Robyn Donald – Iceberg (7 page)

which was fun, but this is something eke again!'

Justin came down just before Bronwyn arrived home; dressed casually in slacks and a thin polo-necked sweater,

for the weather had made one of its abrupt about-turns from hot, summery conditions to ,a coolness more suited

to the late autumn.

'Sarah tells me you're coming with us tonight,' he said as she let him in.

'If that's all right with you.'

He lifted his brows. 'You don't sound terribly enthusiastic.'

Linnet bit her lip. As much as anyone she disliked being made to fed churlish, 'I'm sorry,' she said stiffly.

'Naturally I'm happy to do anything that will make Sarah happy. ‘

That bored look settled on his features. 'Then I'll pick you up around about half past seven. Make sure that you"

have something warm to put on in case it gets any colder.'

Why did he have to be so unyielding?

‘I’ll come up to the house,' she said. 'It's a bit silly for you to have to bring the car down here.’

'Very well, then, I'll see you at seven-thirty.'

And that was that. Bronwyn drove in just as he left, they talked for a few minutes and then she came in, smiling

yet with her brows drawn slightly together.

Told you you'd be going. Young Sarah is like her father in one respect—she knows how to get her own way.'

On an impulse Linnet asked, 'Don't you want to go? I'd be quite happy to stay home.'

'No, thank you. To borrow a cliché, that's not my scene. I like my entertainment to be a little more

sophisticated.' She put her bag down on the table., picked up the mail and riffled through it. After a'moment1 she

went on, 'Neither do I find young Sarah and me to be exactly Compatible.'

‘Then what-------‘ Linnet stopped, aware that whatever happened was no business of hers, however much her

heart yearned over Sarah.

Her sister shot her an extremely astute glance.

'Don't worry,' she said deliberately, 'I've no intention of being the wicked stepmother. I may not like the child,

but I'm not cruel. She's had a pretty tough spin, with that mother and a father who dislikes her yet spoils her. I

don't intend to add to her burden.'

If that was meant to be reassuring then it failed. Somehow Linnet felt that Sarah might cope better with an

actively cruel stepmother than with an indifferent one. Poor little scrap! And surely her sister was wrong in her

summing up of Justin's emotions. He certainly didn't seem to dislike his daughter.

The fireworks were a delight; Sarah laughed and clapped her hands as her eyes grew larger and larger with each

fresh enchantment. Even Justin seemed to relax as the evening wore on and they ate gingerbread and drank

coffee and the coloured lights flamed and sparkled and whooshed in the amphitheatre.

At last, after the grand finale, a set piece of trees and flowers and birds. Sarah heaved a huge sigh, tucking one

hand into Linnet's, the other in her father's.

That was—
wonderful,'
she murmured with ecstatic emphasis. 'Daddy, can we come again next year?'

'If the weather is fine.’

'And Linnet too?'

Linnet lifted her head at the artless question, met Justin's glance unfathomable in the semi-darkness.

After a moment the deep tones answered, 'If she wants to come.'

'You will, won't you, Linnet?'

Something odd had happened to Linnet—a kind of internal shudder which set her nerves a tingle swept over

her, the novelty of it driving coherent thought from her brain.

'You will, won't you?'

Sarah's anxious, insistent voice recalled her to herself, but it took quite an effort to reassure the child. 'If I'm

around,' she said cheerfully.

Fortunately, since Sarah did not find this answer to her liking, they caught up with a column of children in

wheelchairs, and Sarah was too absorbed in them to continue with her query.

One chair came to a halt. The path was uneven and the girl who pushed was having difficulty manoeuvring the

chair past it.

'Carry this, will you?' said Justin, depositing the small hamper in Linnet's hands.

Astounded, she-watched as he pushed the wheelchair down the path, said something to the girl who smiled

gratefully back at him, and when they reached the foot-path and a woman came back to take over, accepted

thanks with a smile which made both the handicapped child and the woman flutter before rejoining them.

Another facet of the man. And Linnet saw yet another side to him when, on their way home, he took them to the

top of Mount Eden, one of. the intriguing little volcanic cones which dot the isthmus of Auckland, scooped

Sarah up in his arms and showed them the city spread out below, a spangled map punctuated with the

explosions of fire-rockets.

The wide expanse of lights swept up to the Waitakere Hills in the west, across the harbour to the North Shore, a

peninsular terminated by Mount Victoria with the dark bulk of Rangitoto Island behind it. The graceful curve of

the harbour bridge joining the two shares was lit up, the red warning light at the top clear against the darkness of

the sky.

'It looks like a coathanger,' Sarah commented, chuckling from the security of her father's arms. 'I like to see the

cars going over it, Daddy. Is that One-Tree Hill, that spiky thing all lit Up in the air?'

'Yes, that's the Obelisk. And out to sea is Waiheke Island.'

An imperfectly smothered yawn from his daughter made him say, Time to go home, my girl.’

'I'm not tired.'

He laughed at that. It was the first time that Linnet had heard him laugh and she was surprised to discover how

warm and pleasant he sounded. Almost like a real. human being, she thought frivolously, and no longer

wondered at Bronwyn's desire to marry him. Presumably this was a side of him she saw often.

It almost made, her regret the fact that Bronwyn had used her as a leaver to ensure that she stayed within his

orbit. Apart from the unpleasantness of being accused of greed, she didn't like the thought of Sarah's father

misjudging her.

And then she reminded herself of the cold Justin Doyle, the hard-as-stone man who had disliked her intensely

the minute he had set eyes on her. That man was Sarah's father, too.

But at least Bronwyn was wrong in one thing. He did not dislike his daughter; there was no mistaking the

softening of his tones when he spoke to her. .And she, astute as she was, would have known if her father merely

suffered her. Instead she behaved with him like any normal little girl with her father.

It was a thoughtful Linnet who walked into the flat. It was an obviously ruffled Bronwyn who looked up from

the sofa, her expression an odd compound of irritation and amusement, those heavy lids hiding her deepest

emotions.

'Have a good time?'

'Yes, great fun. The fireworks were beautiful.'

'Good.' Bronwyn pointed to the table. 'Have some coffee, it's still hot. I've been trying to sober up that stupid

Stewart.'

Pouring herself a cup, Linnet asked warily, 'What on earth was he doing here?'

'You might well ask! We hate each other's guts, as he so elegantly put It. Honestly, the man makes me so
mad!'

And indeed Bronwyn did look furious, her cheeks flushed, her eyes very bright and blue as she forgot; her usual

elegance of movement and got abruptly to her feet.

'When did he arrive?'

'Oh, about half an hour after you'd gone.'

'And was he drunk?'

Bronwyn gave a snort of anger. 'No, he's never
drunk.
He's always just had a little too much, but it doesn't seem

to affect his vicious tongue.' She bit her lip, as though he had hurt her, then went on with an attempt at lightness,

'Oh well, he harms no one but himself. Do you know what he told me? He said the only thing he really wanted

to do was farm!' Linnet looked curiously at her, wondering at the scorn and -derision in 'her voice. 'Well,' she asked reasonably,

'why shouldn't he?'

'Because he's a master of science, that's why! The man has brains, if he cared to use them. If he weren't so

weak------' Bronwyn stopped her pacing up and down darted a swift look at her sister and said crisply, 'You

know, I hate waste—and that man is just wasting himself. He works in some menial job for Justin when he

could be doing something worthwhile, something that would give him prestige and power.'

'Perhaps he doesn't want prestige and power.'

'Another lame duck? Take my advice, Linnet, don't waste your time trying to help him. I know he's a likeable

fool, but-he's going to be me one who'll have to pull himself together. No one else can do it for him. He's a kind

of parasite; he's sponged on Justin all his life and although he admits he owes him more than he can ever repay

he's not prepared to do anything about it; Just ignore him.'

Which sounded very practical and sensible, just like Bronwyn, but apparently even she was unable to prevent

herself from trying to help Justin's cousin!

Possibly she didn't want him around, being a parasite, when she married Justin, but somehow linnet thought it

went deeper than that.

Beneath that rather hard exterior it seemed that Bronwyn too suffered from the compulsion to try to help lame

ducks. It made Linnet feel that she had things in common with her sister after all.

As she lay in her bed that night, in the floating five minutes .before sleep claimed her, she realised that she had

not thought of David Perry for at least two days. And when she tried to recapture, the pain that her images of his

happiness with her mother brought her, it seemed to have faded.

It was there next morning, but in a muted way. Perhaps, she thought wistfully, she was fickle. Certainly her

previous boy-friends had never lasted very long, but she had put that down to her increasing maturity. Her love

for David had seemed so solid, the pain of his rejection so intense that it was almost tangible; now it-was nearly

gone, leaving only a memory of his kindness and her own emotional turmoil.

Whatever had happened, whether it had been love or merely the desire for a father figure, as he had termed it,

its disappearance made the letter she wrote to her mother much easier. David had indeed smoothed the shock of

her departure, for Jennifer's letter had said little about the abruptness of her going, merely ^chiding her gently

for thinking that she could ever be in their way, and hoping that when she had proved her independence she

would come back to Sydney to live with them.

Sydney, with its superb beaches and beautiful harbour, its. Opera House and bridge, the gay crowds of people

made cosmopolitan by immigration—it all seemed so far away, and yet she had left it such a short time ago,

measured by sunsets. Something had happened in that time, something she refused to face. Perhaps it was the

knowledge that she could be independent.

Two days later, an edgy two days later! she. opened a letter which told her that she was to report to the Branch

Librarian of the Kent Street Branch for an interview.

'Do you dunk it means I've got a chance for the job?’ she asked Bronwyn breathlessly.

‘I’d say so.'

Linnet passed the letter over. 'You read it and tell me what you think.'

After perusing the letter her sister handed it back.

'It means they've made a short list and you're on it. Let's hope the Branch Librarian likes slim redheads with

literary aspirations.'

'What will I wear?'

Bronwyn only laughed. 'Nothing too informal. She's probably ninety and unmarried with a nice taste in flatheeled shoes and horn-rimmed spectacles.'

But the Librarian was in her late twenties, with a wide gold wedding ring and an extremely modern taste on

clothes. Her name was Mrs Hayward.

The interview which followed was exhausting, exhaustive and left Linnet feeling as though she had been put

through a wringer. Books had been discussed, and there she thought she had held her own, especially when it

came to children's books. Some instinct sealed her lips as to. her own aspirations mere; revelation of that could

come later, perhaps. And Mrs Hayward had been very affable at tile finish, so it was with a small cautious glow

of optimism that Linnet walked the half mile back to the flat.

Sarah was waiting for her, a mutinous expression marring her features. 'Where have you been?' she demanded.

'I've been for an interview.'

'What's that?'

Linnet looked down at her, saw that she was genuinely upset and ran
a.
tender hand over her pale head.

'I've been to see a lady, the Librarian at Kent Street, to see if I'm suitable to work in her library.'

'Work in’ the library?'

'Yes.' After pouring out glasses of tangelo juice Linnet led the way to the little table in the kitchen. 'If I go to

work there yon can join the Library Club, I'll be in charge of that. It meets twice a month and does all sorts of

interesting things.'

'Like what?'

'Oh, book reviews, and handcrafts—all sorts. Would you like that?'

Sarah set her barely touched drink down. 'Yes,' she said mutedly, 'but if you go to work you'll be away all day

and I Won't see you.'

'Oh, you'll see me. Not as much, of course, but I won't lose sight of you.'

This was one aspect of the business Linnet had not thought of. Fortunately Sarah didn't seem disposed to take it

any further, though she was a little subdued for the rest of the afternoon.

But at seven-thirty that evening me telephone went; Bronwyn answered, nodded a couple of times, then hung