A Moment in Time
By
Yvonne Whittal
Contents
AUTHOR'S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
A MOMENT IN TIME
Christie's excitement at her new job was dashed when Lyle Venniker turned up as her boss. But why did he hate her so much? Hadn't she given him what he wanted—his freedom?
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First published in Great Britain 1985
by Mills & Boon Limited
© Yvonne Whittal 1985
Australian copyright 1985
Philippine copyright 1986
This edition 1986
ISBN 0 263 75285 2
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Although there are many myths and legends amongst the Black peoples of southern Africa, the legend of Indlovukazi is fictitious, but the belief of her subjects, that she obtained her children through supernatural powers, is based loosely on facts which relate to the Rain Queen (Rain Goddess) of the Lobedu who reside in the Letaba district, Kruger National Park.
Y.W.
CHAPTER ONE
The buff-coloured envelope bore the official stamp of the university. Christie Olson held it between slender fingers that shook slightly. She was anxious to know its contents, but for some obscure reason she was also a little afraid. She did not need this job with the desperate urgency of some of the other applicants, but accompanying a group of archaeological students on an expedition for the duration of a month had seemed like a challenge to brighten what had become a rather dull existence for her as secretary at a firm of accountants in Johannesburg.
Sammy Peterson had been the first to notice her restlessness. 'You have buried yourself behind a typewriter for three years, and you're too stubborn to admit that you have made a mistake,' he said a few nights ago when he had taken her out to dinner. 'What you need is the excitement of the stage and a few gruelling, but rewarding hours in a recording studio.'
Christie's generous mouth had curved in a cynical smile, but it had been wasted on the stout little man with the bald head who had sat puffing at his cigar with relish. He was accustomed to what he had termed the 'theatrical tantrums' of the artists under contract to him, and Sammy still considered Christie as his exclusive property, even though her contract had expired three years ago.
'You never give up, do you?' she had remarked wryly, raising long dark lashes to survey him with hyacinth-blue eyes, conveying an accusation which Sammy placidly ignored.
'Are you forgetting that I found you strumming your guitar and singing for a pittance in a coffee bar?' He had leaned towards her, a cloud of cigar smoke surrounding him as he fixed pale grey eyes on her. 'I made you a star, Christie, and now you expect me to sit back and watch you throw away everything I helped you build up with such care.'
'The choice was mine, Sammy.'
'You were emotionally unstable when you decided to quit, and I blame Lyle Venniker for that.'
'We will not discuss Lyle.' Her face had become a cold, rigid mask behind which she had hidden her feelings for five long years, and Sammy Peterson knew her well enough to realise that he had gone too far in his eagerness to lure her back into his clutches, but he was not a man to relinquish a battle when he wanted something desperately enough.
'I have a new contract typed out and waiting for you,' he had said later that night when he had left her at her flat. 'If you change your mind you know that all you have to do is come in and sign it.'
Christie had not answered him, and the following day she had gone for that interview at the university, but Sammy's words had continued to linger uncomfortably in her mind. He had made her recall that first year after she had left the orphanage to go out into the world on her own. She had been incapable of finding something to do which would provide her with an income and, out of sheer desperation, she had finally taken a job at a coffee bar, serving customers by day, and singing at night to provide herself with that little extra she had needed so badly. It was true that she did, at times, yearn for the excitement of the stage and the thrill of cutting a new record, but the price she had paid for recognition had been too high. When her contract had expired she had put that part of her life behind her, and she had vowed never to return to it.
The envelope crackled between Christie's agitated fingers. The past was something she had been determined never to dwell on, and she dragged her thoughts forcibly to the present as she ripped open the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper. Her glance skimmed over the first few lines and her face lit up with an inner excitement. She had got the job! For a few moments she was too shaky to take in the remainder of the letter, and she simply stood there staring at it in a dazed fashion. She had never imagined that she would be successful. The other applicants had appeared more suited to an archaeological expedition, and also so much more experienced, Christie thought, when she recalled how they had rattled off their qualifications.
Christie lowered herself into a comfortable chair, and leaned back for a second with her eyes closed to calm herself sufficiently before she read the second paragraph of the letter in her hand.
'The professor and his party of students wish to leave Johannesburg on the 17th February, and it is therefore imperative that you contact us as soon as possible to discuss the final details.'
It was ironic. Lyle had once wanted her to accompany him to the excavation site of the ruined city of Pompeii in Italy, but she had been forced to decline because of her commitments elsewhere. Now, instead of Lyle, she would be accompanying a lecturing archaeologist and his small group of students on a trip to the northern Transvaal, and there was a pang of bitterness inside her at the thought.
Lyle. She did not want to think of Lyle Venniker, but the memories came crowding in on her mind with the sudden eruption of a highveld storm. They had met after a show at the home of mutual friends, and Christie had been instantly attracted to the tall, lean archaeologist with the piercing dark eyes. The attraction had been mutual, or so she had believed at the time, and a month later they had been married, despite Sammy Peterson's protestations that it was too soon. She had been twenty, starry-eyed with success, and desperately in love for the first time in her life, but her happiness had been brief. Lyle had been fiercely possessive, and he had made no secret of the fact that he had disliked the demands her career placed on her time. He had insisted that she accompany him to Italy, and Christie had been torn between her love for her husband, and her loyalty to Sammy Peterson who had given her a chance in life. Instead of understanding her predicament, Lyle had forced her to
choose between him, and her career as a singer. The choice had been cruel and totally unfair. Her contract with Sammy Peterson's company had still had two years to go before it elapsed, she had been booked for recording sessions,, and Sammy had had an extensive tour of the country lined up for her which could not be cancelled. There had been no way she could have escaped her commitments and, after six short, stormy months, her marriage had crumbled. The divorce had been almost as swift as their marriage. Lyle had gone to Italy alone and, to the best of her knowledge, he had never returned.
Christie shook herself free of these thoughts. After five years the pain could still bite as deep as it had on that day when Lyle had stormed out of their flat and, as she slid the letter back into its envelope, her eyes were shadowed pools of anguish best forgotten…
She sighed and got to her feet. It was getting dark outside, and she switched on the lights in her spacious and graciously furnished flat. She had always worked sparingly with her money and, after a poverty-stricken childhood, she could now afford to surround herself with the few luxuries she had accumulated over the years. There was, however, nothing ostentatious about the furnishings, and she had succeeded in creating a cool, serene, and comfortable atmosphere in whites and pastels.
Christie made herself something to eat in the kitchen before indulging in a leisurely, scented bath. She watched television for a while, but she could not concentrate on the programme and decided instead to have an early night. She would take a drive out to the university in the morning to discuss the final arrangements, and then she would have to make use of the few days left to her to go out shopping for suitable clothes. They would be camping out in tents in a place which, she had gathered, was nowhere near civilisation, and the clothes in her wardrobe were not at all suited to the kind of life she would be leading during the coming weeks.
The mirror against the wall captured the slender, supple grace of her movements when she entered the bedroom, but Christie seldom paused long enough to admire herself. She was of the opinion that her eyes were too big and her mouth too wide, and she completely overlooked the fact that, coupled with her classic bone structure, she possessed a haunting beauty which men found intensely appealing. There should have been no need for a lack of male company, but, since her divorce from Lyle, Christie had adopted a cool, aloof manner which only Sammy Peterson had succeeded in penetrating. She had been hurt once, and she had no intention of being hurt again.
The taxi driver dumped Christie's large shoulder bag on the pavement at her feet while she dipped her fingers into her purse. She paid him the required amount plus a substantial tip, and he drove away, leaving her standing alone on the campus grounds. It was a hot February morning, and after a hectic week of preparations she could already feel herself begin to wilt in the heat.
A Microbus, two large trucks, and a Jeep were parked a little distance from her. Christie smiled inwardly. She had arrived at the correct venue, there was no doubt about that, and her glance skidded towards a group of students sitting in a circle beneath a shady oak. They were discussing the planned expedition, and their obvious excitement was infectious. It made Christie's pulse-rate quicken as she picked up her heavy shoulder bag, and she was beginning to think she had gone unnoticed when a dark-haired young man detached himself from the group. He came striding towards her, and she was not unaware of the way his green glance flicked appreciatively over her slim figure clad in denims and cotton shirt.
'You must be Miss Olson,' he greeted her with a friendly smile.
'That's correct,' she confirmed, the corners of her mouth lifting in an involuntary response.
'I'm Dennis de Villiers.' Her hand was gripped and pumped up and down in an enthusiastic welcome. 'If you give me your bag I'll put it on the truck for you with the rest of our stuff. The professor should be here any moment now.'
Christie's bag was lifted off her shoulder and on to his before she could protest, and she resignedly allowed herself this final luxury. From this moment onwards she would be responsible for her own kit, regardless of its weight.
'You're very kind,' she murmured as she followed Dennis de Villiers towards the vehicles parked close by.
'Think nothing of it.' He brushed aside her remark as he dumped her bag on the back of one of the trucks, then he gestured with an inclination of his head towards the students who were now observing them curiously. 'Come along and meet the others.'
Christie was introduced to fifteen students, three of whom were young women, but it was the girl, Erica, who attracted Christie's instant attention. Fair-haired and tawny-eyed, she had a tigerish look about her that made Christie raise her guard at once.
'I'm sure you must have gathered that we're all on first name terms,' Dennis smiled, turning eagerly to Christie. 'What's yours?'
'Christie,' she answered, but she regretted it the next instant when she glimpsed a spark of intense interest in Erica's tawny eyes.
'There was a folk singer some years ago who called herself Christie. My brother was crazy about her and bought all her records.'
'Really?' Christie adopted a bored expression to match her casual remark, but Erica was not put off.
'Don't know what happened to her, though.' She continued her subtle probing. 'She simply disappeared off the scene.'
'Perhaps her popularity waned.' Christie put forward a suggestion which she hoped would end this particular topic of conversation.
'That's hardly likely!' Erica announced with a bark of disbelieving laughter while she studied Christie intently, her glance sliding from the short, golden-brown curls framing Christie's face down to her comfortable canvas shoes. 'My brother considered her one of the best female country singers in southern Africa, and he should know, considering that he works at the recording company who used to produce her records.'
Christie felt a discomfiting chill spiral through her, but the conversation was ended abruptly when Dennis said excitedly, 'Here comes the professor.'
Christie turned to follow the direction of his gaze, and everything within her ground to a petrified halt. The man walking towards them with those long, lithe strides was Lyle Venniker, and past and present came together with a shattering force that rocked the secure little world Christie had created for herself during the past five years. She stood like a statue, her face chalk-white, while everyone else went forward to crowd around him, and it was only when those dark, piercing eyes met hers above the heads of the students that her heart thudded uncomfortably back to life. He uttered an abrupt command which sent the students racing towards the vehicles, and only then did he approach Christie. Never before had she felt such a fierce desire to flee from someone, but her legs refused to move, and she stood there frozen until he paused less than a pace away from her to tower over her menacingly.
Tall, lean, and tanned, he still looked the same except for a distinguished smattering of grey against his temples which made him appear a fraction older than his thirty-eight years, but there were differences which she began to notice as the numbness of shock began to ease out of her mind. The hawk-like features were sharper, the eyes harder, and the mouth sterner than she had remembered. It heightened his masculine appeal in some strange way, and Christie felt an unwanted stirring inside her when his stabbing glance lingered briefly on her hair which, five years ago, had trailed almost down to her waist.
'Fate must find a diabolical pleasure in making our paths cross once again, but I want you to know that, had I known yesterday what I discovered only this morning, I would have insisted they find someone else.'
His deep, familiar voice was harsh with biting displeasure, and Christie was roused to an icy anger she had not felt in years. 'I can assure you that I would have withdrawn my application at once had I known you would be leading this expedition.'
'Since we understand each other on that score, there are one or two matters I wish to discuss with you before we leave the campus this morning.' His manner was authoritative, and there was something close to a threat in his vo
ice. 'The next four weeks are going to be strenuous for all of us, so don't expect any favours. Besides taking down the data and typing it, I shall expect you to help with the chores like everyone else in the camp. The group as a whole will have the opportunity to display their culinary abilities, and that rule also applies to you.'
Christie felt indignant at the deliberate insult. How dare he imagine that she would shy away from the suggestion of hard work! Her temper rose sharply, but she kept it in check, and asked coldly, 'Was there anything else?'
'Yes!' he barked, his shoulders moving beneath his blue shirt as if the material spanned too tightly across their width. 'You had better be as good at your job as they said you would be.'
If that was a challenge, then she was not going to ignore it. 'In which vehicle shall I be travelling?'
'You'll be in the first truck with Dennis de Villiers.'
'Thank you.' They glared at each other in silence for several stormy seconds. 'May I go now?'
Christie had snapped the query, and he had inclined his dark head briefly before turning and striding towards the Jeep. She stared after him for a moment, taking in those long, muscled legs in khaki trousers, the lean hips, and the wide shoulders. It seemed quite impossible to believe that they had once been so intimately close. He was now a stranger to her, and yet her mind was suddenly crowded with memories of intimacies shared that did not bear thinking about. Five years ago she had been forced to thrust him from her mind and her heart, and she had believed that she had succeeded, but seeing him today had brought back the reality of those six months when they had lived together. It had been six months of love and laughter until their differing professions had driven a wedge so deeply between them that nothing short of a miracle would have saved their marriage.
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