The Sister Swap

She tiptoed back out to the living-room and plumped herself down on the high, polished-cotton couch, pleased that it was long enough for her to stretch out full-length. There was also an easy-chair, a large bean-bag and four spindle-backed chairs around the oval wooden dining-table to choose from. At home it was a battle for the best sitting space in the evenings. A wooden roll-topped desk on which Anne had set her typewriter, a small coffee-table and a large bookcase were the only other furnishings in the room apart from a few scattered rugs on the bare floorboards.

The man from the foundation had been slightly apologetic that there was no television but Anne didn’t mind. She had her small music-centre and anyway she intended to be too busy to be a mere spectator of life from now on. There was no telephone either, which had given her a few qualms at first, but there was a phone box just up the street and she could appreciate that the usual grant recipients preferred to be incommunicado while they were beavering over their manuscripts.

She lay on the couch, her couch, listening to the muted sounds of the city, then she got up, dissatisfied, and dragged the heavy piece of furniture over to the arched windows. She had earlier opened the curved upper portions of the window with the long wooden window-hook and now she folded back the lower, rectangular segments. With the couch angled just right she could lie on it and look out at the last orange glow of the sun as it curtsied behind the jumble of city buildings. As the twilight turned to dusk she was able to see the lights burning at the entrance to the art school, and behind it in the multi-storeyed school of engineering. Across the road were the other main buildings, the library and theatre and administration blocks. Soon she would be a part of the stream of students that came and went each day from that campus city-within-a-city.

Fired with a fresh wave of enthusiasm, Anne made herself a cup of tea and got out the course leaflets and introductory material that the university had sent her when she had enrolled in her language courses. She had several days to familiarise herself with the city and make arrangements for Ivan’s day-care before orientation week started, but she intended to be well-prepared for her first foray into higher education. She had already purchased some of the basic required texts and she added them to the little pile and made herself comfortable on the couch.

She was reading about the gender endings of Russian nouns when the pendent lights overhead flickered once and then went out.

The dark wasn’t complete because of the street-lighting outside but it was enough to disorientate Anne as she tried to negotiate the shadowy loft, trying to remember if the man from the foundation had mentioned a fuse-box. She checked the refrigerator, just to make sure that it wasn’t just the light bulbs that had blown, but the light inside wasn’t operating either so she began opening cupboards and muttering to herself when the logical places didn’t yield anything that looked like a junctionbox.

The longer she searched, the more unpalatable became the most sensible solution to her problem. She could just go to bed and deal with it in the morning, of course, but she wouldn’t have hot water again until the following evening if the mains switch wasn’t re-set before morning. Maybe it was more than just her own problem anyway.

She cheered up at the thought that Hunter Lewis’s electricity might have gone off as well. A trouble shared was a trouble halved, and he wouldn’t be able to blame her if the whole floor was out.

She crept into the bedroom to listen to Ivan’s steady little snore, and frowned as she heard the tap-tap and the music still filtering through the wall.

Oh, well, at least she knew he was at home and still awake!

But in no better a mood, she realised five minutes later when he flung open his door and glared at her.

No wonder his door was so battered; he must be hell on joinery! she thought to herself as she smiled hopefully at him in the dimly lit passageway.

‘I wonder if you could help me—?’

‘No.’

‘My electricity has gone off and I don’t know where the fuse-box is located,’ she continued calmly as if he hadn’t spoken.

‘God defend me from helpless women!’ he said through his teeth.

‘Why, are you too feeble to defend yourself?’

‘Very funny!

‘Then why aren’t you smiling?’ She threw up a hand. ‘No, don’t tell me, let me guess. You smiled once and the sky fell on you. Well, Chicken Little, you can stop panicking now. All I want is a light and the fuse-box.’

‘And fuse-wire, and a screwdriver, and—’

‘Are you naturally this obnoxious, or is it something you’ve specially trained for?’

‘Look, lady, I didn’t ask you to come thumping on my door—’

‘I didn’t ask you to come thumping at mine either, Mr Lewis, but you did. So we’re even. Now, are you capable of answering one simple question without turning it into a tiresome lecture? Do you know where the fuse-box for my apartment is located?’

For an answer he shut the door in her face and she was just about to scream it down when he reopened it carrying a small toolkit. He looked down at her furiously flushed face, small clenched fists and bare toes curled with rage and, wonder of wonders, produced a slight smile that bracketed the rectangular mouth with deep lines.

‘Temper, temper!’

‘You can talk!’ she said tartly, fascinated in spite of herself. He didn’t look all that much different when he smiled, she realised in amusement. He still looked broodingly dangerous, his black eyes smouldering with hostility and suspicion, their hooded lids giving them a predatory quality.

He didn’t answer, turning his back and walking towards the stairs. Anne got the impression that he did that a lot—turned his back on people.

At the head of the main flight of wooden stairs a sensor turned on a light on the first landing down, revealing a small cupboard in the wall which proved to contain odds and ends of tools and cleaning equipment—and fuse-boxes numbered for both apartments.

‘Thank you.’ Anne waited for him to get out of the way. ‘Excuse me.’ She tapped him on the shoulder as he pulled out the rectangular fuses, checking them. Her finger practically bounced off the armoured muscle. Anne’s four brothers were well-built—even Mike who was still only fourteen was much bigger than she was—so she wasn’t usually impressed by male bulk, but this one was built like a tank.

‘Hold this.’

She ignored the screwdriver.

‘Look, Mr Lewis, I do know how to change a fuse—’

‘Hold this.’

‘No.’

He turned his head. In profile his nose looked every bit as arrogantly prominent as the rest of him. ‘Haven’t you ever been told not to look a gift-horse in the mouth?’

Her eyes shifted to his wide, straight mouth and for no particular reason she felt herself flushing.

‘I’ve also been warned about Greeks bearing gifts,’ she said hurriedly.

‘I’m not Greek,’ he commented, tucking the screwdriver between his teeth and turning back to his task.

‘You’re not a horse either.’ Except maybe the rear end of one! she added silently. ‘If you’ll just step aside I’ll handle my own problems.’

‘And risk you botching it up so you have to come simpering back to my door again? No, thanks.’

‘I’ve never simpered in my life!’ she fumed, eyeing the stiched denim pockets below the black leather belt. One good, hard kick to that tightly packed rear and she would feel a whole lot better.

‘Don’t even think about it, country girl. I’m not only bigger than you, I’m faster.’

He hadn’t even looked around and she was furious at him for guessing what she was thinking, as well as for that mocking dig about her origins. What chance had she to hide anything if he had such acutely perceptive instincts?

‘Yes—at jumping to conclusions. Tell me, what brought on this powerful paranoia you have regarding women? I can’t figure out why you think you’re such an irresistible dish that you have to warn off total strangers. As a “country girl” I’ve seen plenty of beef on the hoof and, believe me, you’re over-pricing yourself.’

He snapped the repaired fuse back into place and depressed the trip-switch before he backed out of the cupboard, forcing her to retreat. ‘That smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day.’

They were back to mouths again. Now he had turned and was looking at hers and she tightened it deliberately, knowing that her full lower lip tended to give a false impression of sultriness.

‘Is that a threat?’ She bristled under the insolent black stare.

‘More in the nature of kindly advice.’

‘Kindly!’ she snorted. ‘You?’

‘Don’t try and provoke me more than you already have, Miss Tremaine,’ he drawled in that aggravatingly warm voice that was so at odds with his manner. ‘I suppose I’d better check that everything is working…’