"I've probably got a bruise,” she said ruefully, “but otherwise I'm okay."
"Rennie fell in,” Ellen said.
Grant glanced at her. “The child's brilliant,” he confided to Rennie, surveying her. “We'll make a lawyer of her yet. Sure you're okay?"
She nodded. “You didn't need to get wet. I can see where Ellen got it from."
He acknowledged the dig with a hint of a smile. “Luckily we've both got clean clothes in the car."
Ellen said singlemindedly, “I want to go where Toby did."
Seeing Grant was about to veto the idea, Rennie said, “I can wait."
"Show her, Toby,” Grant said resignedly. “But don't go any farther than we did before."
Toby took his sister's hand, and Grant offered his to Rennie. “Can I help you get back?"
"I don't need help,” she told him, slightly offended by the assumption. “I only fell in because I was trying to get Ellen across."
They sat on the bank trying to wring out their clothes until the children came back and Grant went over to swing Ellen up on his shoulders.
Once across the stream again, he put her down and she looked Rennie over critically and pronounced, “You're wet,” before running up the path with Toby.
As they disappeared out of sight, Grant said, “I apologise for my daughter's lack of feeling."
Rennie shook her head, laughing. “You're as delighted as I am to see her getting back her independence."
He smiled at her and held out his hand. “Come on, let's get you back and into something dry."
The look in his eyes as he ran a glance over the wet, clinging jeans made her breathless. She passed him without taking the outstretched hand. “I'm not hurt,” she said in excuse. “Honestly."
She hurried up the path ahead of him, emerging from the trees in time to hear the children giving Mrs Morrison a highly coloured version of Rennie's mishap.
"And Daddy jumped in to save her!” Ellen finished.
"Nothing so dramatic,” Grant said, going to the car to lift out a couple of bags. “The stream's less than a foot deep.” Encountering his mother's curious stare, he added, “But Rennie might have hurt herself on those stones. And you, young lady,” he added lightly to Ellen, “should be grateful she managed not to drop you in the water at the same time."
Ellen looked doubtful.
Retiring into the trees, Rennie made a quick change, emerging to find Grant already wearing dry trousers and stowing wet things into the car.
Soon they were winding over the Brynderwyns, topping the summit and finding a magnificent view of hills and ocean laid out before them, glittering in the sun. After descending to sea-level and passing through the little town of Waipu, they could see the ocean from the road, a shining sheet of blue with small rocky islands silhouetted stark against the sky.
"Is that our beach, Daddy?” Ellen enquired.
"No, we're not there yet, but it won't be long now."
At Whangarei, a small city enclosed by hills and harbour, they didn't stop, but continued up the Tutukaka coast on a winding road, where they lost the sea. They found it again when Grant turned down a switchback side road that skirted several little bays and eventually arrived at a huddle of houses along a white, curved foreshore where the water came gently in to rest.
Grant slowed the car, while they peered out at a mixture of modest and often shabby cottages and newer, more permanent homes.
"There it is! Shaw.” His mother pointed at the name on a letterbox outside a substantial Mediterranean-style house. She started digging in her handbag for the key.
The house was just as impressive inside. The children discovered that their room had four bunks, so they could each have a top one, and Grant gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I had visions of arbitrating on that one."
His mother's room was large and comfortable and quite private, with a sofa set facing the sea, as well as a bed. Grant gave the children a strict injunction that they were not to visit her unless specifically invited.
"Choose a bedroom for yourself,” he instructed Rennie, giving her the choice of a twin or double room, and she chose the twin, which was marginally smaller, leaving the other one for Grant.
The lounge had large windows right across the wall that faced the beach, and Rennie, having quickly unpacked the children's things and her own, stood admiring the view for a few minutes while Grant brought out the cheeses he had bought and cut some slices for the children.
"Sit down at the table and eat,” he admonished, and called to Rennie, “Want some?"
"No, thanks,” she answered dreamily. She was hypnotised by the sunlight on the water, the sudden, surprising lift of white along the edge of each wave as it reached the sand, the clouds drifting on the horizon.
He came to stand beside her, a piece of cheese held in his hand. “Gorgeous, isn't it?” he commented.
Rennie didn't answer. She turned to smile at him, and saw the answering smile in his eyes, and experienced one of life's rare moments of pure happiness.
Mrs Morrison rested for the remainder of the afternoon, which Rennie and Grant spent with the children on the beach, swimming, building sandcastles, and exploring the rock pools on the headlands when the tide receded.
"Look!” Toby cried, fishing something out of one of the pools and displaying it on his hand. “An orange starfish!"
"So it is,” Rennie agreed, impressed. “Isn't it lovely?” It was brilliant orange with black markings. “Put it back carefully, now,” she said when they had all admired it. “It will die if we keep it out of the water too long."
Toby slid it back into the pool, and he and Ellen watched as it slowly fastened itself to a rock.
"There's a blue one!” Ellen said, hushed as though afraid of frightening it. “A tiny little one. And a bigger one, see! And look, a fish!” She started as a tiny silver fish went shooting across the pool and hid under an outcrop of rock. “And—oh, look, Rennie! A hedgehog!"
"It's a kina,” Rennie explained. “A sea-egg. Or sea-urchin, some people call them."
"It looks prickly."
"Yes, it is, but you can eat them. Lots of Maori people love them."
"Not the prickles!"
"No, the insides."
Toby said, “Ooh, yuck!"
"It's not so different from eating fish,” Grant said.
"I don't like fish."
Grant laughed. “Anyway, we're going to leave them right where they are.” He straightened, and Rennie, getting up from her haunches at the same time, slipped a little on the wet rock, cannoning into him.
He put a strong arm about her, and her hand came up to steady herself, the palm against his chest. His heart was beating strongly, and she glanced up, caught the sudden glitter in his eyes before he put both hands on her arms, gripping them hard as he eased her away.
"Okay?” he enquired casually. His eyes were cool now, and she wondered if he thought she had engineered that moment of closeness.
"Fine,” she said, pushing her hair from her eyes. “Thanks."
He watched her movement, his gaze slipping downwards to her thin white T-shirt, his mouth going tight.
Rennie flushed, feeling a stirring of anger. She wasn't being deliberately provocative and it wasn't fair of him to think so.
"It's about time we were getting a meal,” Grant said, transferring his gaze to the children. “Is anyone hungry?"
After the children were tucked up in their top bunks, the three adults sat in the comfortable lounge. Mrs Morrison, her feet propped on a stool, was reading one of the half-dozen library books she had brought with her. Grant, on the cane sofa, opened a newspaper he had bought at Orewa, and Rennie curled up in a roomy cushioned wicker chair with a paperback that Shane had given her at Christmas, a romantic thriller by one of her favourite authors.
Grant said, “Anyone want the radio or the TV on?"
Rennie shook her head.
"Not until the ten o'clock news,” his mother said.
At about nine, Grant put down the paper and said, “I think I'll go for a walk."
His mother looked surprised but said only, “All right, dear.” Rennie, lost in a world of intrigue and romance, scarcely looked up from her book.
Half an hour later, Mrs Morrison said, “Rennie, dear, would you care for a cup of tea or coffee?"
Rennie looked up. “If you want one, I'll make it."
"Thank you. You will join me, though? And perhaps a biscuit."
When Grant returned, Mrs Morrison was drinking tea, and Rennie a mug of coffee.
Rennie got up, saying “What would you like?"
But Grant waved her back to her chair. “I can get my own. Stay there."
Rennie finished her drink and went to the kitchen to rinse out the mug. “I won't wait for the news,” she said. “I think I'll go to bed.” She was quite tired, and besides, Mrs Morrison probably wanted some time alone with her son. She collected her toilet things from her room, and as she walked along the short passageway to the bathroom, she heard the older woman say, “...certainly a nice enough girl, and good with the children. But I still think that..."
"I told you,” Grant answered patiently, “I had no choice. It's only temporary. She has to go back to university in a month or two, anyway. The children will be more settled by then, and I'll have had time to find someone more suitable."
Rennie entered the bathroom and shut the door quietly behind her. Suitable! What's unsuitable about me? she thought. What does he want, for heaven's sake? I've done the job well, I know I have. And if the children are settled by then, it'll be because I've done a good job! Admittedly the house wasn't always as neat as it might be, and meals were sometimes late, but the children were happy, he couldn't deny that, and surely that was the most important thing. So I'm not Jean! She felt a sudden stab of pure jealousy. I can't compete with his wife. But he didn't want Jean in the end—or she didn't want him. And neither do I, she lied to herself. Stuff him.
She turned on the shower and stripped angrily, stepping under the hot water to scrub at the sand that dusted her body. She was still seething when she slid into her bed and pulled up the sheet.
The next day she took the children for a long walk to a neighbouring bay, partly overland and then along the beach while the tide was low. Grant offered to come along, but she told him coolly that she could manage, and that she was sure his mother would appreciate his company. Grant looked faintly bemused, but acceded readily enough to the suggestion.
In the afternoon, while his mother rested, Grant said he would watch the children and Rennie could have some time to herself.
"I'm being paid to look after them,” she reminded him. “And they didn't drown or break any limbs this morning, did they?"
Grant's brows went up. “You're entitled to some time off,” he said. “Take it this afternoon."
She bowed her head. “If you say so."
She took her book and climbed the headland, finding a place in the shade of a large windblown native shrub, where she could alternately read or sit staring at the sea, or lie back against the harsh, dry grass and drowse.
"Feeling better?” Grant enquired when she returned to the house.
She gave him a deliberately surprised stare. “I feel fine, thank you. How was your afternoon?” she added politely.
"No problems. Ellen had a nap. She and Toby are sorting out their collection of shells and stones in their room, now. Finish your book?"
"Nearly. I didn't spend all the time reading. Did you know there are gannets here? I've been watching them dive for fish."
"Yes, I've seen them. Spectacular, aren't they, the way they go straight into the water. What are you reading, anyway?” He plucked the book from her hand when she held it out to him, and looked at the cover picture of a young man and woman fleeing hand in hand from a man with a gun.
He looked up at her, smiling quizzically. “This is what you like?"
"Sometimes,” she said, taking the book from him. “It's very well written."
"I'll take your word for it."
"You can borrow it when I've finished, if you like."
"Thank you, but I don't think so."
Rennie shrugged. “Please yourself.” Obviously he thought her taste in literature was beneath contempt. Snob, she thought angrily, as she went to put the book away in her room.
Most of the houses along the beach were occupied for the holidays, and during the day there were usually a couple of dozen people sunning themselves or swimming, and a few more fishing from the rocks that bounded the bay. Toby and Ellen made friends with another family who regularly rented a large house for the summer holidays.
The Townsends had a ‘combination’ family. The three olive-skinned youngsters whose ages fitted neatly around Ellen's and Toby's had a blonde step-brother and step-sister of about Rennie's age. They obviously got on very well with their father's young Maori wife, and treated her more like another sister than a step-mother. Their father, a tall, balding man with kind blue eyes, offered to take Grant fishing in his aluminium dinghy. Grant accepted the offer, apparently surprising his mother, and that evening he brought back a couple of snapper for dinner. Even Toby, in spite of his professed dislike of fish, tucked into his father's catch with relish.
Afterwards Grant started to help Rennie wash up, but she said shortly, “You must be tired. I can manage these."
"I don't mind,” he said. “You must be tired, too, after having the children all day on your own."
"It's what you're paying me for,” she reminded him. “Why don't you go and supervise their showers? They're likely to have water all over the bathroom."
He put down the tea-towel he was holding and gave her a long look. “Okay,” he said finally. “If that's what you'd prefer."
After the children had gone to bed, Grant seemed restless. He switched on the radio for the first time, and twiddled with the knobs, but in less than ten minutes had switched it off again. The reception wasn't good, and the choice of stations limited. He stood up and went to the window to look out at the fading sunlight on the sea, and then picked up the paper, shuffled through the pages and put it down again.
"Why don't you go for a walk, Grant?” his mother suggested at last.
"Yes, I think I will.” He stood up. “Come with me, Rennie."
She looked up, startled. “I don't think—"
"Come with me, Rennie,” he repeated, making it sound like an order.
"The children—"
"My mother can keep an eye on the children, can't you, Mother?"
"Yes, dear. Of course.” She looked almost as startled as Rennie, her glance going from one to the other of them.
"Come on,” Grant said peremptorily. “You needn't change. It's still warm outside."
Rennie rose, her cheeks a little flushed. She wore a T-shirt and light cotton pants, and her feet were bare. For walking on the sand, she never wore shoes.
He stood back to let her go down the stairs first, and she took a quick peek at his face as she passed him. He looked grim.
He opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, and they walked side by side over the short, springy buffalo grass to the little incline that led to the beach. Usually Rennie jumped it, but tonight she took it more slowly. There was a dinghy with an outboard motor heading out to sea, a night fisherman, no doubt. And a couple of Maori women with a bucket were digging for shellfish at the edge of the water, while some children with a dog played about nearby.
Grant touched her arm to lead her in the other direction, towards the dark rocks under the headland. “So. What's it all about, Rennie?” he asked her as they reached the firm sand bared by the receding tide, leaving their footprints on its smooth surface.
"What's all what about?"
"Don't play games with me! You're sulking, and I want to know why."
"I'm not sulking!"
He stopped, so that she had to stop too. “What would you call it, then? All this cold shoulder. You're hard
ly speaking to me, quite apart from the Jane Eyre act."
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
He quirked an eyebrow, and she mumbled, “Well, I thought that was what you wanted.” She hunched her shoulders and turned to continue walking.
"Is this all because I kissed you and didn't follow it up?” he demanded.
"No, it isn't!” She turned on him. “It's because—"
"Well?"
"Because you—you don't give me credit for anything! Not for looking after your kids, or—"
"What do you mean, I don't give you credit? You told me not to keep saying that I was grateful!"
"I suppose you are. Any port in a storm, and you were pretty desperate, weren't you?"
He frowned. “This is nonsense. How can you think that I don't appreciate—"
"I heard you talking to your mother,” she said. “As if I'm some kind of stop-gap, a second-best solution until you find something better!"
He shook his head, looking resigned but enlightened. “I didn't mean it to sound like that, Rennie. All I meant was that the arrangement is a temporary one, and I'll have to find a permanent solution before you return to university. My mother thought you were too young for the job before she even met you, as soon as I mentioned you were a student. I suppose I was feeling defensive."
"I'm not that young,” Rennie said. “Even teenagers have birthdays. And they don't stay teenagers for ever."
"You've had a birthday?"
"I will have. On New Year's Day."
"Congratulations,” Grant said. “So you'll be nineteen."
"Twenty."
"Twenty?"
"Legally adult."
"Legally."
"That's right. So you can stop treating me like a child, okay?"
"Maybe,” Grant said. “That depends on whether you're going to act like one, doesn't it?"
"For instance?” she challenged him, stung at the accusation.
"For instance, sulking."
"I told you I was not sulking! I was trying to remember that you're my boss. I thought you wanted some ... distance between us."
"Oh, I do,” Grant said softly. “I need some distance, Rennie."
"Well,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “There you are, then."
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