance at herself in the mirror showed her looking slightly tatty, so she showered and washed her hair, delighting in the spray of the water. She spent rather longer in the shower than she had intended, so she pulled on bra, pants and petticoat rather hurriedly. The casserole had to be turned down after its first twenty minutes or it would be tough. Frances flung a towel round her head turban-style and ran out to the kitchen. She pulled the casserole out, slowly added some more milk, then replaced it in the oven. Her hand switched down the temperature to very slow. Now she could safely leave it to simmer slowly. She turned to walk back to the bedroom.

‘Hi, water baby!’ The voice was deep and lazily amused. Its owner was framed in the doorway of the kitchen and dining room. ‘Do you often do the cooking in that outfit?’

‘Normally, no,’ Frances replied coolly, deciding that hauteur was her best weapon. ‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, but I didn’t hear you come in. Excuse me while I get dressed, please.’

His bulk blocked the doorway and his eyes had a teasing light. She felt a thrill as he reached for her and caressed her bare shoulder. His kiss was gentle and brief. ‘Go and get dressed.’

Her heart hammering, Frances slipped past him. She dressed quickly, endeavouring to quell the trembling his touch had aroused. As it was such a special occasion she felt she could dress up a bit. She put on a mid-calf length green satin skirt with a softer green satin shirt. A gold chain belt nipped in her waist. She hadn’t worn it at the farm before as it was an exotic outfit more suitable for evening or cocktail wear. She clipped on the gold earrings when her hair was finally dry. All the time she was aware of Ian’s presence in the lounge, but she was determined not to appear until her hair was dry. She had suffered quite enough with being called a water baby.

When she did appear Ian stood up and bowed. ‘Mademoiselle, very chic.’

‘Thank you, Ian,’ she answered. He poured her a drink and she sat in one of the big deep chairs. Now she had time to study him she realised that he had dressed up too. She had become so accustomed to seeing him in his old working gear or just in shorts that her heart missed a beat. He looked devastatingly handsome, standing easily in his fine light shirt and long strides. His eyes flicked up at her quickly and caught her studying him, and the amused glance he sent her made her grin cheekily.

‘Just thinking what a handsome feller you are.’

‘Keep thinking it!’ he laughed, and handed her a plate of nibbles she had prepared earlier.

It was as well that they heard the car arrive then, the dogs barking in a frenzy of excitement. Both Frances and Ian went to meet them as Rupert proudly carried the new baby in. Jenny was hugged and kissed and the baby looked wide-eyed at the figures around her.

‘I just finished feeding her in the car, so she can stay up for a little while. Here, Ian, hold her while I fix up the bassinet.’

Ian held the baby carefully, speaking softly, and Frances felt a pang at the tenderness in his voice. She went to help Jenny fix up the gear for the baby. When they returned Ian had the baby on his chest, its head snuggled into the column of his neck.

‘It seems a long time since young Greg!’ he smiled, handing the baby back to her mother.

‘Have you decided on a name yet?’ asked Frances.

‘Not entirely. Rupert wants me to call her Jennifer, but with one of me around already I’m inclined to prefer something different. She looks such a sweet little angel now I’d like Angela, but think ahead how she’d hate me if she turned out like Ivan the Terrible,’ Jenny chortled softly as they all laughed.

‘I’d quite like Mary, after Mum,’ put in Ian.

‘You know, that’s quite a nice idea,’ said Rupert. ‘Mary Marsden goes well together.’

‘Mum would have loved it. I must admit I hadn’t thought of that, but I rather like it,’ added Jenny thoughtfully. ‘Your mother was Ann. What about combining Mary-Ann, or even Marian?’

There
was discussion on this topic for quite some time. Rupert and Jenny were obviously quite pleased with the name, repeating it from various angles. While the discussion was going on Frances slipped out to the kitchen and served the soup she had made earlier. She sliced a cucumber decoratively on the side of each plate as a finishing touch. Rupert and Jenny put the baby to bed, then sat at the table. Ian helped her with the serving, then held her chair for her to sit down. She appreciated the thoughtful gesture and smiled her thanks. Conversation was mainly about the events of the past few days and the return of the boys at the end of the week. Ian spoke briefly about driving up to Nelson and staying with the boys for the last three days. Jennifer and Rupert both seconded the plan. Work for the season was going steadily ahead of schedule, thanks to the early start and Frances’ presence on the farm.

The chicken casserole was delicious, and Frances was pleased to receive lavish praise from Jenny and Rupert. The creamy sauce had the subtle flavour of sherry with the merest hint of spice. The meat was juicy and tender. Although it was a big casserole there was only the empty dish to take to the kitchen afterwards, so obviously Ian had enjoyed it too. To complete the meal Rupert and Ian cleared away, insisting gallantly that the cook deserved a rest. They sat down in the lounge with coffee and liqueurs. Jenny seemed tired and Rupert said she had stayed up long enough. It was not long before the baby was due to be fed, so Jenny said goodnight. Rupert glanced at Ian and Frances with a sly grin and declared that he too would say goodnight.

Ian put on the record player and held out his hand to Frances to dance. She moved into his arms with a bubbling joy delighting in his touch. The wine and the compliments had made her eyes sparkle and Ian, glancing at her, held her closer so that they seemed one being with the music. It was such a magic time, the gentle movement of her body reacting to the pressure of his, with the strange abandoned melting of her senses. The music bound them in silken threads and it seemed entirely natural to want the pressure of his mouth on hers.

Ian traced the line of her lips with a slow finger, reducing her to shuddering gasps. The kiss that followed shattered both of them. They separated and Frances looked at Ian. Even as she watched she saw the mask come over his features, shutting her out and making a mockery of that earlier kiss. For a glorious moment the earth had united with the sky, dazzling them both with ecstasy. They had been the only beings in the world for a moment of time. Now, still held in his glance, the fire had been turned to ice. Frances moved away before he rejected her again. Ian poured himself a drink and brought her one, but she refused it automatically as she felt quite numb already. Ian finished his drink slowly and Frances knew he was studying her. The tension in the room was overwhelming. She tried to control her feelings, struggling with her pride to help her. With an effort she said lightly, Tan, I’m going to say goodnight.’

‘Coward!’

‘Yes, I am. One moment you kiss me and I know you’re the only man in the world for me, then two seconds later you’re shutting me out.’ She paused. ‘That hurts, Ian.’

‘Sometimes it’s better to hurt you, then, honestly. I can’t resist you. You carry the sun in your hair, the sparkle of the river in your eyes and the temptation of Jezebel in your body. I’ve never desired any woman as much as I want you. But you’re not some girl for a night.’ He laughed, a bitter, brittle sound. ‘I think if we did sleep together I’d never be able to let you go.’

He stood in front of her. ‘I’ll get out of your way. This week I’m going to Nelson and after that I’ll make sure I’m not around when you’re here. February is always a busy time, so Rupert and Jenny won’t notice.’