by Jena Petrie
With his spare hand he retrieved his phone from the table beside him, aimed, and snapped, then checked the picture on the screen. "It's good."
When he let go she prepared, again, to walk to the kitchen but he'd dropped his hand only to grab her round the waist and pull her closer. "Photo?" he asked again, looking so little-boy innocent she had to laugh.
"You want it, you take it."
This time, he took a couple; one with their heads apart, one close together. Again, he checked, but still didn’t show her the result.
Now he'd let her go for sure. "Coffee for you, too?" She tried to break from his hold but he held tight.
"Not so hasty, my sweet. We haven't finished yet." His lips touched hers in a series of feather light kisses that sent heat racing through her, creating an unexpected awareness of her femininity.
Turning towards him, she responded with kisses of her own; equally light, equally tentative. Maybe today was the day she'd be able to take it further. Maybe even go all the way.
His kisses increased in duration but when he stopped, it left her mouth craving for more. His lips travelled down her neck to its base, across to her ear and when his tongue touched behind it, she jerked in shock. What sensations he gave her! Wonderful, unfamiliar sensations.
"Mm," she murmured, her eyes closed as she savoured the new feelings.
"More, did you say?"
The humour in his voice touched her senses like a warm blanket and she smiled. Such a tease, he was. Such an awesome, cheerful, cheeky tease. A gentle push and she'd broken away and now leaned back so she could see his face more clearly. "Actually, I asked if you wanted coffee."
"Photo first?"
"You want it, you take it."
And he did; several, in fact, each one with another kiss, but still didn't let her go. Instead, he pulled her with him into the kitchen, worked beside her to make their drinks, and toasted her with his coffee cup. "To us."
"To us," she agreed, reaching up and kissing him on the cheek.
Her cup disappeared from her fingers and thumped onto the bench beside his. Then she was in his arms, held securely against his firm chest and she relaxed against him.
This was home.
His coffee only half drunk, he stepped away, his expression far too serious as if she'd overdone the encouragement. "I have to go out. Got a meeting."
A meeting. The words bounced around her brain like peanuts in a food processor but even when they settled, they still didn't make sense. "Reneging now?" Her head shook in disbelief. "You promised to be there, waiting for me whenever I was ready, but at the first opportunity, you're backing out. Well, all I can say is, don't criticize me for not going to Nationals!"
"Hardly in the same category and I'm sorry. A prior commitment." And more important than her, judging by his cool tone.
After his earlier assurances of wanting her, the pain of rejection sliced her in two. Still, she forced words past the sandpaper lining her throat. "In that case, if you're going into town you can drop me off. It's time I started work."
***
Connor's car disappeared into the traffic and Bailey turned towards the nearest store, pulling in several calming breaths. You can do this. Easy-peasy. Pushing her spine straight, she clutched her note-pad and marched inside.
The wine shop stank of alcohol; beer, whisky, gin. All the ones she never drank. Her favourite—white wine—didn't stand a chance against these much stronger odours.
"Hello. Planning a party, or just looking for a regular supply?" The middle-aged man who greeted her looked friendly enough. A tad pushy but hardly surprising with the shop empty of customers.
"Neither, actually. I'm Bailey Stoddart and I'm working for the Hamilton Daily. In advertising."
"Hello, Bailey. Dan Thompson." He clasped her hand.
"So," she continued. "I'm wondering if you'd be interested in placing an ad in the city paper." A number of memorized figures slipped off her tongue: the percentage of Sherdon subscribers, the area the newspaper covered, the costs of a small ad. "Alternatively, you could do a whole campaign: take out half a page, have a write-up plus an ad, with the remainder of the space taken up by a number of supporting ads from other businesses: suppliers or neighbours, for instance."
"Sorry, lady, but Christmas and New Year are over. No need for us to do anything so flashy."
"Waitangi Day?" she queried. "It's a long weekend this year and only a week away. A good time to trial the idea." Mentally, she crossed her fingers. At least if he rejected her, this guy would do it gently.
"Who would do the write-up?"
"Me." Bailey started to smile, stopped. "I used to work as a journalist for the local newspaper in Mosgiel, until I moved here."
"Is that quite recent?" Dan had moved towards the counter and she'd automatically followed.
"Yeah, it is."
"That explains why I haven't seen you around before. I'd remember if I had." Bending, he opened a drawer under the counter and pulled out a folder, flipping it open. After scanning a few of its pages he looked up.
Such a serious face must mean No from this guy, this business. Never mind, she'd always known there'd be more of those than contracts.
"If I agree, would you still go to my opposition? The other wine and spirit merchants in town?"
"As far as I'm aware, they're all big conglomerates so they'll have their advertising campaigns worked out months in advance and organized from their head offices. So no. There'd be no point my visiting them, at any time."
"In that case, I'll give it a try." Dan flashed a cheeky grin. "Test the waters, as it were, with a small ad. If it works, I'll do it again sometime. If it doesn't, there'll be no point you visiting me again; except to buy, of course."
"Of course," Bailey grinned as gymnasts somersaulted inside her. The very first store she'd visited, and a contract already? Probably the only one she'd get all week but hey, what a way to start!
CHAPTER 18
"Ah. Someone I know at last who isn't rushing off to prepare for a race." Bailey dropped her bag beside Michelle, sitting in almost the same place as at the last regatta. "I just sent Connor's crew off to the start. Has Pete gone yet?"
Michelle nodded at the skiff on the other side of the lake. "That's him now. He's in the second heat. Connor's in first."
"Plenty of time, then."
"You won't catch Pete being late for a race." Michelle lifted binoculars and looked through them. "Did that once and got disqualified, so never again."
"Tough," Bailey sympathized, while Michelle replaced the binoculars with sunglasses.
"I hear you're after stories?"
"Anything that's a bit different, a bit newsworthy, quirky or fun, so if you see or hear anything that might fit, I'd appreciate being told." Bailey turned to watch the slow-moving queue behind her. "Have you checked out the sales tents yet? And there's a coffee cart with the most delicious smell. Made me yearn for a drink but the queue's too long. Maybe later."
"Later, it'll probably be longer," Suzy warned as she joined them, a paper cup in her hand that smelled the same as the cart. She stretched out her arm so the others could enjoy the aroma.
"Hey, that's not fair," Bailey protested.
Suzy ignored the complaint. "Didn't you bring a chair this time?"
From her large shoulder bag Bailey pulled a raincoat. "Only my usual. With a camera to lug around I'm better off without anything extra to carry." She spread the coat on the damp grass, waterproof side down.
"Hi, girls. I'm just in time for the first race. Good timing, huh?" Nat dumped a bag on the ground and opened her chair all in one fluid movement.
"What's so important about the first race?" Bailey moved her bag onto the coat. "Ken's not in this one, is he?"
"No no, next event. One of the squad girls is in this one. Jasmine, from the Women's Four."
Now this, she had to see. Bailey plonked down on her coat and extracted her binoculars from the bag. "I've met Jasmine. What's she like;
as a person, I mean?"
Nat shrugged. "She's alright. Very attractive, but you'll know that. Had a thing for Connor at one time, didn't she, girls?" At their confirmation she carried on. "But that rumour soon stopped when we heard Connor had found someone else." Her chuckle indicated approval of the change and Bailey leaned closer.
"Had Connor been interested in her?"
"Ha! Don't think he even noticed. Either that or he simply ignored her."
"P'raps he prefers brunettes to white-blondes," Suzy suggested with a smirk.
"Or cox'ns instead of rowers," came Nat's idea.
"Or one who can cook instead of simply throwing the contents of a few cans together." Michelle smiled as she looked down at Bailey.
"Is that what she does?" Bailey lifted her cap so she could see past the peak. "I'd have thought the national elite rowers would be taught nutrition as well as keeping fit."
The first of the boats appeared and Bailey walked to the lake edge with her companions, but it was the conversation repeating in her head that held her focus. Jasmine had been interested in Connor but he'd given her the brush-off? Man, that felt good.
"Second," Nat announced, saving Bailey's embarrassment at having to ask the race result.
"Doesn't mean a lot," Suzy pointed out after checking her Day Sheet. "First two places go into the finals tomorrow."
"Just as well. Apparently the lovely Jasmine's likely to throw a paddy if she doesn't win. Which means tomorrow's race could be interesting. Better have your camera out for that one, Bailey," Michelle advised.
"Right. I will, and thanks for the tip." Bailey gave a thumbs-up sign, then turned to watch Pete's race which he won. After Connor did the same, Bailey returned to the others. "I'm off for a look around. Anyone want to come with me?" When all replies were negative she headed for the boat park but there were no stories to report from there. Finals day tomorrow would offer more opportunities.
Near the corner of a merchandiser's tent Bailey stopped, squinting at a familiar figure walking towards her. A large man, about fifty. Round face, greying hair.
No!
But it was. Sleazeball Renton. Again.
She couldn't move. Hair prickled her scalp, fingers clenched and her breaths came in tiny, shaky, staccato gasps. With legs too heavy to move, she could only watch as he came close enough for her to see the mix of brown and grey hairs on his chin. Yuk.
"Using Connor Freeman again, are you, little lady?" he sneered in that horrible raspy voice she remembered from way back at the Council meeting. "Using him to promote your career? Does he have any idea what you're up to?"
"I'm not using him." She'd tried to sound convincing but instead, her reply came out not much louder than a whisper.
"That might be what you're telling yourself, but you know and I know it's what you're doing and if you don't tell him, I sure will." Lifting his note pad, he shook it at her. "You've got till the end of the weekend so consider yourself warned. I'll be watching," and with that, he turned and sauntered away, leaving her with legs of jelly and zilch incentive to move.
Tomorrow night could spell the end of her career; certainly finish her relationship with Connor and any chance of making it last. He was the only one she'd ever allow close. Damn shame she'd never managed to open up, after he'd left the decision to her. A shiver coursed through her body.
Sure, she and Connor had started off pretending a relationship existed between them, but it had developed into something quite real and now... Jeez, now she thought nothing of it. Having him put his arms around her in public seemed like the most normal thing in the world and an action, an expression, she welcomed.
As for Sleazy's accusation regarding her career; yeah, she had used Connor with that first article, but with his permission. Quite legitimate, and nothing since.
Bit by bit her body thawed and strengthened but her stomach still churned. Lifting her cap, she smoothed her hair and took several deep, even breaths.
When the cap almost slipped from her fingers she clutched it again. It'd be just her luck for Connor to find her now, minus the display of support. Shoving the item back on, she walked slowly away, towards the other girls. Back to reality and the closest she had to her own support team.
At least she remembered to wear the cap before meeting Connor after the regatta finished. Thank God she could finally leave this place, and Sleazeball's threat. It had followed her around ever since their meeting, twisting her stomach in knots and leaving her unable to hold the camera steady or concentrate on the action.
"Get any magic moments for your article?" Connor asked once they were on the way home.
"No. Nothing. I tried to see as many people as I could, let them know what I was doing but warning the article might not be printed. Watched all of your races, too. Are your crews made up of the same guys as at the last regatta?"
"All except for one in the eight who's hurt his back."
"They seemed pretty young to me. Weren't there any more experienced guys you could row with?"
"Yes, but I prefer to give promising young rowers a chance to feel what it's like to really push themselves. There's usually quite a competition amongst them to be the ones I pick."
"That's an awesome thing to do but isn't it frustrating, rowing with guys far less experienced and not as fit as you?"
"Not at all. I enjoy the company of others for a change." Their corner came up and he swung the car around. "Our national crew tends to be a bit insular and that's not always a good thing."
"So, are you happy with today's results?" She slipped from the car and preceded him through the door of the house, waiting while he followed with his bag.
"As good as could be expected. No, better, because you were there," he added with a slight smile.
Perhaps he appreciated her show of support after all. No way could she spoil that by warning him about Sleazeball Renton. At least, not yet. Connor's focus, and energy, needed to be on tomorrow's races.
***
Finals day arrived with a slight breeze. "Could be windier later," Connor warned before they left the house. "Keep the cap on and your hair won't blow over your face."
"Okay." But no way would she leave it on during interviews. Pity she didn't have a different hat to disguise herself from ghastly Renton. Already her stomach jumped like stones skimming over water, threatening to sink the moment he appeared.
"Any predictions for this race, girls?" she asked Nat, Suzy and Michelle as she shook out her coat and lay it over the grass beside them.
"Apart from Jasmine winning?" Suzy queried. "No. None. And I'm not cheering for her, either. She might be sporty, but she's not sports-minded. If she looses, tough. It'd be good for her."
"But not for anyone else," Bailey guessed.
"You got that right," Michelle grinned, looking up from studying her Day Sheet.
"What's next?" Bailey rummaged in her bag for her own programme.
"Men's Open Four, and I'm picking Aaron's crew as winners, of course," Suzy added with a laugh, as if she could see into the future.
"No he won't. Look at Ken's crew mates," Nat protested, opening her regatta programme and hitting the named list with stabs of her finger. "Two of them have represented New Zealand in the past, either at Junior Worlds or Under 23s."
"Yeah, and the other's a nobody. He'll hold them up," Suzy countered.
Bailey jerked upright from her casual, lounging position. This could make an interesting story. "Why is he in the boat then? I mean, why would Ken pick a nobody? He must have something going for him."
"Apparently his coach recommended him. He did well at the school Nationals last season and is devoted to the sport."
"Sounds like a good crew. What's the make-up of Aaron's crew, Suzy?"
"Oh, it'll be good, for sure. Even too good to tell me."
"And Pete's crew, Michelle? Do you know its make-up?"
"A bunch of masters rowers, apart from him," Michelle answered with a shrug. "Never mind. It's not as if this
is an important regatta or anything."
Not important? To Connor, every regatta carried important status. Every training session as well.
Bailey clicked her camera as Jasmine's crew crossed the finish line well ahead of the other boats. "No contest," she reported to the others when they joined her at the lake edge to watch the men's race.
"Pete's winning!" Michelle yelled a few moments later, dropping the binoculars so they hung from the strap around her neck.
"No, he's not. It's Ken. Ken!" Nat cupped long fingers around her mouth to project her voice better, and yelled again.
But when Bailey looked back at the race, she blinked. Connor's crew had surged ahead into the lead!
What a contest. Four boats see-sawed back and forth, fighting for first place. Beside the lake, all four girls ran to keep up until the hooter had gone three times, milliseconds apart.
"Who won, any of you know?" Michelle looked at each of them in turn. "They were so close I couldn't tell."
"Me, neither."
"Ken, I think."
"What a race! So exciting."
"Photo finish, I reckon," Suzy stated the obvious while Bailey squinted into her camera's viewfinder.
Her nose screwed up as disappointment deflated the excitement of a moment earlier. "Third for Connor's crew."
"Did you get a picture? Can you tell—?"
"Not one I could rely on. Sorry." She patted Michelle on the back. "They'll announce it in a minute, after they've checked the photo."
"Yeah, I know." But Michelle's head remained down as they wandered back towards their seats.
"First placing goes to Taranaki," the commentator announced and, predictably, Nat gave a whoop of delight.
"Second, Hamilton Union, by five one-hundredths of a second."
"Yes!" Michelle punched the air with her fist.
"Third, Sherdon Rowing Club."
"Wow! That really was close," Michelle laughed, doing a little skip and a twirl.
"Thought you said it was just a bunch of masters," Suzy complained. "So how come they did so well?"
"Hey, lay off it. How was I to know they were pretty good?" But Michelle's head was bent over on one side, feigning innocence. "I mean, really."
