Honeymoon Baby

‘Is it him? That man? Do you know him?’ Susie angled herself against the glass to watch him vanish around the corner of the sprawling bungalow, in the direction of the front porch. ‘If he’s bringing in his bag perhaps he’s not just cold-calling. Maybe there’s been a mix-up in the bookings. If he spoke to Paula on the phone—you know she’s not big on writing things down...’

At the mention of her mother Jennifer’s heart leapt in her chest. Thank goodness she wasn’t here! She and Aunty Dot had driven over to The Grand Chateau for a Gourmet Club luncheon at the hotel restaurant; they should be away for at least another hour.

There was a welcoming bark and the loud scrabble of claws on the wooden porch, and seconds later the harsh grind of the old-fashioned doorbell reverberated in the entranceway. To Jennifer it sounded uncannily like the knell of doom.

‘Uh, shouldn’t you go and see what he wants?’ suggested Susie when the bell rang a second time.

If the newcomer got impatient and tried the door, he would find that it wasn’t locked. He could just walk in, and then, and then...

Oh, God!

‘You do it,’ she blurted.

‘Me?’

Guests and potential guests were always dealt with by either Paula or Jennifer at their own insistence—the personal touch was a hallmark of Beech House. Susie’s job was only peripheral to the bed and breakfast business—helping run Paula’s afternoon cooking classes and delivering the jams, pickles and jars of edible and decorative preserved fruit, which she sold to stores as far away as Taupo.

‘I have to put these flowers in the Carters’ room. Mrs Carter complained that the vase of daphne that Mum put in there was too highly perfumed,’ babbled Jennifer, conscious of the feebleness of her excuse.

She couldn’t blame Susie for looking bewildered at her urgency over the floral arrangements. Mr and Mrs Carter had gone on a cruise on Lake Taupo for the day and wouldn’t be back until late evening.

‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’

The doorbell rang again and Jennifer flinched, splashing water from the crammed vase down the leg of her fawn trousers.

‘I do feel a bit sick,’ she admitted bluntly, grabbing at the straw. ‘Look, all you have to do is say that we don’t have any vacancies for the foreseeable future, and direct him to another B&B or one of the hotels. Don’t go into details. And don’t give him one of our new advertising leaflets; I haven’t decided how to use them yet,’ she tacked on hastily, remembering the glossy reprints that her mother had ordered as a surprise, with ‘Jenny Jordan and Paula Scott, proprietors’ in flowing bold type on the front.

‘But, how—?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Susie, I’m only asking you to answer the door, not perform brain surgery!’ she snapped.

Susie blinked, more surprised than offended by the implied insult. In the three months that she had worked at Beech House she had never known Jennifer be anything but kind, considerate and polite, if a little wicked in her sense of humour. Perhaps, though, a little moodiness was only to be expected from now on...

‘OK, OK—don’t get your hormones in a bunch.’ She grinned. ‘I’ll go...but, uh, what if he asks—?’

‘Just get rid of him!’

Jennifer bit her lip as Susie shot out of the kitchen, propelled by the low-voiced shriek. She was going to have to apologise, but later—when the immediate danger had passed and she had control of herself again.

Not wanting to compound her sins by being caught out in another lie, she forced her shaky legs into action, slipping through the dining and living rooms and sneaking out along the sweeping back verandah, leaving a faint trail in the thin mantle of volcanic ash. She let herself into the large double bedroom which was considered the best in the house for its unobscured view of Ruapehu. Closing the French doors on the icy southerly wind, she picked up the crystal vase with its artfully arranged sprays of daphne and replaced it with the flung together chrysanthemums.

She looked blankly around the room that she had tidied earlier. Should she wait in here until she heard his car leave? She eyed the door to the passage, which was slightly ajar. She longed to creep up to the sanctuary of her bedroom and bolt the door, but the narrow staircase to the converted attic was in full view of the front door.

She turned away, catching sight of her glazed expression in the old-fashioned mirror atop the dressing table. No wonder Susie had looked at her with such concern! She had never considered herself a beauty, but right now the too-square face with its too-sharp nose and slightly asymmetrical mouth was starkly plain—her dark brown hair, tumbling in careless waves to her shoulders, contrasting with a complexion as pale and waxy as the daphne blooms that she held in her hand. The bright red jumper that her mother had knitted the previous winter further accentuated her pallor, and snugly defined full breasts which trembled as if she had just run a marathon. With her left eyebrow twitching above the thin amber curve of her round spectacle frame, she looked like a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Which was exactly how she felt.

The cloying sweetness of daphne clogged her nostrils as she paced. Why on earth was Susie taking so long to get rid of him?

A vivid picture of golden male confidence sketched itself in her head and she halted on a silent moan. What if Susie couldn’t handle it?

What if he chose to flex his insufferable arrogance and argue?

What if he exercised his brutal charm and insinuated himself over the threshold?

And what if his being here wasn’t simply a rotten piece of malignant bad luck?

She stared out at the smouldering mountain, so busy agonising over the possibilities that she didn’t notice the door to the hall swinging open until a squeak of the hinges made her stiffen.

‘Playing hard to get, Mrs Jordan?’

Jennifer’s quickened breathing hitched to an uneven stop as she slowly turned around, to be impaled by green-gold eyes which were every bit as cruelly condemning as she remembered. But now their contemptuous coldness was super-heated to a vaporous fury that made her wish he hadn’t taken off his sunglasses.

Her face was on fire while her hands and feet felt like lumps of ice. Black dots prickled across her vision and her tongue suddenly felt too big for her dry mouth.

‘R-Raphael. What a surprise. Wh-what are you doing here?’ she managed threadily.

Raphael Jordan advanced into the spacious room, shrinking it to the size of a jail cell, his cynical smile oozing pure menace.

‘What do you think, Mrs Jordan?’

She swallowed, trying to work moisture into the dryness of her throat, wishing that he would stop sneering her name in that ominously insulting fashion.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, meaning she didn’t dare speculate. ‘Are—are you just passing through on holiday?’

He bludgeoned aside the frail hope. ‘Not a holiday—a hunting expedition.’ He kept on moving, forcing her to back up until her calves hit the dressing table drawers. ‘For certain very valuable—and very elusive—kiwis...’

Jennifer’s stomach lurched sickeningly at his use of the plural. ‘K-kiwis are a fully protected bird,’ she stuttered stupidly. Although she knew he was only just over six feet, he seemed to loom for ever. ‘It’s against the law for people to hunt them.’

His feral gaze gloated over her white face. ‘In their native habitat, yes, but what happens to greedy kiwis who venture where they don’t belong and violate the laws of nature...? I’d say that makes them fair game, wouldn’t you?’

He made no attempt to touch her, yet she sensed his straining muscles yearning to do physical violence. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her eyes sliding away from his grim expression to search the empty doorway behind him.

‘Where’s Susie? What did you say to get her to let you in?’ Her cold hands were suddenly as clammy as her brow and her voice sank to a horrified whisper. ‘What have you told her?’

His shrug was a ripple of expensive leather. ‘About our relationship? How about the truth?’

She fought against the bile rising in her throat. ‘What truth?’

His full-lipped smile was cruelly taunting.

‘Why, that you’re my father’s wife, pregnant with my child!’

The heavy vase slipped through Jennifer’s nerveless fingers, smashing to pieces on the polished hardwood floor as she tumbled headlong into the smothering darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

‘JEN? Hello! Are you in there?’