The Final Proposal

Jan nodded. Her eyes felt huge in her face and she was dry-mouthed, unable to think let alone speak.

‘Get her something to drink,’ he ordered Gerry, without any softening in his manner. ‘Tea, not alcohol, and put plenty of sugar in it.’

Astonishingly Gerry—capable, sensible Gerry—said meekly, ‘Yes, all right,’ and turned away.

‘I’ll go with you,’ Jan croaked.

But her knees shook. When she tried to walk they gave way and she stumbled. To her utter mortification her rescuer picked her up with casual, insulting ease and carried her into the tent, away from the horses and the sun and the whispering crowd.

Her nostrils quivered, sensitised to a particular scent, faint, masculine, so potent that she could feel its effects in every cell in her body. Abnormally conscious of the smooth, coiled power in her rescuer’s strong arms and shoulders, Jan raised her lashes and saw in his bronzed throat the steady pulsing of his heartbeat.

For some reason her eyes filled with tears. Blinking fiercely, she dragged her gaze away and stared straight ahead, more shocked by the exaggerated response of her body than by the danger she had just escaped. Being aware of a man was one thing; this, she thought feverishly, was another and entirely more hazardous reaction. He overloaded her senses.

Inside the tent, he set her on her feet, and the heat of his body was replaced by a chill that struck through to her bones. Shivering, she collapsed into a folding chair that someone pushed towards her, kicking her shoes off. The man who had saved her life looked at her feet, brows climbing.

‘They scarcely look big enough to support an adult,’ he said.

It was not a compliment, but Jan’s bones liquefied.

‘We’re so very grateful for your quick thinking,’ Gerry said, turning her famous, slow smile onto the man.

He responded with a remark and an ironic, knowledgeable smile of his own. A visibly affected Gerry accompanied him from the tent.

‘God,’ the hairdresser said beneath his breath as he handed Jan a mug of tea, ‘I wish I had half his pulling power!’

Jan cupped her hands around the mug, waiting for them to stop trembling. Hearing without understanding the chatter of the crew about her, she sipped the hot liquid, taking exaggerated care not to spill it. She felt bruised and battered, her bones aching. Tomorrow, she thought grimly, she’d have fingermarks imprinted on her skin. Still, if he hadn’t acted with the speed and brute force of a hunting animal she could well have ended up under the horse, and then bruises would have been the least of her worries.

‘How do you feel?’ Gerry asked, approaching her with a frown that didn’t hide the anxiety in her expression.

Jan put the half-empty mug down and got to her feet, wavering slightly but determined. ‘I feel a bit shaky,’ she said, ‘but I’ll be fine. Hadn’t we better get the rest of the shots done?’

‘Are you sure you can manage it?’

‘Positive,’ Jan said. ‘Help me off with this wretched suit, will you?’

It took all of her self-assurance to walk again through the entrance of the tent and into the sun. Even though she’d expected the sudden shift of attention, she was embarrassed by it.

At least the ‘after’ gear suited the occasion perfectly—a honey-coloured shirt and matching skirt in fine cotton. Beneath the shirt was a silk singlet a shade lighter, and instead of the Italian shoes she wore low heels, perfect for picking her way across the grass. The diamond horror was replaced by a thin gold chain wound several times around her small wrist, and she carried a sleek, unadorned parasol.

This time Sid was his normal silent self, and the shoot finished quickly. Posing, looking wistful, smiling, Jan wanted nothing more than to be out of this and safely at home—away from all the eyes, away from the man who had looked at her with such charged antipathy.

Thank heavens he was nowhere in sight.

And she was there as a model, not to search the polo field for a stranger. So she kept her eyes resolutely away from the game and her mind on what she was doing.

However, just before she slipped back into the tent she saw him on a black horse. A primitive, unexpected alertness stirred her senses as she watched the rider reach over and hit the ball, then, with a skilled hand on the reins, gather his steed for a rapid change of direction.

‘Who are you looking at?’ Gerry asked. ‘Oh, him—he’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ She grinned. ‘Definitely hero material, even though he made me feel like a worm. Too big for you, though—we all know you like smaller men.’

‘I don’t mind big men provided they don’t tread on me,’ Jan said, switching her gaze to a friend who was waving from further along the field. Waving back, she said, ‘I grew up with a big man—and a big sister.’

‘How is Anet? And that utterly glamorous hunk of a husband of hers?’

‘Still besotted with each other. They’re checking out some lost plateau in Venezuela at the moment.’

‘They can have that. Too hot by far for me.’ Gerry blew a curl back from her face. ‘In fact, this is too hot for me. Do you want to stay and watch?’

‘No, thanks. I don’t know the rules.’

‘What you really mean is that country pursuits bore you,’ Gerry accused.

‘Well, I’m a city woman at heart.’ Jan smiled at a woman she’d served on a committee with. ‘Hello, Sue.’

Sue gushed, ‘I nearly died when I saw that horse slide onto you! Trust you to be rescued by some god-like being! You didn’t get hurt at all? And who was he?’

Once Jan had assured her that yes, she’d been scooped clean out of the horse’s way, and no, she didn’t know her rescuer’s name, Sue urged, ‘Join us, both of you.’

‘I’d love to,’ Jan said, ‘but I can’t, I’m sorry.’

It wasn’t the only invitation they turned down. All of Auckland, it seemed, was at the polo tournament, and determined to enjoy it.

As they threaded their way through the crowd Gerry looked around. ‘Between us,’ she said, ‘we probably know everyone here.’

‘If you go back far enough in the family tree we’re probably related to most of them,’ Jan said. ‘New Zealand’s pretty small.’

‘Do you ever want to go and find a bigger pool to swim in?’

Jan shook her head. ‘I thoroughly enjoyed the three years I spent overseas, but this is home.’

‘I know how you feel,’ Gerry said peacefully. ‘Little it might be, but there’s something about the place.’

The sun was only half way to the horizon when Jan drove her small, elderly, much cosseted MG into the garage of her townhouse in Mount Eden, one of three in a new block hidden from the street by a high, lime-washed wall. Once inside, she stripped off her shoes and, wiggling her toes on the cool, smooth tiles, rang her mother.

‘Hello, darling,’ Cynthia said enthusiastically. ‘How did the photo shoot go?’

‘Well...’ Because she’d soon hear it from someone, Jan told her about the incident, soothing her natural maternal alarm by assuring her that she was completely unhurt.

‘At the polo,’ Cynthia lamented, as though somehow it was especially outrageous that such a thing should have happened there.

‘Ah, well, I was rescued by a superb man,’ Jan said.

‘I wish I could thank him!’

Jan recalled the splintering anger in those frigid eyes and shivered. ‘I’m not likely to see him again,’ she said, and changed the subject. ‘I thought I’d have a shower and then come on over.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ her mother said sternly. ‘You’ll arrive at exactly eight o’clock. Everything is under control. The caterers are doing all the hard work. The flowers are done. The house is spotless. I don’t need you dashing around getting in the way, so have a rest. Make a cup of tea. Wallow in the bath. Read a book. Don’t come near this place until we’re all ready for you!’

Laughing, Jan gave in. Her mother much preferred to prepare for her parties in her own way.