Wildfire Encounter

by Helen Bianchin

  'You're very enthusiastic, aren't you?' There was a wry cynicism in his voice that Sara chose to ignore.

  'Shouldn't I be?' she countered lightly.

  'I hope it lasts. It rarely does,' he added, slanting her a glance. 'One tends to take a more jaded view as time goes by.'

  'Perhaps,' Sara acceded noncommittally, aware that John's involvement with teaching lacked dedication.

  'Your mother seems to be coping fairly well.'

  Sara kept her eyes on the car in front of them as he joined the steady stream of traffic easing on to the expressway that led towards the Coast.

  'Selina is very good at putting on a brave face,' she agreed, not wishing to pursue the painful memory of her father's recent demise.

  'It must be difficult for her, in the light of—'

  'Very,' Sara intercepted swiftly, her tone freezing him into an embarrassed silence. It wasn't the first time she'd had to parry remarks of a similar vein. Suicide seemed to arouse avid curiosity, and she marvelled at how many so-called friends and acquaintances could appear so intelligent yet lack even a modicum of tact.

  The drive to Southport took almost an hour, for traffic on the Pacific Highway was heavy, and maintaining consistent speed became an impossibility. Sara refrained from offering any conversation, and John seemed disinclined to incur farther disfavour, choosing silence as the safest course.

  The seminar proved to be a success, and the hours flew as Sara took copious notes, her questions concise and at times challenging, so that she felt mentally drained as she placed sheaves of paper into her briefcase at the end of the day.

  'A cool drink, followed by a swim, then dinner?' John suggested as they emerged from the air-conditioned building out into the late afternoon heat.

  'Sounds delightful,' Sara acquiesced with enthusiasm. 'Especially the swim.' Her smile became an infectious grin. 'You lead, and I'll simply follow.'

  'I was hoping you'd say that. I have an uncle who owns a fabulous beachfront home not too far distant. Strictly upper class,' he enlightened, as if wanting to impress. 'I took the liberty of ringing him last night, and we have an invitation to dinner. Nothing formal,' he hastened to add quickly at her slight frown. 'A barbecue, actually. And there's a pool.'

  'The parent-teachers' meeting begins at seven-thirty,' Sara reminded him doubtfully. 'Will we have time?'

  'Of course,' he insisted. 'I've told them we can't stay long.'

  It certainly was a splendid house, Sara had to concede as John eased the car into the wide circular driveway and drew to a halt outside the main entrance.

  A modern edifice of concrete and glass, its interior decor was a mixture of cool greens and blues, off-white carpet, textured walls, and an abundance of elegant furniture.

  Introductions completed, Sara was handed a tall glass whose icy contents slid down her throat with palatable ease, doing much to restore her sense of wellbeing.

  'I didn't bring a swimsuit,' she murmured apologetically when John's aunt mentioned the pool.

  'My dear, I have a daughter about your height and size who possesses at least half a dozen,' that good lady dismissed with a nonchalant wave of her hand. 'One of them is bound to fit you.' ,

  She cast the older woman a doubtful glance. 'I hope we're not intruding—'

  'Nonsense, my dear. John is always welcome, and you're not the first young friend he's brought to meet us.' She gave Sara a reassuring smile. 'There arc changing rooms adjacent the pool.'

  Sara allowed herself to be led to the rear of the house and out on to a splendidly tiled patio. Large potted shrubs provided a splash of colour among several wrought-iron tables and chairs grouped together at regular intervals around a large inground pool. An elaborate portable barbecue was set up at one end, and presided over by John's uncle attired as a chef in a brightly-patterned apron and hat.

  'Our guests aren't due to arrive for another fifteen minutes, so you have time for a swim,' John's aunt declared, indicating, 'There's a selection of swimsuits and towels in this cupboard. Just help yourself.'

  A few minutes later Sara stood facing the mirror wearing an expression of wry resignation. Uncovering more than she considered desirable, the skimpy pieces of white satin appeared a token gesture against total nudity, and she hastily caught up a short towelling jacket and slipped it on.

  'Wow!' John muttered softly as she emerged from the changing room, and his swift appraisal was far too probing for her liking. 'Let's cool off for a while, then we'll change and have something to eat.'

  'When you suggested a swim, I didn't imagine we'd be imposing on your relatives,' Sara voiced quietly, and he laughed.

  'Good grief, you can't mean that, surely? Entertaining is their lifeblood. Most of Uncle's business is conducted on a social level. Aunt is so accustomed to catering for unexpected guests that the arrival of two wouldn't even lessen her stride. Relax,' he commanded, sweeping her scantily attired figure with an almost hungry gaze. 'Enjoy yourself.'

  Sara wished she could change her mind, although to do so at this eleventh hour, would seem a bit childish. There was little she could do except get it over and done with as quickly as possible, and with a careless shrug she slipped off the towelling robe and effected a neat dive into the translucent green water.

  A sleek dark head bobbed up beside her seconds later, and turning, she swam with graceful strokes to the end of the pool and back, then made for the side with the intention of getting out. At that moment she felt a hand grab hold of her left foot, tugging her down, and she came up to the surface spluttering and endeavouring to catch her breath.

  Of all the timed to play games! she thought furiously, and the glance she shot John should have quelled him in an instant. Except that it didn't, although this time she was more prepared, coming to the surface with some control, and when he would have caught hold of her shoulders she pushed him away and swam rapidly to the side, pulling herself up over the pool's edge before he had a chance to retaliate.

  'Spoilsport!' John teased as she stood to her feet, and she summoned a smile as she reached for her towel.

  As soon as the excess moisture was absorbed from her skin Sara slipped her arms into the jacket, and tackled her hair, squeezing its length over one shoulder before swathing a towel over her head and rubbing it dry.

  All at once a strange prickling sensation made her turn towards the house, and the next instant she experienced shock as she encountered a pair of dark eyes whose ebony depths held mockery and a degree of cynicism.

  Dear God! What was he doing here?

  Why shouldn't he be here? a tiny voice demanded.

  Without acknowledging his presence Sara turned and walked to the changing room, showered, then donned her clothes.

  It took ten minutes to blow-dry her hair, and after applying a minimum of make-up she drew a deep steadying breath before making her way outside.

  'There you are, sweetheart,' John greeted with unnecessary fondness as she moved towards him, and when she failed to reciprocate his smile, he slanted, 'Still mad at me?'

  'Yes,' she agreed shortly. 'I hate, being dragged beneath the water.'

  'Oh, come on, Sara,' he remonstrated, laughing. 'You take things too seriously.'

  She effected a slight dismissing shrug, and accepted a glass containing a tropical punch. Its palatable smoothness did much to restore her composure, and she allowed John to lead her towards the elaborate buffet set up at one end of the patio.

  Several guests had arrived, and plate in hand Sara slowly circled the table, choosing a small portion from each selection, to all intents and purposes engaged with the matter at hand. No one else could possibly be aware of her reaction to Rafael Savalje's presence, feel, as she could, the fine body hairs-tingle down the length of her spine, nor sense an erratic pulse-beat as she concentrated on avoiding him.

  'Mr Savalje.'

  Sara heard John's deferential acknowledgement with a feeling of despair, and only inbred politeness forced her to glance in his direction.
r />   'I'd like you to meet one of my uncle's associates,' John introduced. 'Sara Adams—Rafael Savalje.'

  'Sara.' He gave it an unaccustomed intonation, so that it sounded strange, and for some unknown reason her pulse-leapt at the expression evident in those dark eyes as she forced herself to meet them.

  It wasn't something she cared to define, and her response was deliberately cool. 'Mr Savalje.'

  'Rafael,' he corrected with seeming solemnity, adding softly, 'I insist.'

  Sara felt her eyes widen fractionally, then forcing a smile she elected to ignore him by turning back towards John. 'We really must hurry if we're to make that meeting on time.' Without a further word she moved away from the table and crossed to the opposite side of the pool.

  'Wow!' John murmured quietly as he joined her seconds later. 'Do you realise who you've just given the classic deepfreeze?'

  Sara feigned indifference. 'Mr Savalje?'

  'You must be the first woman who hasn't fallen on her knees before him,' he accorded wryly.

  'How—disgusting!'

  John effected a rueful grimace. 'There's something about him that has women willing to do anything for so much as a smile—let alone anything else.'

  'His cheque-book, perhaps?' she suggested with biting sarcasm, and incurred a laughing rejoinder.

  'He has enough of a macho image to get any woman he wants—even without his cheque-book,' he remarked with envy, then went on to challenge, 'Doesn't he turn you on?'

  'I find him totally obnoxious,' she said evenly, and glancing idly across the pool she found herself looking directly at the subject of their conversation.

  Rafael Savalje's features were assembled into an expression of cool indifference, but even from this distance there was something about him that sent trickles of apprehension feathering down her spine. A man no one in their right mind would choose to have as an enemy, yet she doubted few could name him their friend.

  Despite the warm evening air, she felt suddenly cold. 'I'm not very hungry,' she excused herself minutes later, discarding her plate, and glancing at her watch she reminded him, 'It's after seven, John. We should be leaving.'

  He murmured an agreement, and Sara breathed a sigh of relief as five minutes later they reached the driveway and the safety of the car.

  'You didn't enjoy yourself much, did you?'

  Was she that transparent? Forcing lightness into her voice she told him by way of explanation, 'I didn't expect to blunder in on a party.'

  It wasn't long before they were on the main highway heading north, and Sara wound down her window to take full advantage of the flow of air.

  'We'd better summon our wits together, I suppose. Our esteemed headmaster will- want to be regaled with all the details.' John gave a prodigious sigh, and mocked a trifle grimly, ' "Education is a serious subject, Peterson".'

  'So it is,' Sara agreed sternly, disliking his cynicism. 'As teachers, we each have the power to fashion several young lives, and shouldn't take the responsibility lightly.'

  'No, ma'am.' He gave her an elaborate salute. 'Have you anything else to add? Perhaps I should stop this trusty vehicle in order to take notes?'

  'Wretch!' she scolded with amusement. 'Can't you be serious?'

  'In exactly ten minutes I'll present the image of a dedicated educator of the young. Will that please you?'

  A lighthearted chuckle escaped her lips as she nodded in silent acquiescence.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Almost a week later Sara followed Selina inside their small Mount Gravatt flat and secured the screen door, then she moved to the other side of the lounge.

  'Phew, it's hot!' she exclaimed, flinging open several windows in rapid succession in an effort to dispel the stuffy atmosphere inside the small room. 'It has to rain soon, surely!' She walked into the kitchen and unlocked the back door, sweeping it wide and fastening the screen door. 'It's too hot to cook anything. Shall we .settle for a salad? There's some tinned salmon we could have with it, and fresh fruit for dessert.' She extracted two glasses from a cupboard above the servery and filled them with chilled fruit juice from the refrigerator, then moved back into the lounge.

  'Here you are—just what the doctor ordered,' she offered brightly, then she stopped mid-step at the expression of anguish on her mother's face. 'What is it?' she demanded quietly, crossing quickly to Selina's side.

  Without a word her mother handed over the letter, and Sara's lips tightened into a taut line as she quickly scanned the neat typescript.

  It had taken exactly eight days from the date of the auction for the legal professionals to determine and inform Blair Adams' widow of the sizeable deficit, requesting notification of the manner in which payment was proposed.

  The amount mentioned was astronomical, and way beyond their meagre means. Even selling the car would do little to reduce the debt, and other than working out an instalment plan covering the next few years—Sara did rapid mental calculations, and paled at the consequences.

  'Will they sue, do you suppose?'

  She looked up slowly and spared her mother a glance over the sheet of paper. 'They can't extract blood from stone,' she managed with a faint smile that was meant to reassure. 'We've sold virtually everything we own; we're living in a comfortable but hardly luxurious flat, and we're both working. I'll contact Mr—' she quickly scanned the page for the required signature—'Sutcliffe, in the morning, and arrange art appointment. I'm sure there's no need for concern.'

  Fine words, Sara determined with scepticism as she emerged from the elegant offices of Sutcliffe Tripp and Finnegan the following afternoon. Mr Sutcliffe had been polite but firm—immovable, she amended a trifle grimly. Taxed with a direct query as to whether Rafael Savalje was his client, the lawyer had admitted as much, and it was all she could do to retain a semblance of calm as she rode the elevator down to the ground floor.

  Moving out on to the pavement she crossed to a nearby telephone booth, where enquiries revealed that Mr Savalje could be contacted at his head office in Surfer's Paradise. A few more coins were pushed into the slot and a message relayed to Selina not to wait dinner, then Sara headed towards her car.

  It took more than an hour to reach the popular tourist resort seventy-odd kilometres south of Brisbane, and a further ten minutes to locate the office block housing Savalje Realty. Parking her small car proved difficult, and it was almost five o'clock when she ascended by elevator to the second floor in the modern architect-designed block.

  'Mr Savalje,' Sara indicated In a no-nonsense voice that caused the receptionist to blink before imparting that her employer was not available.

  Sara issued a silent prayer for patience. 'Is he expected back this afternoon?'

  'Possibly,' the receptionist replied, her expression doubtful, and Sara suppressed an unladylike curse.

  'It's essential I contact him,' she said with abrupt importance. 'Perhaps you could let me have his home number?'

  But young as the receptionist was, she had been thoroughly trained. 'Mr Savalje has a private listing. However, it's possible I may be able to reach him at the Southport office.' 'Please,' Sara insisted. 'It's important.'

  A few minutes later it was determined that the exalted head of the real estate conglomerate had already left, and his whereabouts were unknown.

  'Damn!' The oath slipped out, and Sara offered no apology.

  'Mr Savalje has a radio-telephone in his car,' the receptionist offered hesitantly. 'I could try to reach him—although I've been instructed only .to do so in an emergency,' she finished doubtfully, and Sara seized the opportunity with both hands.

  'Would you mind?' She shamelessly utilised every ounce of charm at her command. 'I don't relish driving down from Brisbane again tomorrow.'

  True, she experienced a feeling of guilt at the rather heartless method employed, but overriding it was the necessity to put Selina's mind at rest as soon as possible. Too much pressure and her mother might crack, and the consequences of that happening didn't bear thinking about
.

  Whatever her employer imparted succeeded in bringing a faint tinge of colour to the receptionist's cheeks, and her manner when she faced Sara was stiffly polite.

  'Mr Savalje will. be here in about twenty minutes.'

  'Thank you,' Sara responded evenly, and crossing to a nearby seat she sat down and selected a magazine.

  It was half an hour before Rafael Savalje appeared, and his presence set the butterflies fluttering wildly inside Sara's stomach.

  After the initial flick of those hard dark eyes over her slim form, he turned towards the receptionist and gave a curt dismissing nod. 'You may leave, Karen. Switch on the answerphone, and lock the outer door.'

  Grateful that she wasn't in for a verbal chastisement the girl quickly completed the task and left, and Sara viewed her departing figure with a sense of icy fatalism.

  'Miss Adams.' The deep drawl was faintly sardonic, and she swung round to face him with the light of battle in her eyes.

  'There's something we have to discuss,' she began without preamble, and saw one eyebrow rise in cynical amusement. Determined not to be made to feel at a disadvantage she fixed him with a speaking glance. 'Do you usually conduct business in your office foyer?'

  A flicker of amusement was replaced by calculated speculation. 'I thought you might prefer maintaining a position of near-flight,' he drawled mockingly.

  Oh, he was impossibly exasperating! The look she cast him would have withered a lesser man, but it had no effect whatever as he stood aside and indicated the passageway to his left.

  'After you.'

  Sara stepped quickly past him, and experienced a sense of misgiving as she heard the door snap shut behind her. It was ridiculous to feel trapped, but for one brief second she felt akin to the fly who inadvertently wandered into the spider's 'parlour'.

  'Sit down.' It was a command, and it brought all her latent anger to the fore.

  'I'd rather stand.'

  On the defensive in such opulent surroundings Sara watched as he crossed to a large central desk, his movements lithe and indolent, then he turned to lean against its edge and his expression as he regarded her was impossible to discern.