Dark Mirror. Daphne Clair
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* * *
The only bright spot, Fler told herself later, filling the coffee machine, checking the sugar bowls and placing milk and cream on the lace-covered table, was that Tansy wasn’t here. At least she’d have had a three-month respite from his pernicious influence before she saw Kyle Ranburn again.
She opened up the wide doors that let in the sea breeze, and plumped some of the pastel-patterned cushions on the cane sofas and chairs around the room. It was quite hot. Iced water might be preferred by some of the guests to coffee.
She went to the kitchen to fill a jug, and also fetched a packet of biscuits and a plate. Perhaps it was the crackle of the packet as she opened it, pouring the biscuits expertly in overlapping circles on to the plate, that prevented her from hearing Kyle Ranburn come into the room.
When she turned and found him beside her, she jumped.
‘Sorry,’ he said. He’d been reaching for a cup, but now he stepped back. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He was staring a little, but she supposed she was too. He looked different, from when they’d first met at the hospital. It was probably the casual clothes he wore, jeans and a denim bomber-style jacket over a dark T-shirt.
What the well-dressed lecturer wears when catering to the country masses, she thought nastily. This man would look good in anything. He actually looked sexier now than in the suit she’d seen him in before.
Dismissing the thought, she turned away from him, but looked back when he said abruptly, ‘You’re alike, aren’t you—you and your daughter?’
‘What?’ Could he have picked up that wayward thought? Her eyes sparked with chagrin.
‘Hasn’t anyone commented on it before? For a second, as I came in, I thought you were her.’
‘Oh.’ Fool, of course he hadn’t meant that! Fler swallowed. ‘Yes, actually they have.’ Her voice sounded stiff, reluctant. She made to walk round him, get out of the room. No one else had come down yet.
Surprisingly, he caught at her arm as she went to pass him, not hard but firmly. ‘Just a minute!’
Fler pulled away from him almost violently. ‘Don’t you touch me!’ All her nerve-ends were tingling, the fine hairs on her skin prickling up with antagonism.
‘I’m not going to assault you,’ he said shortly, looking thoroughly fed up. Also rather disconcerted, as though he’d just suffered a small shock. ‘I only wanted to say...’ He stopped to frame the words.
‘Say what?’
‘It looks as though we’re stuck with each other for several weeks. If I’d known—but I didn’t, and it’s too late now for me to back out. I wouldn’t want the others to—’
Contempt for him almost choked her. But she said, ‘Don’t worry, Mr Ranburn. I’m not likely to start telling all and sundry my daughter’s private business. You’re quite safe.’
He closed his eyes momentarily, saying something under his breath, then opened them again. They were like a wintry sea, a deep anger in them. ‘Look, I—’
He was interrupted by the course co-ordinator coming into the room. ‘Mr Ranburn?’ she said, advancing with her hand held out as he turned to her. ‘I’m Devina Roache. I don’t believe we’ve met.’
Her eyes discreetly signalled that she was awfully glad to remedy that. She was tall, and her sleek dark hair framed a smooth-skinned, perfectly oval face that had everything in the right places, as did her figure, shown off by a brief skirt and even briefer top that she’d changed into.
Fler didn’t fail to notice the flicker of appreciation in Kyle Ranburn’s eyes as he clasped the proffered hand in his. Obviously not one to miss any opportunity, she thought. She thanked God again that Tansy wasn’t here to be hurt all over again. And was suddenly conscious of being on the wrong side of thirty-five, and that the comfortable cotton trousers and big shirt which she’d considered perfectly suitable this morning for the casual, relaxed atmosphere that the guests enjoyed were neither smart nor particularly feminine.
They hardly noticed, she was persuaded, when she muttered an excuse and left them to it. The other tutors were coming down the stairs now, talking companionably. One of the men smiled at her absently as they swept into the lounge.
He was tall with curly dark hair and blue eyes, and objectively was better looking than Kyle Ranburn. But he didn’t have that indefinable aura the other man had, the pull of attraction that had brought that inviting light to Devina Roache’s eyes, that had seduced poor Tansy. And—
Fler crossed the empty dining-room and viciously pushed open the saloon-type doors to the kitchen. Cut that out! she told herself. The man’s an unscrupulous opportunist. A sexual gourmet in the same mould as Rick Hewson. Worse. He preyed on girls who held him in awe because he was their teacher.
* * *
In the dining-room that evening the long table was the centre of happy chatter and a good deal of laughter. Manaaki wasn’t licensed, but some of the guests brought their own wine to the table, and the atmosphere was relaxed.
As usual they were a friendly lot. A couple of them had been involved in the summer schools before. They joked with the young Maori waitresses and chatted to Fler who supervised and unobtrusively helped to serve when it was needed. She noticed that Devina Roache was seated next to Kyle Ranburn, but although the young woman was sparkling he appeared slightly preoccupied, smiling absentmindedly rather than joining in the laughter about him.
After dinner they spent an hour or so in the lounge discussing their programme, and some lingered on, helping themselves to coffee. It was quite late when Fler, finding the room empty at last, stacked the dirty cups on to a tray and crossed the room to close the glass doors before carrying the dishes to the kitchen.
A man standing on the veranda outside turned from his contemplation of the night and the intermittent moonlit ripples on the sea. It was dark and she couldn’t see his face.
Pausing with her hand on the door she’d been about to close, she said, ‘I’m just about to lock up, but if you don’t want to come in yet, would you put the latch up when you do?’
‘I’m coming in now.’
She recognised the voice and, when he came into the light, his face.
He walked past her and waited while she shot the bolts home. ‘Devina says this room is to be my classroom,’ he said.
‘Oh?’ She hadn’t taken much notice of the programme; the co-ordinators arranged all that. Messy activities were usually planned for the community hall, while those comprising mainly lectures were reserved for the guest house.
‘I’m told,’ he went on, ‘that you’re very co-operative, very helpful.’
‘I try to be.’
‘I wondered if I might have a table in my room. It doesn’t need to be very big.’
There was a long built-in desk-cum-dressing-table, but it wasn’t the first time a tutor had requested something wider. ‘Would a card table do?’
‘Yes. Fine. Provided it’s reasonably stable.’
Crisply she said, ‘I’ll see to it. Anything else?’
He seemed to be hesitating. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘Except—’
She didn’t help him out. She had a fair idea that he was going to try yet again to justify himself.
He spoke slowly. ‘These summer schools are special. Everyone says there’s an atmosphere about them that they don’t experience anywhere else. Your—hospitality and friendliness, and your staff’s, apparently have quite a lot to do with that.’
‘Thank you.’ From anyone else she’d have accepted the accolade with pleasure. Now she just wondered what he was leading up