by Isobel Chace
“Oh,” I muttered, bereft of all speech.
It was a very satisfactory experience to be kissed by Andrew. I doubt but his practice on the local girls stood him in very good stead, for I had had no practice at all and did nothing to help him.
“Oh, Andrew!” I breathed.
He grinned at me. “That,” he said, “was worth waiting for!”
I wriggled away from him, aware that I was on the point of losing my head—and I wasn’t quite ready for that.
“Andrew, you didn’t mean to marry me for ever in Scotland, did you?”
“I don’t know,” he said frankly.
“Then—then why?”
He looked embarrassed. “You were so alone, mo ghaoil,” he said simply.
“And that was enough for you to rush in and rescue me?” I asked him.
“Well, it had its attractions!” he said.
“What?” I insisted. “I wasn’t even grateful!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said.
“Hmm,” I murmured. I felt quite uppity now that he had kissed me. “I know I’m not as bonny as Mary, of course—”
“No,” he agreed, a little too quickly for my vanity. “But I’m not bad-looking!” I continued crossly. “So why?”
He smiled again. “I don’t think it would be proper for me to tell you that,” he said.
I could have stamped my foot with rage. “But I want to know!” I said.
“So I see,” he teased me.
“Then tell me!” I commanded him.
“You were so alone,” he said.
“Is that all?” I asked, disappointed.
“That was all then,” he agreed. “Later, when I got to know you a little, I thought it might lead to something else.”
“Yes, I know,” I said.
“How can you know?” he smiled at me.
“You told me,” I said simply, “only I was too stupid to understand. I thought you were quoting poetry just, not telling me anything at all!”
“Ah yes,” he remembered smugly. “How fair and pleasant you are, O loved one, delectable maiden! You are stately as a palm tree, and your breasts are like its clusters. I say I will climb the palm tree and lay hold of its branches. Oh, may your breasts be like clusters of the vine, and the scent of your breath like apples, and your kisses like the best wine that goes down smoothly, gliding over lips and teeth!”
I might just as well never have heard the words, because until then I had never before understood a single brazen word of it.
“Oh, Andrew, was that why?” I asked brokenly.
“Near enough,” he said.
The telephone bell rang sharply, pulling us back to reality.
“You’d better answer it,” I sighed.
He let me go and sat down at his desk, flipping the receiver off its cradle with an impatient gesture.
“Yes? Who is it?” he asked angrily.
I could hear Mary’s voice at the other end, so I crept out of the office to leave him alone with her. She would be wanting to tell him about her wedding plans, I reasoned, and I was quite unbearably glad that we were already married and had been for some weeks now.
I prowled about the house, touching this and that, plumping up the cushions, and pretending to be very busy. But in the end there was nothing left to do and, because I didn’t want Andrew to find me so obviously waiting for him, I went into my room and shut the door behind me.
It was a very long conversation and I grew restless. It was hard not to be jealous of Mary even though I knew her to be happy with Frank Connor. Andrew would have to be blind not to have noticed her glorious hair that burned like a flame about her head, and Andrew was not blind. What attraction could I have for him by comparison?
He didn’t knock at my door, but entered my room as if he was declaring that he had the right.
“I suppose she won’t be ready to come home tomorrow?” I said blithely.
“She won’t ever be ready to come home,” he replied. “They plan to get married first thing in the morning!”
I swallowed down my own immediate pleasure. “Will you mind?” I asked him gently.
“Mind?” he snorted. “Too right I mind! It means that we shall have Margaret back with us tomorrow, and I’d hoped to land her on Frank for a while!”
I smiled at him. “It doesn’t matter,” I assured him.
“Margaret will be far more interested in the sheep than in us!”
His grey eyes sparked dangerously. “And that’s another thing!” he flared at me, “Whatever made you suggest such a thing to Mary as to renounce her share in Mirrabooka to her mother? We’ll have her on our backs for the rest of our lives!”
I shook my head. “No, we won’t,” I said definitely. “Margaret has too much sense to antagonize you. We’ll have her to stay sometimes—or I thought she might like to build a place of her own, somewhere on the other side of Mirrabooka?”
“What?” he exclaimed.
“She wouldn’t bother you much, would she?” I asked hopefully.
He considered the idea, “Reckon not,” he admitted grudgingly. “But I’ll not have her interfering in the management of Mirrabooka!” He glared at me. “Or you either!”
“Certainly not,” I agreed, shocked.
“And don’t look so innocent!” he went on angrily. “If you had your way, we’d have everyone living here, from Miss Rowlatt to—to—”
“I don’t think she’d like to move from Geraldton,” I said. “She likes to live beside the sea.”
“Good!” he said with fierce satisfaction. “There won’t be room for her anyway!”
“Oh, Andrew!” I protested. “We have half a dozen bedrooms—”
“Which will all be full of Frasers!”
I blushed, and blushed again because he came very close to me and kissed me lightly on the lips.
“Andrew,” I said, “I love you very much.” I hesitated, not knowing how to tell him quite how much I loved him. “Set me as a seal upon your heart,” I whispered. “And love me a little.”
His arms were about me. “A little! I’ll show you how much, Kirsty MacTaggart!”
I put my hand over his mouth. “Mrs. Andrew Fraser,” I said, and I watched the light grow in his eyes.
“Mrs. Fraser,” he agreed.” And he kissed me again.
