The air stirred between them, but it was only the breeze, not the sheer friction of static electricity as they gazed at each other, and she saw again that tiger-like response in all his muscles she’d seen the first morning they’d met on this very beach.
But she was very angry—angrier than she could ever remember—and she threw all caution to the wind as she got up gracefully, stretched, then moved to his side to put her hands about his face, to lean towards him and place her lips lightly on his. ‘You know, my friend,’ she said a bare moment later, very quietly and calmly, which was far from how she was feeling, still cupping his face and staring deep into his eyes, ‘think what you like about me but there’s one thing I despise—a man who wants me against his better judgement. A man who blames all his turmoil on me.’ She straightened and walked away without a backward glance.
It was a while before Raefe Stevenson. moved. It would also be a while, he acknowledged, before the mental image of that lovely figure curved over him in its flowing blue dress would leave him. Before the perfume of her skin, the feel of her fingers and the cool taste of her lips would leave him. And it would be the action of a fool to ignore the point she’d made.
So, one up to you, Chessie Valentine, he thought. That was cleverer than I expected. And in the meantime—his lips twisted involuntarily—it might be a good idea to go for a swim…
CHAPTER FIVE
FRANCESCA woke the next morning with a sense of impending doom that she immediately recognised—it was always the same when she’d done something she shouldn’t have. It took just a moment or two to remember what she had actually done the previous day. Then it hit her, and she sat up with a groan and rubbed her face exasperatedly.
Why hadn’t she told Raefe Stevensen the simple truth about the make-up and hairstyle? Why on earth had she allowed him to get to her to the extent of provoking her into a deliberate vamp act?
She cast aside the sheet and sprang up restlessly. It was very early but had every appearance of being another sparkling day. She stood at the window in her French blue satin and lace camisole night-top and matching sleep-shorts. Her hair still held a trace of kinkiness from being plaited and she moved impatiently to the dressing table, where she twisted it into a knot on the top of her head and secured it with a large grip.
She was impatient, she realised, for two reasons—and neither of them to do with her hair. Firstly she would have liked nothing better than to go down for and early-morning swim, but was afraid of running into Raefe. And secondly she was impatient with herself for getting herself embroiled the way she had.
She took a deep breath and stared at her reflection in the mirror—how far wrong had she been in her final summing up of last night’s situation? The way she’d gone about it might have been, a bit dangerous, but hadn’t she spoken her final words from the heart?
She turned away from the mirror, angrily, because she had no doubt Raefe Stevensen wouldn’t believe them. And so, instead of staying inside like a good little governess and cook—Who does he think he is? I’m no one’s hired help!—she stripped, pulled her yellow costume on and strode proudly down to the beach.
‘Have a nice swim, Chessie?’ Jess said at breakfast.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Francesca replied as she dished up bacon and eggs. ‘I didn’t know you were awake, otherwise I’d have taken you with me.’
‘I was in bed with Daddy—he got up really early to make himself a cup of tea and I heard him. So we went back to bed together and read Bedknobs and Broomsticks. He was going to take me for a swim, but when we saw you go down he said we should leave you in peace—didn’t you?’ She turned to her father.
Francesca glanced at him over Jess’s head with a tinge of irony, to encounter an unperturbed grey gaze.
‘Sprung—so I did,’ Raefe conceded.
‘What does sprung mean?’ Jess enquired.
‘Caught out, in this sense, Jess,’ Raefe said gravely, ‘although it has other meanings. You can say, for example, a car is really well sprung—that means it’s got good springs so you don’t bump up and down—or you can say spring has sprung, meaning that spring has arrived and flowers are springing up. Or you can say—’ he looked up at Francesca, a fleeting, mocking little look ‘—the truth has sprung up—at last. Would you like me to cut your bacon, Jess?’
I knew it, Francesca thought a little wildly, and dished up her own breakfast. ‘You can also say,’ she murmured, sitting down, ‘”Truth is within ourselves”—Browning. Then there’s another one: “Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again”.—William Cullen Bryant. If you substitute “spring up” for “rise”, we’re not so far off the point, are we? In more ways than one. Jess, will you have marmalade or honey on your toast?’ .
What might have transpired then was never to be known, because Annette dashed into the kitchen with the news that Bob had been injured in a fall from his horse.
‘How is he?’ Francesca asked anxiously when Raefe arrived home after dark. Jess was asleep after an early meal, and there was a leg of roast pork with done-to-perfection crisp crackling in the oven.
Raefe sloughed off his peaked cap and ran his fingers through his damp hair—his khaki bush shirt and trousers were also sweat-stained. He’d called for a helicopter and flown Bob to the Cairns Base Hospital himself. About twenty minutes earlier Francesca had heard the helicopter land at the cattle yards. There was adequate lighting for a night landing beside the huge machinery shed.
‘He’s fractured his shoulder and broken his leg. He’ll be in plaster for three months, but it will all heal eventually. I left Annette with him and brought Barbara back to put some things together. I’ll take her back tomorrow and she’ll stay with Annette in Cairns while he’s recuperating.’
‘That’ll make things hard here—how will you cope?’ Francesca said slowly.
‘Not without some difficulty,’ he said drily, then sniffed appreciatively as she produced the pork and vegetables. ‘I’ve left Banyo Air a bit short-handed lately, and now Bramble will be short-handed—although it could be worse. At least it’s the wet.’
He washed his hands at the kitchen sink and walked over to the informal dining alcove where she’d laid out dinner. The table was beside an open screened window and above it there were two wrought-iron wall sconces with candle globes that directed soft light onto the table and laid shadows of their shapes on the rough-plastered white wall.
Francesca had laid the table with an avocado-green cloth and the day-to-day crockery, with its bold yellow and green flowers on a white background. Raefe picked up the carving knife and sharpened it briefly on the steel.
‘You will also be short-handed,’ he added, laying the steels down, and there was a peculiar sort of emphasis underlying his words.
Francesca brought the apple sauce and the gravy to the table, hesitated, then smoothed the white shorts that she wore with a coral halter-top. She started to say something then thought better of it.
She sat down, watched him start to carve, and only then said quietly, ‘Would you like to explain?’
He looked across at her interrogatively. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ He handed her her plate.
‘Not entirely.’ She served herself a roast potato, a piece of pumpkin and some cauliflower with white sauce. ,‘I get the feeling there was more to what you weren’t saying than to what you were.’
He sat down and she saw the flash of cynicism in his grey gaze as it rested briefly on her, on her hair tied up in a knot on her head and the smooth golden skin of her shoulders, before he turned this attention to the vegetables.
She took an angry breath, but forced herself to say evenly, ‘No—I’m not about to make you grovel, if that’s what you’re expecting. I can cope quite well without Barbara for a while, unless you have another idea or a better one. It’s up to you.’
He swore beneath his breath, poured gravy onto his meat and said grimly, ‘All right. Before this happened I was about to suggest that we come to a parting of the ways
sooner rather than later. I’d worked out that since Annette was here she might be able to look after Jess until Sarah got back, or until I could make other arrangements. That’s out of the question now, and I spoke to Sarah by phone while I was in Cairns, and she—well, she would like to stay on in Brisbane for a while.’
Francesca toyed with her food, then said thoughtfully, ‘It’s funny you should say that. I’d also decided that, from Jess’s point of view, it would be better to come to a parting of the ways sooner rather than later. I don’t suppose you’ll believe me, but—’
‘Look,’ he said roughly, ‘let’s not beat about the bush. Jess is not the only consideration, although she will always be my first and foremost one. The real problem is that we can’t live together, apparently, you and I, without indulging in a rather degrading type of warfare.’ He paused as she moved suddenly, then said, ‘For which I readily take part of the blame, Francesca, but all the same the sooner it’s nipped in the bud the better.’
It was the first time he’d called her that, and for some reason she discovered that she preferred to be Chessie, even with all the nuances he’d used when addressing her. But she was not a Valentine for nothing.
‘So be it,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll leave tomorrow morning. Is it at all possible to send Jess down to Sarah? I could take her, if you like, if you trust me that far— Never mind; forget I suggested it.’
‘Chessie …’ he said through his teeth, but she got up and walked away from the table to the back door.
‘Chessie, come back and finish your dinner,’ he said after a moment, and then, when she didn’t stir, added quietly, ‘Don’t make me have to come and get you.’
She turned, and her eyes flashed blue fire.
They stared at each other until she said, ‘Don’t patronise me, Raefe. I don’t know—and I no longer care—what your problems are, but I’ve done my level best with your daughter.’
He closed his eyes briefly. ‘Look, I acknowledge that and I’m grateful for it. Please, sit down.’
She hesitated, then resumed her seat and started to eat.
‘In fact, as a governess, you couldn’t have been better.’
She glanced at him wryly.
‘But you’re not a governess, Chessie.’ He got up abruptly, went to the fridge and opened a bottle of wine. He poured two glasses and put one beside her plate without consulting her. ‘And therein lies the kernel. It’s a farce, this; it always has been——and, whilst I know I’ve done my share, there’s one thing I keep coming back to. Why would Frank Valentine’s daughter do something like this?’
‘I may be my father’s daughter,’ Francesca said after an age, and sipped some wine, ‘but I’m my own person too. He was not the sole force in my creation. I had a mother once—’
‘No,’ she went on as he broke in, ‘let’s leave all that alone. I think we’ve done it to death anyway. But if you do genuinely believe I’ve looked after Jess well, then at least credit me with possessing some genuine concern for her—is it out of the question to send her down to Sarah? Even if her wrist hasn’t healed it must be easier to get help in Brisbane than it is up here.’
Raefe finished eating and put his knife and fork together. He picked up his glass and studied the wine in it. ‘Sarah,’ he said at last, ‘is trying to get her marriage together‘ again. The last thing she needs—although she’d probably never forgive me for not asking her—is to be landed with Jess at the moment.’
‘I thought—’ Francesca stopped.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
‘I thought she was sad,’ she said. ‘Which seemed a pity because she’s such a nice person.’
‘She is.’ Raefe drank some wine. ‘He is too.’
Francesca’s natural curiosity fought a battle with her other emotions, which included what she believed to be a genuine desire to have nothing more to do with or say to Raefe Stevensen, but her curiosity won. ‘So what is the problem?’
‘He had an affair.’
‘I thought, you said he was nice?’
‘What they fell out over was Sarah’s inability to have children. He claimed it didn’t matter; she was consumed by guilt. For some reason it started to turn things sour between them and when he…did what he did, and then came back to her because he bitterly regretted it, she couldn’t forgive him. Despite the fact that she’s miserable without him.’
Francesca: blinked. ‘It might have been asking a lot of her. What if it had happened the other way around?’
Raefe moved his shoulders. ‘Who knows? The only is thing I tried to clarify for her was that Mark is only waiting for her to make some sort of a move, and that she might spend the rest of her life regretting it if she doesn’t.’
Francesca digested this but looked unconvinced. ‘He’s been waiting for nearly two years,’ Raefe said. ‘Sarah’s been using Jess as an excuse to stay up here for at least half that time.’
Francesca’s brows rose. ‘I see,’ she said slowly.
Raefe smiled unexpectedly and commented equally unexpectedly, ‘The ways of men and women are strange, aren’t they?’
‘Yes,’ Francesca agreed with unconscious fervour, causing him to look wry. ‘So, well, what will you do?’
He studied her comprehensively. ‘What I was about to do before I got unnecessarily brutal, perhaps.’
‘Ask me to stay on for a while?’ Francesca suggested after a brief pause.
‘Yes.’
Several expressions chased through her eyes, then her gaze steadied and she smiled briefly. ‘I hope that’s as galling to your pride as it is to mine not to respond with incredulous disdain. I—’
‘You mean, not to say, How dare you? Who do you think, you are? Et cetera?’
‘Something like that, but perhaps I ought to make it plain that I couldn’t square my conscience to simply walking away from Jess. I’ll stay on one condition.’
He grimaced. ‘I can imagine—although we’ve made those protestations before.‘
‘Protestations of innocence regarding any ulterior motive we may have towards each other? So we have.’ She smiled coolly this time. ‘No, I wasn’t about to launch into that again. My condition is this—that you let me help you find someone to take over.’
Surprise flared briefly in his eyes, affording Francesca a spurt of satisfaction. He said slowly, ‘How?’
‘Well, Cairns is a fairly limited reservoir to be tapping for staff. I could go further afield—’
‘I could go further afield too,’ he objected. ‘But at least someone‘ from Cairns would be used to the tropical climate, wouldn’t feel as if they’d been dumped at the end of the earth and could get home reasonably easily for breaks now and then.’
‘All of which is why Joyce Cotton was at her wits’ end!’ Francesca shot back.
He shrugged. ‘And where would you go?’
‘I’d go to my old headmistress, for a start.’
‘The one who made sure Frank Valentine’s daughter wouldn’t have to go on the dole if ever the Valentine empire failed?’
Francesca showed her teeth. ‘The same.’
‘I would have thought she might have alienated herself from you somewhat,’ he drawled.
‘She did no such thing—well…’ Francesca paused and smiled reminiscently. ‘We had a few right royal battles, yes, but no more than I would have had—than any teenager might have had—with a mother,’ she amended.
Raefe’s eyes narrowed. ‘So, you had to make do with a headmistress for a smother-figure, Chessie?’
Francesca remembered the number of occasions she’d returned to boarding-school either in a rage or a daze of misery at the inadequacies of her home life. ‘Not a mother-figure, no, but at least… a constant figure. And now that I’ve left school we get along really well.’
Raefe sat forward after a silent moment or two. ‘How close to your father are you?’
‘Why do you want to know?’ she asked proudly.
‘There’ve been rumours for
years of a—a succession of mistresses.
‘If you’re trying to say—if you’re somehow or other trying to implicate me in that kind of life-style—you’re worse than I thought,’ she said, and just for a moment it occurred to Raefe that the glitter in those beautiful blue eyes might be tears.
Then it was gone as she blinked, although a pale shadow of anger lingered about her mouth.
‘No—I was wondering how hard that might have been to live with on top of not having a mother,’ he said quietly.
‘You asked me the other day if I thought Jess lived in her make-believe world too much. I can tell you from personal experience that when you’re deprived of a mother at that age it’s—well, it’s exactly what I did. But I had to give my fantasies away fairly early on. It seemed foolish to persist when there appeared to be no way the real thing—a loving family—was ever going to come my way.’
‘You didn’t…’ He paused and pleated his napkin with his long fingers. ‘You didn’t mention this the day I asked about Jess.’
‘No. I have no idea why Jess is without a mother, for one thing, and for another you so obviously doubted my motivation. But for the record, yes, perhaps she is a little preoccupied with her toy family, but you should be thankful she’s got you—and that.’
‘Chessie…so that’s why you fitted into Jess’s “family” so well. I wondered,’ he mused, as if he was talking to himself.
‘I know,’ she said bleakly.
‘Look, I apologise.’
She gazed at him, and the look in her eyes was both proud and shuttered. ‘You don’t have to feel sorry for me—I loathe that. Not that many people do, and I—’
‘Go out of your way to avoid it,’ he said drily. ‘I think I’m beginning to understand you a bit better, Chessie Valentine.’ He stopped, and before he got the chance to go on she spoke.
‘I wouldn’t bank on understanding me too well, Raefe.’ Her blue gaze was tinged with. scorn now, causing him to raise a rueful eyebrow.
‘All right, I won’t,’ he conceded mildly. ‘So, you think your headmistress—a lady I’ve never met, who lives nearly the length of the continent away—might be able to help me out of this contretemps?’
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