Love in the Valley

by Susan Napier

  She escaped to the empty kitchen, stomach churning. She hated arguments. Worse, Hugh had been right, there was no excuse for hurling insults at her employer’s son over the dinner table. Now Connie might feel obliged to fire her. Oh, why had she lost her temper! Better to have burst into tears, at least she might have gained a bit of sympathy that way. And now Hugh’s opinion of her was worse than ever! For the first time she considered the possibility that she was irresponsible. She was far too prone to jumping impulsively into situations without properly considering the consequences. Accepting Richard’s dare, for one thing … and childishly baking him that disastrous cake. They weren’t the actions of a mature, thinking adult. Perhaps she should try and curb some of her natural high spirits, exercise a bit more self-control. At least her humour and optimism ensured that her tempers never lasted very long, but Hugh was a different kettle of fish. These strong, silent types were apt to brood. He might smoke and smoulder away in that attic of his for years … she had better apologise.

  She was still trying to psyche herself up to it half an hour later when Connie sought her out.

  ‘I’m sorry, Connie, I should never have said what I did,’ began Julia, gloomily rattling the coffee cups.

  ‘We don’t condone censorship in this house, literary or verbal,’ responded Connie easily. ‘Hugh can be infuriating, I know, but perhaps in this case your temper did get the upper hand. What was it all about?’

  Julia explained, and Connie dutifully kept a straight face until it came to the cake, and the pool.

  ‘Oh Julia, couldn’t you have done something less … dramatic,’ her voice trembled. ‘Pretended to faint or something.’

  Julia looked at her, her mouth falling open. So simple a ploy hadn’t occurred to her fevered brain. ‘Well … I, er … I’m no actress, Connie, I probably wouldn’t have been able to carry it off. Anyway, I don’t think the valued colleague would have been diverted by anything less than my untimely death.’

  ‘Forget Ann, that was only Hugh rubbing it in by being pompous, he’s good at it isn’t he?’ The jewel-bright eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I’ve never seen Hugh quite so … annoyed, at least not for a very long time. He usually reserves his arguments for obscure points of law and lets everyday nuisances go hang—like Richard keeping it secret that we were coming … I heard about that. Hugh is very good at ignoring what he doesn’t like, he can be aggravatingly single-minded about it. He should be case-hardened now, having put up with our antics for so long. Bawling you out was … why it was positively Marlowish.’ She paused. ‘I wonder whether that’s occurred to him yet?’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to go up and apologise,’ Julia prodded, anxious for some biased advice.

  ‘I suppose you’d better,’ agreed Connie quietly. ‘It would clear the air.’ She settled herself down at the kitchen table. ‘Actually the reason I trotted in was to tell you something that might help you in your dealings with Hugh. I know he’s a difficult man to approach on a personal basis, but please don’t think that because he doesn’t laugh easily it’s because he’s a cold and humourless man. He’s not. But he finds it awkward to cope with emotionalism. It’s the boyish part of a man that likes to laugh and play the fool, but Hugh has nothing of the boy left in him. He doesn’t have the memories of innocent joy that most of us acquire in childhood. You knew he was adopted, of course? Well, the circumstances in which he came to us were … very sad; he was very withdrawn and very mistrustful of people. We loved him and gave him security, but we couldn’t obliterate the past for him.

  ‘So please, don’t judge him too harshly, Julia. He is extremely self-aware, overly so, and is very conscious o a lack in himself. Coming face to face with someone as happy and easy-going as you, must only throw his deficiencies into relief.’

  ‘Oh God, I couldn’t have said anything better planned to hurt him, could I?’ Julia buried her head in her hands, reliving every bitter word she had uttered, cursing her runaway tongue. What right had she had to criticise Hugh when she was such a bitch herself? It didn’t help to know that Connie’s hesitant ‘very sad’ had glossed over a great deal of obviously painful detail. Julia longed to ask questions, but her innate sensitivity held her back. Connie had made concession enough telling her this much. It was really none of Julia’s business and she knew that Hugh would hate to be discussed in such a way. She understood him better now, but only a little, and she wanted badly to make everything right between them. Yet she mustn’t let him see any sympathy, his pride would revolt at the very thought, and he would be suspicious if she suddenly grovelled. If only she wasn’t so confused about her feelings … her original dislike all jumbled up with compassion and curiosity, and despair that he seemed to have so little of her beloved laughter in his life.

  ‘I didn’t mean to heap coals of fire,’ Connie hastened to console her. ‘Hugh has a pretty thick skin, and a lot of what you said was true … that’s probably what riled him. Hugh likes to think of himself as impenetrably private. It must be shattering to find a slip of blonde reading him like a popular paperback.’

  Julia gave a small, weak smile. ‘I’m afraid at this stage I’m only just following the pictures. Thanks, Connie.’

  ‘Off you go and get it over with, I’ll make coffee. He’ll be heartily regretting his bearishness by now, you should get a fair hearing. Go on—shoo!’

  Exit stage left. Julia obeyed the director’s command.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE faint spittering sound impinged again on Julia’s semi-consciousness. She groaned and sat up, squinting at the luminous dial of her watch. Six o’clock. The spitter became a rattle and Julia reluctantly knelt up, shivering in her candy-striped nightshirt, and thrust open the window above her box bed.

  Richard, looking disgustingly energetic, let fall a handful of gravel and threw his arms wide in the wintery gloom.

  “Get up, get up for shame, the Blooming Morne

  Upon her wings presents the god unshorne.

  See how Aurora throwes her faire

  Fresh-quilted colours through the aire:

  Get up, sweet slug-a-bed and see

  The Dew-bespangled Herbe and Tree.”

  ‘Get lost!’ Julia heaved one of her embroidered cushions at him and he fielded it with a grin.

  ‘What a grouch you are of a morning, sweeting.’

  ‘Do you know what time it is?’ Julia demanded. ‘I don’t have to get up for another hour. What on earth are you doing?’

  Richard executed a few shuffling dance steps. ‘Appreciating the gift of life. Walking … thinking. Why don’t you come out and welcome in the dawn with me?’

  Julia eyed him suspiciously. Richard was a night-owl, all his energies diverted into his performance. The rest of the time he conserved his strength with sloth-like skill.

  ‘No thank you.’ She shivered even more as the cold air crept inside her neckline. ‘What did you wake me up for?’

  ‘Connie and Michael are going down to Hahei today, did Connie tell you? Visiting some great aunt or other. How about a picnic lunch for us at Cook’s Beach?’

  ‘Do you think the weather will hold?’ It had been heavily overcast the day before.

  ‘Too cold for rain … there’s a frost out here you know, sweet slug-a-bed.’

  ‘OK,’ Julia yawned and stretched mightily, it would be nice to have a day away from the house.

  ‘Great. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. We’ll have a gorgeous time, I promise.’ He now seemed eager to get away.

  ‘Well, hey!’ Julia called after him as he walked away. ‘Will you tell the others, or shall I?’

  ‘What others, sweet Juliet?’ Richard began to whistle as he disappeared around the side of the house.

  ‘Damn!’ Julia slammed the window shut, annoyed at having walked straight into his trap. He knew that she had been trying to avoid being alone with him lately. His attempts to fan a romance between them were becoming a real pain, and she had no doubt that he had more of the same on his
agenda for today.

  Well, two can play at that game, fella, Julia smiled wickedly to herself as she snuggled down for a few more minutes in her warm nest. After facing up to Hugh as she had last night, she felt able to cope with anything.

  It had taken a determined courage to mount those narrow attic stairs and confront the eagle in his eyrie, or on the edge of his eyrie—for Hugh had refused to allow her inside. He had opened the door and stood, squarely blocking the rectangle of light, arms crossed over his massive chest.

  ‘Er … can I come in?’ she had asked meekly, trying to decipher the unreadable expression on his face.

  ‘No.’

  Her courage dwindled even further. So much for him regretting his bearishness. In fact she preferred the bear to the great stone face before her now.

  ‘Please … I came to … I want to …’

  ‘I know why you came, Julia, why don’t you just get on with it?’

  Julia swallowed. ‘You’re not making this easy for me.’

  ‘Is there some reason I should?’

  Julia struggled with uncertain emotions. It was difficult to retain your sympathy with a man who could be so effectively nasty with so little effort. But what struck even deeper into her tender heart was the realisation that such nastiness was really only a form of defence. He was a man slow to trust, and he certainly had no reason to trust Julia with the merest glimpse into his private life. That was guarded, as was his room, by sheer force of will. Julia hated hurting others, and never before had she pushed herself where she wasn’t wanted, but something about Hugh roused an instinct in her, at once aggressive and protective, a curiosity that constantly craved appeasement.

  ‘Look, can’t we go in and sit down, it’s cold out here.’ She could see the warm flicker of firelight reflected in the varnished door.

  ‘No. Get to the point, Julia.’

  Julia’s eyes fixed themselves on the third button of his crisp, white shirt. ‘You know what the point is.’

  ‘I want to hear it anyway,’ unmoving and unmoved.

  Julia licked her lips. Why was it so hard to say? Because once you’ve said it he’s going to shut the door on you again, whispered the little know-it-all inside her head, and you don’t want him to shut you out, not ever.

  ‘It was all a mistake!’ she rushed into speech to drown out that niggling thought. ‘It wasn’t meant for you—the cake, I mean, that’s why I had to push you in the pool. Well, I suppose I didn’t have to push you. Connie said I could have fainted, but I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s all Richard’s fault, damn him!’

  ‘Is this going to take long?’ Hugh interrupted her string of disconnected remarks. ‘I do have some work to do.’

  ‘Will you shut up and listen!’ Julia howled in exasperation, then clapped a hand over her stupid mouth, trying to get a grip on herself. She lowered it, staring him straight in the eye this time, determined: ‘It would help if you stopped looking down your nose at me. I’m only trying to tell you how sorry I am.’

  ‘At last. I accept your gracious apology, Julia. Good night.’

  ‘No!’ Julia grabbed at a solid forearm as he turned away. ‘I haven’t finished yet.’

  ‘Oh? I distinctly heard you say you were sorry.’

  ‘But I haven’t told you why,’ she wailed desperately.

  Very carefully he removed her small, restraining hand—their only point of contact, thought Julia sadly. Her early desire to cry sneaked back and her face set. She rarely cried, and prided herself that she never sank to such emotional blackmail when reason failed. She blinked madly and tried for a casual shrug that fooled neither of them. They stared at each other for a moment, his rejection trembling in the air, then a stifled sigh broke from him and although his posture didn’t change, the tension seemed to drain out of his face.

  ‘I have a feeling I’m going to regret this … but— why, Julia?’

  The trace of gentleness in the soft, resigned voice, sent a flicker of pain through Julia. He was being kind because he felt sorry for her. She didn’t want his pity any more than he would want hers. He was waiting, patiently, prepared for anything … but not, it seemed for the Revenge of the Cake.

  ‘My God!’ The appalled exclamation was jerked from him as she reached the climax of her tale. ‘Isn’t one practical joker in the family enough?’

  There was a tiny silence as they both absorbed the implications of his involuntary remark.

  ‘In the family?’ A small, tremulous smile lit Julia’s wistful face. ‘Was that a Freudian slip?’

  ‘Since Freud is dead, and you, Julia, are a chef not a psychologist, we’ll have to forego the revelation.’ Hugh frowned repressively, but Julia’s smile only widened as she was swept by a marvellous wave of relief. It was going to be all right, after all. She hadn’t irreparably damaged the tenuous threads of their relationship.

  ‘I see I’ve been promoted again … back to chef,’ she exclaimed as he raised an eyebrow. ‘Does that mean that all is forgiven?’

  ‘Did you think I would be so churlish as to say no?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t sure,’ Julia admitted frankly. ‘You can be awfully enigmatic when you try. You might have thought it the perfect chance to get me the sack.’

  His lids drooped concealingly. ‘You don’t have a very high opinion of my good nature, do you?’

  She smiled warmly at him, her happiness an ache in her throat. ‘Why don’t I come in and we’ll discuss all your faults in detail … and mine of course.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Firm but not dismissive, and this time Julia didn’t mind a bit.

  ‘Another time, perhaps.’

  ‘Perhaps. Good night, Julia.’ So gravely polite, so delightfully Hughish that she couldn’t resist.

  ‘Good night, Hugh. And thanks for being such a darling about your dunking!’ Going up on her tiptoes she planted a laughing kiss on the highest reachable point—the vulnerable spot where his strong throat curved into his collarbone. The unexpected throb of his pulse against her soft mouth imbued the kiss with a disturbing intimacy and Julia whirled away from his arrested gaze, breathless at her own temerity. Back in the kitchen she attributed her slight giddiness to her headlong rush down the stairs and had a snack to revive herself.

  Later, when Steve turned up for one of his late-night chat sessions, Julia for once had little to say. Twice he accused her of not listening to what he was saying and the third time she was startled and upset when he deliberately broke the glass he was holding to get her attention. For one awful moment she thought he was going to throw the pieces at her, his white-faced anger all out of proportion to her crime. Hastily she had denied her indifference, but he had stormed out, leaving Julia to sweep up the shards of glass and wonder at his boiling frustration. On other nights she didn’t even think he had cared about her divided attention.

  Reluctantly Julia dragged herself out of bed and began to set her plans for the day afoot. At the appointed time she greeted Richard at the front door with a smug smile.

  ‘We can’t take the MG, Richard,’ she said, noticing the keys in his hand. ‘There won’t be room.’

  ‘Sure there will. The hamper’ll fit in the boot.’

  ‘But we won’t.’ Ros gave Julia a sly wink as she, Olivia and Steve carried the hamper through from the kitchen, and out to Steve’s old Mark II Zephyr parked conveniently outside. Julia bit her lip to hold back a smile at Richard’s annoyance as he trailed sulkily after them. That would teach him!

  ‘Where’s Charley? Don’t tell me you didn’t think to invite him, too?’ he grumbled sourly in her ear.

  ‘I did, but he didn’t want to come. I’ve left him a packed lunch if that’s what you’re worried about,’ said Julia with wicked relish as she climbed into the front seat alongside Steve. Charley was too wrapped up in his new project to want to go anywhere. He had already removed several vital, mysterious parts from the innards of the Beetle with a view to subjecting them to some complicated cleaning and lubricatin
g process.

  ‘Ready to go?’ Steve gave her a pale smile.

  To Julia’s relief he seemed to have forgotten all about the previous night’s tantrum. He seemed quite relaxed, almost sociable, so Julia didn’t spoil the mood by mentioning it herself.

  ‘Who on earth is this Logan person?’ Julia asked Ros in a low voice as they unloaded the car at the beach. It seemed that every second sentence of Olivia’s began: ‘Logan thinks …’ or ‘Logan says …’.

  Ros tossed her long hank of red hair over her shoulder with a contemptuous shrug. ‘Haven’t you heard of Logan Firth? Oh no, Olivia hadn’t joined the commune the last time you saw us, had she? He’s the founder … the ineffable guiding light. He’s quite old— in his forties I think—but Livvy’s well on the way to thinking herself in love with him. She’s so naive about men … I’m hoping a few weeks under my mature influence might give her back her perspective.’

  ‘You don’t like him, obviously,’ said Julia, amused by Ros’ presumption of emotional superiority. Both seemed fairly level-headed twenty-one-year-olds as far as she was concerned.

  ‘He’s a pseud!’ Ros declared. ‘Do you know what his last exhibition was? He painted the gallery walls black and hung blank canvases on them.’

  ‘Interesting,’ murmured Julia provokingly.

  ‘Come on, Ju! That sort of stuff only appeals to hardcore culture freaks. It doesn’t take any real skill or imagination. Only audacity and ego.’

  Privately Julia agreed. ‘Just because you don’t like his work doesn’t mean that he’s wrong for Olivia.’

  ‘But he is!’ The ardent feminist came to the crux of her argument. ‘It’s a farce to call that place a commune because it’s not, it’s an artistic dictatorship. Livvy doesn’t need him—she’s got more talent in her little finger than he has in his whole body. He’s going to suffocate her with his gigantic ego … make her suffer artistically and emotionally.’ She lowered her voice as Olivia headed up to collect her beach bag from the back seat. ‘What’s more he’s a lecher and a hypocrite. He even made a pass at me! I bet he’s had it off with every woman in that commune, yet he spouts on about woman’s essential purity.’