She jumped as he spoke her name.
“Why, Grant ... what brings you here?”
He smiled, “You, Grace Darling.”
Sarah thought, heart racing, if only he’d come because he cared. He probably thinks I’m foolhardy to come out on a night like this ... he’ll scold in a moment.
She said hastily, “Grant, I don’t want to go back yet. I want my fill of this. I’ve loved this spell of glorious weather. New Zealand has a marvellous climate and I appreciate it to the full, but sometimes I long for the rain on my face, a cold wind to struggle against.”
Grant looked down on her. No glamour here. Even her hair looked dark, plastered in witch-locks against her cheek and neck.
“I don’t want to go in myself ...” He grinned. “You’ve not got a monopoly of Orcadian blood, you know. My grandmother—Duncan’s mother—was an Orcadian—a Flett by name. Sometimes on a night like this Duncan and I would get out the old truck and go down to the sea to watch the waves crashing on the rocks. It’s too late tonight for the youngsters, but some time in winter, when it’s dark earlier, and it storms, we’ll do just that, the four of us.”
The four of us. Not the five of us. Not Elaine. Sarah felt her heart lift.
Sarah said softly, because the words, with their sense of comradeship, were balm to her heart, “I’d like that, Grant. Your uncle liked it, I know. I had a week’s holiday up there when he was there. I went up with him, motoring through Scotland. He loved Orkney. He and I spent a lot of time out in our dinghy, around the coast. The weather for the most part was kind that week.”
They were standing braced against the strength of the storm. Grant slipped an arm about Sarah’s shoulders to steady her.
“A dinghy? Did Duncan learn to row? I never remember him handling a boat of any kind.”
She shook her head. “No, I rowed him. I’ve rowed since I was a child.”
Grant turned her around to face him, his fingers gripping her upper arms in a curious way.
Sarah looked up at him, rivulets of water running down her face. “What you doing, Grant?” She caught the gleam of white teeth as he smiled. “Feeling for your muscles. You’re so slim, Sarah. You don’t look as if you could row a boat on the open set, but you can ... your muscles are like whipcord.”
An odd sort of a compliment. Not one Elaine would have appreciated. But Sarah felt comforted. At least with Grant here, saying odd but companionable things, she didn’t have to torture herself imagining him in the intimacy of Challowsford, with Elaine, claws sheathed, purring. Grant was here beside her, broad, strong, dear...
Here in the heart of the storm Sarah knew not only her usual exhilaration and zest, but a curious peacefulness, a sense of refuge. Beneath them the trees lashed and bent, far out beyond the range of sight, the Pacific roared and tumbled, belying its name. Behind them reared the mighty rock that was so like Windy Crag at home.
Grant said, “There’s a hollow at the back of this. Have you noticed it? Let’s take shelter there for a few moments, then you’re going back to have a steaming hot bath and go to bed.”
He led her around. The niche was only big enough for two, but it had a rough ledge at the back that afforded a seat for them. Grant kept his arm about her as naturally as he would have kept it about Pauline. They sat in silence for a while, then Grant said, “Homesick tonight, were you?”
Sarah nodded. He continued: “You bottle things up too much, Sarah. You’re afraid to let the youngsters know when a nostalgic mood takes you, aren’t you? In case it makes them homesick in turn. But you need to tell someone ... why not me?”
Sarah could scarcely believe this was happening to her. Here she was, but on the wind-battered hillside, snug in the curve of Grant’s arm, her face against his wet coat, and he was being ... being ... well, all any woman could wish at such a moment, comforting, companionable, understanding.
Grant said, “You and your stepfather were great pals, weren’t you? Rather rare, a relationship like that, I should imagine. Were you never jealous of him when he first married your mother?”
“No. You see, I met him before my mother did. He was the new minister in the parish. I was eight, I got stuck on a cliff I was climbing. Couldn’t go up or down. Roderick Rendall and his session clerk were out tramping and saw me. Roderick climbed up to me while the other man went for help. They got us up with ropes. Father bound me to him. He took the knocks and scrapings as they hauled us up.
“Mother and he—well, it was love at first sight. They were married three months later. I felt they’d done it purely and solely to make life heaven for me. I adored Father. We loved the same things ... the hills, the sea, bird-watching, books, the stars. Father had a passion for astronomy. He taught me all I know. I often think how he’d have loved these southern stars.”
They looked up. The storm was over. The rain had ceased. The clouds were scudding before the wind, it swept them away from the moon. Stars glimmered.
“The storm is over,” said Grant, “and so is your spell of homesickness. You’re going home to that bath right now.”
He drew her to her feet. Together they descended the hill. She was surprised when Grant came in with her. He grinned, said, “For once I’m not the ogre in your life, but the elder brother. Not even a cross-grained partner. I’m going to see you take care of yourself. You must think of your responsibilities ... all those babies that won’t be born without you!”
Sarah giggled, pushing the wet hair back from her eyes.
“You’re completely mad!” she said. “As a farmer you ought to know birth isn’t a function that can be stopped.”
Grant dropped their wet slickers on the floor, went into the bathroom, turned the taps on, came out with a couple of towels and proceeded to towel her hair vigorously.
Sarah protested. “I’ll do it myself. In the bathroom. Whatever must I look like?”
“The eternal feminine!” said Grant censoriously. “To be quite candid, Miss Isbister, you look a ticket.” He went on rubbing. Presently he threw the towel down. “Now, get your dressing-gown and nightie or pyjamas, or what have you, and into the bath with you. While you’re having your tub I’ll make supper. I’ll give it to you on a tray, the kids too.”
Sarah had the delightful feeling of being cared for, after a long time in which she had done all the caring, fought everyone’s battles, solved everyone’s problems.
Sarah took a look at the nightdress beneath her pillow, a flimsy thing in primrose, and decided against it. Too glamorous by far. She picked out a plain blue demure-looking cotton plisse one with white embroidery on the neck and puffed sleeves.
She left her face devoid of make-up, shining and pink from the bath, but brushed her hair till it shone. It curled up in innumerable tendrils about her brow and ears.
“What a nice, wholesome, clean little girl you look,” approved Grant, coming into her room through Pauline’s room with a tray with an immense stack of buttered toast, spread with vegemite and toasted cheese, and the coffee percolator.
He’d given Pauline and Rory a tray each, but this one had two cups on it. He put the tray in front of her, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Isn’t it a good thing Pauline’s room is off this? She makes a good chaperone. Makes sure conventions are observed.”
Pauline, her mouth full of toast, watching them asked, “What’s chaperone? What are conventions?”
Grant waved an impatient hand. “Oh, you know ... hard to explain ... they’re daft anyway.” He added to Sarah, “What ears that child has!”
Pauline swallowed and said triumphantly, “I know. You mean if I wasn’t here, it wouldn’t be at all the thing for Sarah to be entertaining you in her bedroom.”
Grant replied, “Well, what did you ask me for? Now shut up, Paul, eating is a serious business.”
Sarah leaned back against her pillows and sighed with sheer contentment. She finally put down her coffee cup. She looked up at him.
“Thank you, Grant, for a magic moment or two. I could almost imagine it was Father fussing about me again.”
She said it softly so Pauline should not hear.
Grant looked at her. “You said once Pauline had a father fixation. Perhaps you have too. I can assure you it’s not a stepfatherly feeling I have towards you.” He picked up the tray. Sarah felt a pulse start beating in her throat.
She took hold of herself mentally. Don’t be a fool. He said just before your bath he’d be your elder brother ... that’s all he means.
So she smiled, said: “Thank you ... Big Brother.”
“Well,” he said, “I must be getting back, or Elaine and Mrs. Mac will be wondering where I’ve vanished to.”
Sarah said vaguely, “Yes, and Elaine hasn’t much longer before she goes to Mount Cook, though she wants to come back for a few days after the trip.”
Grant looked at her suddenly. “Sarah, has it ever occurred to you that Elaine might stay in New Zealand?”
Sarah’s eyes widened. She couldn’t hide the dismay that leaped into them. She felt physically sick. Was he telling her that he—that he and Elaine—