by Daphne Clair
'I've had one or two as well,' she said demurely, and he laughed and pulled her closer.
When they had all gone, she half-lay against the sofa cushions, eyes almost closed.
'Tired?' Shard asked as he returned from seeing the last couple to their car.
'Mmm. I can't be bothered going to bed,' she said.
He laughed softly, and bent, swinging her easily into his arms.
Her arms hung loosely round his neck as he carried her to the bedroom and laid her down. He undid her zip and eased off her dress, and pulled the covers of the bed up over her shoulders. She felt his lips brush her temple, and fell instantly asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Shard came home early from work one day and said, 'Put on something tough and sensible. I want to show you something.'
Elise had started cooking their meal, but something that was taut and alive in his face stopped her voicing any protest. She turned off the stove and went into the , bedroom to find jeans and sneakers and a cotton shirt.
Shard drove out of the city to where the road wound around the hills above the Manukau Harbour on the western side, and kept going until they had almost reached the Waitakeres. Then he took them down a winding side road and through a farm gate, past a square, wide-verandahed old kauri farmhouse, and eventually into a cleared space among stands of totara, tawa and kanuka interspersed with tree ferns and other native plants. The land sloped gently to a cliff face covered with taupata and clinging vines and plants, and the blue sea lapped at its foot.
'Would you like to live here?' Shard asked her.
It was perfect, and she said so. 'But you --' she said. 'You'll have to travel and it's out of town.'
Shard shrugged. 'It's less than an hour.'
They walked to where the cliff face fell to the sea, and he said, 'I've got an option on it. Do you want it?'
Elise knew better than to say, do you? If she wanted it, it was hers—or theirs.
'You spoil me, Shard,' she said softly. 'More than my father ever did. I always thought—that you felt it would do me good to go without, and you're always giving me things.'
'I'm trying to keep you in the manner to which you've been accustomed,' he said mockingly.
'Why?' She turned to face him, her steady gaze a challenge.
His smile was twisted, unreadable. 'Because it pleases me.'
To give me everything I want?'
'Yes.'
Groping for an understanding of his motives, she asked hesitantly, 'Is it important, to keep me in my accustomed style?'
Rather gently he replied, 'It is to you.' Then abruptly he turned back towards the car and said, 'I'll send Cole out to look at the land before he comes to discuss the house with us.'
She began, 'Shard ‑'
But he might not have heard. He pushed her firmly into the passenger seat and closed the door, and as he slid into his own seat he was saying, 'You asked Cole to come to dinner, didn't you?'
'Yes, I thought some time next week, but haven't set a day with him yet. Shard ‑'
'I'll see him,' he said. 'Would Tuesday be okay?'
'Yes. Any day next week is fine.'
'You'd better have some ideas ready for him, then. Have you thought about the sort of house you want?'
Defeated, she said, 'Not very much. Perhaps something rather like the beach house. I expect we should take his advice on a lot of things.'
'Not if you don't like it.'
'No,' she said with irony, 'of course not.' Shard would never for a moment be tempted to take advice unless he saw very good reasons for following it. Which made it all the more puzzling that he was always so ready to fall in with her every whim. It seemed ridiculous to be uneasy about it, but she was. And yet the core of her unease was something even more intangible. She felt that something was missing in their relationship but was unable to name it. At times there seemed about their marriage an air of unreality as though it was a dream from which she knew there would one day be an abrupt and frightening awakening. There was about Shard a deep-rooted, hard self-sufficiency that she was aware had been part of his attraction in the beginning of their relationship, that sometimes bruised her when she made attempts at emotional intimacy and found her efforts coolly rebuffed. In the physical sphere nothing was withheld, their joy in each other complete and unrestrained. But that only strengthened her deep awareness that in Shard's mind and emotions there was a deliberate invisible line drawn beyond which he would not permit her to intrude.
Cole Finlay came to dinner and afterwards they sat over coffee at the table, and he took out a sketch pad and notebook.
Tell me first what you want,' he said. 'Apart from the usual offices and a lounge overlooking the sea, which I'm assuming --'
'Will you want your studio to have a sea view, Elise?' Shard asked her.
'Studio?'
'Shard tells me you're an artist, Elise,' said Cole. 'You'll need a studio with a good light, of course, and perhaps a view for inspiration?'
Elise laughed. 'I'm an illustrator, in a small way,' she said. 'I use the spare bedroom. I hadn't really thought of a studio.' 'Of course you'll have a studio,' Shard said.
Cole wrote down something in his notebook. 'Now, bedrooms,' he said. 'The main bedroom with its own bathroom suite?'
Shard nodded, and Cole's pen was busy again. 'Guest room?' He glanced up, scribbled happily again. 'Children's rooms—or future provision for, perhaps?'
'No children's rooms,' Shard said harshly.
The silence was sharp and intense. Cole's pen remained poised and he didn't look up. 'No children's rooms,' he repeated matter-of-factly. 'Will you need an office at home, Shard?'
'Yes,' said Elise.
Cole made a note. 'Brings work home, does he?' he murmured affably.
Shard had never brought work home. But Elise said pleasantly, 'I think Shard would like a private retreat, where he can be alone.'
She knew Shard was looking at her across the table, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. 'He likes to shut himself away sometimes,' she went on. 'From—everything.'
Cole looked up with a smile. 'He's lucky to have such an understanding wife. Most men like a private place, but some women complain.'
'Oh—do they?' she asked with cool surprise. 'I'll get some more coffee.' And she took the cups and got up to escape Shard's eyes.
Several hours later, she lay against Shard's shoulder in the big bed, his fingers tangling gently in her spread hair.
Into the darkness, he asked, 'What makes you feel I want to shut you out?'
For a moment she held her breath. If they could talk about it, perhaps the barriers could be removed ...
Carefully, she said, 'Isn't that what you're doing, when you won't talk about things?'
'Such as?'
'Your work, for one thing. You choked me off when I tried to ask you about it.'
Shard was silent for several moments. Finally he said, 'Were you really interested, or just being the dutiful wife? I thought you were asking because it's expected of you to take some mild interest in your husband's business.'
'If I was,' she said, 'is there anything wrong with that?'
'Yes. Whatever you give me, I want it to be freely given, not as part of your duty as you see it.'
'It wasn't that,' she said. 'I remember how you used to talk about construction work before—when --' When they used to meet before she married Peter. But she couldn't say that. 'You made it sound exciting and interesting. I liked listening to you.'
Again there was a silence, and the shoulder that pillowed her head seemed to tense a little. 'Then it wasn't entirely a basic animal instinct?' he said. 'Biological chemistry?'
She remembered flinging those words at him, years ago. 'No,' she said. 'I don't think I believed that even then, entirely. But that aspect was so strong, it did tend to swamp the rest—I think it frightened me. And you said some pretty harsh, things too, that night. Did you really think that I'd deliberately led you on, tried to make you pro
pose, for the pleasure of turning you down?'
'It fitted.'
She stirred against him in soft protest. 'No,' she said. 'I was never the sophisticated little tease that you seemed to imagine. I was young and confused. No one had ever made me feel the way you did, and you were so—so different. And there was Peter who loved me and needed me.'
'And made you feel safe.'
'Perhaps—that, too,' she acknowledged. 'Do you despise me for that? I suppose there was a lot of truth in the things you said the night we went out in my car, that first time. I had lived a fairly sheltered life, and been cushioned from most shocks. But it wasn't all selfishness, Shard. My parents were keen on my marrying Peter, and I'd made a promise to him. It wasn't only that I was afraid for myself, afraid that my physical feelings for you were warping my judgment, afraid, too, that you weren't as honest as you seemed. It was also the fear of hurting people—Peter, my parents—you don't have any family, perhaps you can't understand, but I'd been brought up to think of how my actions affected them, to care about their feelings. I know my family aren't perfect, but I love them.'
'Love --'
'You said once you have no use for it,' she said, her voice a little unsteady. 'Is that still how you feel?'
'If that's love,' he said, 'I want no part of it.'
She was quiet, staring into the darkness. 'You haven't forgiven me,' she said. 'You've never forgiven me for marrying Peter. Did I hurt you very much?'
'You hurt me very much. But that needs no forgiveness. What I can't take is that you hurt yourself. You weren't what they tried to make you, but you made yourself conform to their pattern. You had guts— courage and willpower, and you perverted them --'
'Perverted?' she queried.
'Yes. You should have used them to become the person you wanted to be, to do what you wanted to do, not to force yourself into a role that was set for you by other people.'
'But that's selfish!' she exclaimed, shocked.
'Is it? What gave them the right to ask you to deform yourself to fit their expectations? The only rights a person has over another are those that are freely given. The only duties they have are those that are freely accepted. Anything else is coercion, and coercion isn't fit to go by the name of love. It isn't a fit transaction for human beings.'
-f chose it,' she said slowly. And then—'I wasn't unhappy.'
'No—just less happy than you might have been. And less complete, and less free.'
'Am I free now—married to you?'
'If you're not, it's because you don't want to be.'
Elise wasn't sure what he meant by that.
At breakfast Shard asked casually, 'Would you like to have lunch with me? You could meet me at the office.'
She looked up eagerly. 'Yes,' she said, 'I would.'
?She had never been to his office, never felt that she would be welcome there. She regarded the invitation as some kind of milestone in their marriage.
For that reason she dressed carefully for their lunch date, and was rewarded by a quick glow of appreciation in Shard's eyes when his secretary ushered her into his presence.
He had a sheet of paper before him, and a pen in his hand. 'Sit down,' he said. 'I just want to finish this.'
Instead of doing that, she walked over to the huge drawings pinned on to one wall. They showed a high-rise building and were obviously architect's plans.
Shard put down his pen and came to stand beside her, his arm hooking about her waist.
'Is this what you're working on now?' he asked.
'Our biggest project—the Dunfield Building,' he said.
'We've just begun the actual construction work.'
'What does all this mean?' she asked, pointing to a sheet of diagrams with notations on it.
That's one of the working drawings,' he said, and explained to her some of the terms, his face alive and purposeful.
Then he laughed and said, 'Come on, I promised you lunch.' On the way out Elise was introduced to some of the staff, who looked at her curiously but in a friendly way; and she recognised one or two who had been at the party.
When they had finished their meal, Shard looked at his watch and said, 'I have to go down to the Dunfield site. Sorry to rush you, but you would insist on studying those drawings.'
'Can I come?' she asked. 'I'd like to see the real thing.'
There's not much to see,' he said. 'And you're hardly dressed for scrambling round a construction site.'
Elise looked down at her empty coffee cup, fighting a sudden bleak hurt.
She felt his hand over hers, and he said, 'Come if you want to. If I'd meant, no, you can't, I'd have said it.'
She wasn't dressed for it, but she stood in her high heels and pretty dress, with Shard's jacket pulled about her shoulders against the brisk wind, and watched him, in overalls and a hard hat, scrambling about the iron scaffolding and walking confidently along the narrow boards it held, talking to the workmen and watching with keen eyes the working of the huge crane overhead as it swung long steel girders into place.
She was aware of the activity all about her, the noise of heavy machinery, the ringing of hammers on steel, but she concentrated on Shard's tall figure, his wind-ruffled hair when for a moment he removed the hard hat and then resettled it firmly on his head, his white smile.
When he swung down and came across the rough ground to join her, she didn't smile, but her eyes were held by his all the way. He stopped before her and he, too, was unsmiling. Then he put his arm about her shoulders and turned her towards the car.
Through the varied noises of the construction and the muted hurly-burly of the nearby street, the wail of a distressed child came high and keening, and a small girl of about three or four wandered into view, knuckles to her eyes, and tripped on the ramp that crossed the dug-up pavement from the site to the road.
Instinctively, Elise ran forward, her skirt brushing the mud as she stooped to the little girl and placed her quickly on her feet, looking about for a parent as she did so.
None seemed to be in evidence, and as the child had skinned a knee and was now wailing more loudly than ever, Elise turned her attention to comforting her instead. To Shard, standing beside her, she said, 'Have you got a hanky, Shard? My bag is in the car.'
He produced one in silence and she used it to wipe the tear-streaked little face, and then the bloodied knee, talking all the while in a soothing voice.
'Where the hell is the child's mother?' Shard asked forcefully.
'Or father,' said Elise coolly. 'Shh, now, sweetie,' she added to the still sobbing child. 'We'll look after you until someone comes to find you. I'm sure they won't be long.'
'Mummee!' the child wailed in great distress.
'Was Mummy with you?' Elise queried gently, receiving a gulping nod in return. 'Well, I'm sure it won't be long before she comes along looking for you. Why don't you sit in the car with me, arid let me put a plaster on this knee, while we wait for her?'
She received a doubtful look, but the sobs were lessening a little, and when she said, 'Would that be all right?' the little girl stared for a moment with watery blue eyes and then nodded again.
'I'll carry her,' said Shard. But when he stooped, the child shied away, throwing her chubby arms about Elise's neck and threatening to burst into renewed tears.
'I can manage,' Elise smiled, and picked up her burden to convey her the few steps to the car.
She sat with the door open, the child on her lap, while Shard found the first aid box and opened it. He tipped disinfectant on to cottonwool, but the little girl shied away when he made to apply it to the wound.
'What's your name?' Elise asked her gently.
'Debbie.'
'Well, Debbie, the nice man wants to fix the bleeding for you—he'll try not to hurt.'
Shard shot her a sardonic glance, and Debbie asked doubtfully, 'Is he your daddy?'
'He's my husband. That means that if I had a little girl like you, he would be her daddy. Does your daddy
put a plaster on you when you get hurt?'
'Sometimes. Mostly Mummy does.'
Elise gave Shard a small nod, and kept talking while he cleaned the scraped skin and pressed a plaster over it. Debbie seemed uncertain about where she lived, but her full name was Debbie Marie Harris. 'When's my mummy coming?' she asked, her eyes filling with tears again.
Elise, looking in vain among the lunchtime shoppers hurrying by, said, 'I expect she won't be long. Do you know what she was wearing, Debbie?'
But Debbie didn't, and Shard, his voice edged with something that Elise thought was impatience, said, 'I'll go and look for a young woman with an anxious look --' and got out of the car.
Elise got out a small notebook and pencil and when Shard returned fifteen minutes later with an almost hysterically grateful young woman pushing another small child in a pushchair, Debbie was happily watching as she drew dogs, cats and rabbits and kept up a distracting conversation.
'I only turned my back for a minute,' the mother exclaimed, guilt and embarrassment obviously vying with gratitude. 'That was naughty, Debbie, you must stay with Mummy.'
'There was a pussycat,' the child explained. 'But it ran away.' The woman threw Elise a despairing glance, which drew from her a smile of understanding. 'And,' Debbie went on, 'I fell over and made a bleed, and the nice daddy fixed it.'
'You've been very kind,' Mrs Harris said to both of them.
Shard didn't look kind, he looked hard and aloof, and anxious to get away. As he started the car, Elise answered Debbie's happy wave, glanced at him in puzzlement and asked, 'Are you late?'
'For what?'
'For—anything,' she said helplessly. 'You seemed in a hurry.'
'Did you want to sit there all day being thanked?'
'No, of course not.'
But his impatience had shown itself before then. It struck her that she had never seen Shard with a child before. Perhaps he had, like many men, very little experience of children, and had reacted to an unusual sense of inadequacy with irritation.
His attention concentrated on negotiating the darting lunchtime traffic, he looked remote and hard. Elise didn't blame Debbie for being a little nervous of him.
