Blind Man's Buff

by Victoria Gordon

  Ran smiled. ‘Oh, it was clear enough,’ he said. ‘Let’s just say that an international reputation doesn’t always demand international facilities. And now, at least, the bright lights you mentioned aren’t so very bright any more.’

  It wasn’t a rebuke, although the older man hastened to voice a partial apology that was carelessly waved aside. ‘No,’ said Ran, ‘there’s nothing to apologise for. I honestly just thought I needed a rest, a change of climate. I once heard about your city from ... someone, and it seemed like a place worth visiting, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re not here permanently, then?’ This time the redhead, Louise, her voice sultry and suggestive.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ Ran replied. ‘It’s possible; anything’s possible. Certainly I like what I’ve seen so far. Perhaps I’ll stay.’

  Louise didn’t continue the discussion, and indeed looked ever so slightly put out.

  Humph! She’s probably shirty because he didn’t appear to remember her name, thought Rena. But he remembered it all right. He’s just not showing all his cards at once.

  And she felt a tiny twinge of pleasure at Ran’s easy manipulation of the smarmy redhead’s feelings. It was a feeling that disappeared seconds later when her own name came to Ran’s sensuous lips, quite unexpectedly.

  ‘Could I get somebody, perhaps you, Rena, to lock up the back door as you’re leaving?’ he asked. ‘I’ll catch the other one myself when I go. Oh, and perhaps you’d catch the lights as well, so that I don’t inadvertently leave one burning to no good purpose?’

  ‘All right,’ she replied, blurting out the reply in keeping with the surprise she felt. He had remembered her name, but why choose this particular occasion to reveal the fact?

  Ran sat immobile during the scuffling confusion as everyone collected their gear and started leaving the building, and Rena did as he’d asked about the back door and lights. It meant having to fumble her own way to the veranda door in stygian darkness, but that was nothing compared to the strange feeling she had over leaving Ran sitting silent in the black, empty house behind her.

  She was still standing in the veranda doorway when the harsh scraping sound of a match being struck caught her ear, and she turned to watch as Ran expertly touched the flame to the end of his cigarette. Strange, she thought, he didn’t once smoke during class. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t always be certain of lighting his cigarettes without fumbling, she wondered, and had to stifle a brief surge of pity.

  Pity, for a man like Randall Logan? Not likely. Not even if she didn’t hate him so much for what he’d done, she thought. Pity was the last thing Ran could accept from anyone, regardless of the justification.

  ‘Are you having problems, Rena?’ The voice came from the blackness behind her, Rena having once again turned towards the door and the safety of the street.

  ‘Umm ... no,’ she replied hastily, and then to her own surprise added, ‘I was just wondering if you’ll be all right. I mean, it seems rather horrid to just go away and leave you sitting in the dark like this.’

  The laugh that replied to her lame remark was harsh with bitterness. Harsh and somehow cruel, she thought.

  ‘You forget, dear Rena, that you always leave me in the dark,’ Ran’s voice grated. ‘Everyone does, and I assure you I’m getting quite used to it by now.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she replied, ‘but that doesn’t make it any more pleasant.’

  Again that grating, jeering laugh. ‘Pleasant? No, I suppose not,’ he replied. ‘But on the other hand it’s not that awful, either. Provided of course I don’t have to go anywhere in a hurry. That gets a bit tricky.’

  ‘You really sound horribly bitter,’ said Rena, and could have kicked herself. What an insensitive remark! ‘But then I suppose you’ve every right to be,’ she added hastily.

  Even in the darkness she could sense his shrug. ‘One gets used to anything, in time,’ he said. ‘Might I suggest if we’re to continue this conversation you come back in here and sit down? It’s bad enough not being able to see you, without having to shout.’

  Not on your life, she thought, but said, ‘Of course,’ and found her eyes had adapted enough to the darkness so that she could retrace her steps to the room without banging into anything.

  She could even, she thought, see Ran smile grimly as she slid into the desk she had vacated only moments before.

  ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he said then — abruptly, almost curtly.

  ‘I already have,’ she replied, hoping her voice didn’t reveal the surge of caution his words provoked. ‘Perhaps it’s your turn now.’

  He snorted. ‘There’s very little to tell. I’m blind; I’m here. I’ve written a couple of books and before that I was a journalist, of sorts.’

  And I thought I was evasive! Rena thought. Suddenly she could almost sense his withdrawal, the turning inward to where something very obviously hurt him a great deal. She spoke more quickly than she had intended, and with less care, in hopes he would stop the pulling away, the almost tangible closing up of his emotions.

  ‘How did you lose your sight?’ she asked abruptly.

  This time his bark of laughter was undeniably bitter, so laced with hurt she could almost taste it.

  ‘Which time?’ he demanded, causing her mouth to drop open in astonishment. He had never mentioned during their brief and ill-fated affair that he had ever suffered such a thing. But could he have been blinded twice? ... three times? ... in the two short years between?

  ‘I ... I don’t quite know what you mean,’ Rena faltered.

  His voice now grated; he almost spat out the words. ‘I mean, quite obviously, that I’ve been blinded more than once,’ he snapped,

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I didn’t know that,’ she retorted, unable to hide the nervous anger. ‘I’m sorry if the question upset you; perhaps I’d better go after all.’

  ‘Don’t be hard to get along with.’ Ran’s voice was normal now, or perhaps it was simply his use of a line so very familiar to her. He had even used it, she recalled, in bed, once.

  But she didn’t reply, and finally it was he who spoke, this time without anger evident in his voice.

  ‘No, it’s I who should apologise. I’m afraid I’m getting a bit testy in ray old age.’ And he chuckled, almost friendly. ‘Perhaps I should explain that I’ve been blinded twice, or more likely in two reactions to the same circumstance. The first time was ... oh, quite some time ago in what I suppose could be called an accident. That only lasted a month and a bit and I thought I was fully recovered. But then something must have set it off again, and this time it appears to have become permanent.’

  Rena hesitated before asking, but finally couldn’t control her curiosity. ‘That must have been horrible,’ she said. ‘But how long between the two incidents were you ... all right?’

  ‘About a month.’ He replied promptly, but now seemingly with little interest in the discussion. Almost before the last word had left his lips he had replaced it with a cigarette and was reaching for his matches.

  The first match broke without lighting; the second he couldn’t fit to the end of his cigarette before the flame began to flicker at his fingertips.

  Rena shifted in her chair, her heart reaching out to him. But common sense prevailed, and she sat in silence, watching, as he finally got things under control with the third match.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said then, quite unexpectedly, ‘I should have asked if you wanted a cigarette. Do you?’

  ‘Actually, yes, I wouldn’t mind at all,’ she found herself replying, and left the sanctuary of the desk to walk over to where Ran was sitting, the open cigarette pack in his outstretched hand.

  Rena took out a cigarette, but when she reached for the matches, he already had one out and was deftly striking it. When he reached out to hold the match towards her, his hand was at exactly the right height; she had only to stoop slightly to reach it. It was as if ... as if he knew her exact height, she thought. But that, surely, wa
s absurd?

  Only while she was thinking, the flame was burning ever closer to his fingers, and without thinking she reached out to grasp his hand as she leaned forward to blow out the match.

  Only for an instant, but it was too much for Rena. It was as if the flames had scorched her own hand when she touched him, and her soft exhalation was supercharged into a heavy, sighing blast before she snatched her hand away, trembling.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ His voice matched the cocked head, the expression of concern on his face.

  ‘No ... nothing, really,’ Rena blurted. ‘It’s just that you almost burned your fingers.’

  ‘Which ought to teach me to play with matches, I suppose,’ he replied with a wry grin. It was so deliberately provocative that she couldn’t help but laugh aloud, and an instant later they were both laughing together.

  But it only lasted a moment. Then Rena remembered who she was — who he was! Her laughter faltered, then died entirely in the painful memory of too many other shared laughters.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I suppose there’s nothing really very funny about it, in reality.’

  ‘That’s only because you’ve never seen me go through an entire box of matches trying to get one cigarette going,’ said Ran, but the look on his face at the memory was anything but humorous.

  ‘Wouldn’t it have been a great deal easier to simply use a lighter?’ Rena asked, memory supplying a picture of the heavy, solid gold lighter he had used to carry always.

  Ran didn’t reply immediately, and when he did there was a stubborn tang to his voice. ‘It would have been,’ he agreed, which told Rena that was exactly why he had chosen the other, more difficult alternative. Even hampered by blindness. Ran Logan would scorn any easy approach that taught him nothing.

  Typical, she thought, unable to hold back the little surge of pride she felt in him. The road to success seldom favours those who take the easy route, and Ran, to her certain knowledge, made it a point of principle never to shy at any real or imagined difficulty.

  ‘How long have you lived here?’ he asked then, and it was a question so unexpected that she flinched, eyes flaring in wariness. Then she relaxed.

  ‘I was brought up here,’ she replied, honestly enough, although she was hedging tremendously. What her answer implied, deliberately, was quite different from the fact that she had spent only her childhood in Queensland; her childhood and these last two years.

  ‘How about you?’ she asked quickly, hoping by her own query to forestall any other questions from Ran. ‘Have you lived here very long?’

  ‘Couple of weeks,’ he replied casually. Too casually? Rena eyed him warily, suspicious now without any concrete reason to feel that way.

  ‘It must be quite a change from Sydney. That’s where the older chap said you were from, if I remember rightly,’ she said.

  ‘Among other places,’ he shrugged. ‘Yes, it is something of a change, although a pleasant one. At one time I’d have thought all places would be the same to a blind man, but with other senses to compensate you’d be surprised just how different they can be. This place is heaven compared to Sydney on the noise factor — or lack of it — alone.’

  Rena chuckled. ‘Yes, it’s certainly a lot quieter,’ she said, then hastily added, ‘I imagine.’

  ‘I take it from that you’ve never been to Sydney,’ he said, probing again, unable to resist the curiosity within him about everyone, everywhere.

  ‘I’ve been to Brisbane,’ Rena hedged. ‘It’s certainly a lot more noisy there than here.’ Truth, but still hedging.

  Ran didn’t miss her evasiveness, either. She could see by the expression on his face that his ears were picking up the nuances of her faltering replies. Deliberately, she let her speech slip into the cadence of country Queensland. Not too far, but enough to confuse him at least.

  ‘I suppose you’re right for a ride home?’ she asked, mouthing the words through barely-moving lips and chewing them slightly on the way out.

  Ran didn’t even seem to notice. ‘My secretary will be picking me up shortly, I should think,’ he replied without expression. ‘I wasn’t sure how long this first class would go, so I told her to leave it until ten-thirty or later.’

  Her! Her? Rena couldn’t help but wonder if the woman to whom he referred was the same secretary he had had back in Sydney. The woman she had never met, but whose voice she would never, ever forget. The woman with the voice of a true professional secretary-cum-protector; the woman who had so coldly, deliberately put her off each time she had tried to get through to Ran by telephone after he had failed to return as promised. The woman, she thought with sudden fury, who had literally laughed at Rena’s pleas to speak with Ran, obviously looking on the caller as just one of his host of feminine admirers.

  ‘Of course he’ll be calling you. Miss Conley,’ the woman had inevitably replied. ‘Yes, I’ve given him your message, but no, he’s left no reply with me. No, I can’t disturb him just now. You’ll just have to be patient. Miss Conley.’

  In the depths of her confusion, Rena had at first taken the woman’s calm, cool replies as being understanding and truly concerned, but as reality intruded upon her shattered, heartbroken life, she had finally realised that she was only being laughed at. That Ran wasn’t coming back to her, had no intention of coming back. And that this remote, cold-voiced guardian of his time was only carrying out his express orders.

  And laughing at her. That, Rena had decided after her final, devastating telephone call, was obvious. That woman hadn’t cared for Rena’s feelings any more than had Ran himself. He had got what he wanted from her, and probably even went so far as to tell his secretary so they could share a laugh over the silly, stupid, naive country girl who had tossed away her virginity to the first suave line that was thrown her way.

  Rena looked at her watch, squinting in the dim light and twisting her wrist to catch whatever illumination might be gained from the single street light on the road outside.

  ‘It’s nearly that time now,’ she said. Then, more strongly, ‘And certainly time I was away, so if you don’t mind ...’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine,’ was the reply. ‘Have a good week, Rena. I’ll see you next Wednesday, then. And don’t forget your homework, eh?’

  ‘I’ll certainly try and remember it,’ Rena replied, with no intention of doing any such thing. ‘Goodnight, then.’

  Without waiting for a reply, she stepped out into the veranda and gingerly made her way down the narrow steps to the ground below. How, she wondered, did Randall Logan manage to negotiate these treacherous steps? Or did he have help from his secretary? Perhaps that, more than anything else, was his reason for deliberately staying until everyone else had left, but somehow Rena didn’t quite believe it. She simply couldn’t imagine Ran allowing himself to become totally dependent upon anyone.

  She started back towards the main college grounds where her car was parked, but she had only gone a few steps when some inborn mischief turned her round again and directed her steps to the pool of shadow beside the house, where overhanging shrubbery quite concealed her presence.

  Thought about logically, such sneaking about in the night seemed totally ludicrous, but from this vantage point Rena knew she could see Ran’s secretary when she arrived. Just what this might accomplish, Rena honestly didn’t know; she would be none the wiser, having never met Ran’s super-efficient Miss Dunn while in Sydney, unless he were to call her by name tonight.

  Several times during the next few minutes she almost gave it up. Such silliness, this hide-and-seek in the darkness, she thought. But somehow she didn’t, and was snug in her shadowy lookout when the dark, sleek Jaguar pulled up outside and an equally sleek, equally expensive-looking woman got out of it with a gesture of extreme impatience on her lovely face.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Style—that was the only word for it, Rena decided. Bags of style. The woman fairly oozed it, from the crown of her erect head to the expensive high-heeled shoes on wh
ich she was gingerly making her way to the veranda. There was nothing secretarial about her clothes, either. A long-sleeved, low-necked blouse glowed faintly pink in the street lights, and over it was a knee-length smock in pale turquoise with some floral pattern. The expensively casual effect was enhanced by soft evening trousers that draped to narrow cuffs around narrower, quite dainty ankles.

  Auburn hair, Rena decided. Perhaps leaning a bit to the carrot shades and worn short to emphasise natural curliness. And if not quite beautiful, the woman was certainly stunning, with an exquisite bone structure and a figure any man would find provocative in the extreme.

  She watched in unbreathing silence as the woman picked her way to the staircase and started up.

  ‘Randall? Are you there?’ That voice! It was no longer in doubt; this was the same Miss Duiui who had so expertly put Rena off after Ran’s abandonment of her two long years before.

  ‘Did you expect me to be somewhere else, Valerie?’ Ran’s voice held overtones of sarcasm that somehow surprised Rena. Sarcasm and ... bitterness? It certainly seemed so.

  ‘Well, you must admit it would be difficult to tell. What in God’s name are you doing sitting there in the dark?’ There was a petulance in that voice, definitely, and some faintly disguised impatience as well, Rena thought.

  And if she could pick it out, surely Ran couldn’t miss it. Nor did he!

  ‘It hardly matters very much,’ came that all-too- familiar voice. ‘Whether the lights are on or not, I’m still in the dark.’

  ‘Which is no reason to inflict the same punishment on others,’ snapped the woman. Suddenly light flared from inside the building, and Rena slid deeper into her covert.

  ‘Lord love us! What an incredibly dingy little hole,’ said the woman, disgust evident in every tone. ‘Really, Randall, I think they’re taking advantage of you. Bad enough you’ve agreed to teach these bumpkins, but to have to do it in such surroundings …’