Welcome Back

32

Welcome Back

    The sun shone from a cloudless forget-me-not sky as it often did in early November—the rains of late November not yet being upon them—the wind blew like fury as it seemed to do unceasingly these days, and Ralph stood on his front steps in the sun and stretched. Then he glanced to his left, groaned and said loudly: “What in God’s name are you sitting there for?”

    Roberta had been sitting on Hugh’s front steps in the sun, hugging her denim knees. She got up slowly. “I thought you might not be up yet.”

    Ralph groaned again. “We made a date to pick up Hugh, didn’t we?”

    “Yes, but I was pretty early,” she said in an uncertain voice.

    Pretty early crashing round Hugh’s flat apparently vacuuming every nook and cranny of it, not excluding the flaming basement, if the hollow booming noises percolating to his dazed ears at around five-thirty had been any— Yes, quite.

    “Well, come on in and have a coffee,” he said with a sigh.

    She descended Hugh’s steps slowly and came over to his, looking dubious. “You don’t have to.”

    “I’ve just made a pot of coffee, will you get up here and help me drink it?” he sighed.

    “Oh. Well—righto; ta.”

    Ralph sighed.

    When she was standing beside him he said, though not with much hope: “See my kumquat trees?”

    “Yes; they’re nice. I like your front door, too: I think that black paint’s much smarter than that pale green of Hugh’s.”

    “Then maybe there is hope for you yet—though judging from those garments,” he said, wincing, as he looked at the jeans and black jumper, “I wouldn’t have thought it.”

    “I haven’t got any fancy clothes,” she said in a grumpy voice.

    “One mercy.”

    She looked at him in surprize and Ralph explained drily: “You’d look terrible in fancy clothes. Something exquisitely plain and, mm... Possibly scarlet or white, or a nice bright orange.” His lips twitched but he wasn’t about to explain why, just yet.

    “And costing about five hundred dollars: yeah.”

    “Yes, per square inch. Anyway, I was going to say, observe the rufous offspring of my tiny trees.”

    “Yes: they’ve done well, haven’t they? Their season must really be over, citrus trees fruit in winter. That Puriri Garden Centre’s quite reliable: Sean and Michaela use it a lot for their landscaping jobs.”

    “Dragging your mind away from matters horticultural,” he sighed, “guess what I’ve called my twin trees.”

    “Called them?”

    “Look at them, girl,” he groaned.

    Roberta stared at his twin kumquats. “Kum and Quat?” she offered.

    “Why did I start this?” Ralph muttered to himself. “Rufous offspring,” he prompted through his teeth.

    “Um… sorry!” said Roberta with a nervous laugh.

    “Virginia and Victoria,” he said carefully.

    “Eh?” said Roberta blankly. Then her jaw dropped. Then she had hysterics all over Ralph’s front porch.

    “Got it at last,” he said, unable to stop himself grinning all over his face.

    “It’s—damn—good!” she gasped.

    “I’ll have to tell Hugh, I think he’ll appreciate it,” he said.

    “Yes, definitely!” She paused. “If he’s in the right mood.”

    “Mm.” Ralph looked thoughtfully at the awful old jersey and the awful old jeans: they certainly weren’t calculated to put the returning traveller in the right mood. “Come on inside, the coffee’s getting cold.”

    “Okay.” Roberta glanced down at the turning circle and smiled. “There’s the dachsie from over the way,”

    Wincing, and murmuring: “The walking turd; and I just hope Hugh’s remembered he promised its frightful owner a gen-yew-wine pooper-scooper from the States,” Ralph led the way inside.

    Roberta followed. “I like him, he’s a dear little dog. And old Miss Thing’s all right.”

    Old Miss Thing was about fifty-five: Ralph swallowed a sigh.

    He didn’t lead Roberta into his chaste sitting-room to partake of breakfast by the picture window looking out over the valley as he would have more sophisticated ladies, not to say those less likely to fall over their feet and spill coffee on his rugs. He took her into the kitchen and seated her on a plain, chair-height knotty-pine chair that matched his little knotty-pine table. Ralph’s kitchen, though Willow Plains Limited’s puce female had assured him eagerly it could do so, did not include a “breakfast bar.”

    Although she protested she’d had breakfast hours ago he got a healthy amount of scrambled eggs and wholemeal toast into her as well as the coffee. Then he leaned back in his knotty-pine chair (it had a padded seat, what was more) and said: “Roberta: what I’m about to suggest will doubtless offend you deeply. So prepare to be offended.”

    Roberta gaped at him.

    “Er—no, not that, dear,” said Ralph with a twitch of the lips. “Not that I find you unattractive; far from it: I think you’re what could fairly be described as a magnificent creature. But I’m really not into doing ladies who—er—don’t reciprocate.”

    Predictably, she went deep maroon and croaked: “What, then?”

    He sighed, and got up. “Follow me.”

     Roberta followed him uncertainly to the master bedroom.

    “Voilà!” he said, gesturing at the bed.

    She goggled at the flame-coloured dress laid out on it.

    “I think I’ve judged your size quite accurately. I’ve had plenty of practice in such matters.”

    “You can’t buy me a dress,” she said faintly.

    “I just have, you idiot child. And get into it, if you want to get to the airport in time to meet his plane.”

    Suddenly Roberta turned maroon again and shouted: “If he doesn’t like me as I am, he can get stuffed!”

    It dawned that she was about to burst into tears, and although he was sorry for her, Ralph also felt extremely impatient with her. So he grabbed her arms, shook her a bit and said loudly: “Don’t be a bloody idiot! He needs a push—God knows every man needs a push at some stage in his existence—and if this dress won’t do it, then take my word for it, nothing will!”

    “Nothing will anyway!” she cried fiercely.

    “Roberta, he needs to see you as a woman, you bloody little fool, not as a kid that does a bit of gardening for him and vacuums his sodding oatmeal carpets to put herself through Med School. Now GET INTO THAT FUCKING DRESS!’

    He released her and marched out, muttering: “God knows it cost me enough!”

    After a few moments her head poked round the bedroom door and she said: “Are you doing this for him, or for me?”

    Ralph sighed. “Both. But mostly for him: I have known the silly bugger most of his life, you know.”

    “Yes,” she said, withdrawing her head.

    What did that mean? Ralph was damned if he knew. He rolled his eyes, and sighed.

    When she came out of the bedroom she was in the dress, looking sulky. Not to say magnificent.

    “I feel like an idiot, this thing’s practically a mini,” she said, pouting.

    “You’ve got magnificent legs, why not show them off? And it isn’t a mini, it’s only three inches above the knee.”

    Roberta pouted. “It’s too tight,” she muttered.

    Ralph’s lips twitched. It was tight, all right. Ultra-plain, long-sleeved, smallish shoulder-pads—he knew Hugh didn’t admire the American-footballer look—ultra-modest neckline, veiling the salt-cellars—he knew Roberta wouldn’t have stood for anything revealing—and in a delicious cotton jersey-knit that was guaranteed to last less than one season. Unfortunate, this last, because would she ever have the sense to buy herself anything that became her a fraction as well to replace it?

    “Rubbish, you look wonderful. Do those shoes fit all right?”

    “Yeah. How did you manage that?” she said suspiciously.

    Ralph threw up his hands. “All right, I admit it: Vicki Austin was in on this plot with me. So?”

    “You mean she— I bet she’s told everybody!” she cried.

    “Not at all: I swore her to secrecy,” he returned blandly, deliberately misunderstanding.

    Choking, Roberta cried: “Not about the dress! About—” She broke off abruptly.

    “You’re not the only adult in the world to have fallen for another adult. Opposite sexes, too,” he noticed in congratulatory tones. “Quite a feat, these days.”

    Roberta glared. He went over to her and put a hand gently on her upper-arm. “Come on, let’s do something about your hair: I refuse to be seen with a lady who’s doing an imitation of Pocahontas.”

    “You can’t do anything with it, it won’t let you,” she said sulkily.

    Good, thought Ralph, nobly refraining from saying so. He pushed her into the bedroom, sat her down at the dressing-table and brushed out the great fall of heavy black with his very own brushes. The brushes felt quite privileged and so did he. In fact it was true to say he thoroughly enjoyed it—though at the same time recognizing that Roberta was blissfully unaware of the sensations he was experiencing. She remarked naïvely that the brushes were very flash, were they real silver, so Ralph explained apologetically that they were only EPNS and that they did clash rather with the Oriental lynx.

    “I thought it was a leopard,” she said uncertainly.

    “Mm.” He brushed the hair back from her temples two-handed and said: “Do you like him?”

    “No, he gives me the creeps.”

    Well, he never had thought she had Ginny’s quality. But if she was what bloody Hugh wanted, good luck to him. And apparently she was. Well, when he’d rung up a few nights back Ralph had interrogated him on the subject of ladies and apparently there hadn’t been one, over there. And he’d asked anxiously whether Ralph thought Roberta was looking all right and getting enough to eat in “that damned flat.” He hadn’t mentioned the master potter, so that was probably a Good Sign. However you liked to look at it.

    Ralph was aware that he himself looked at it from several perspectives. He was also aware that one of the perspectives was, if Hugh didn’t take up with Michaela again, she would be free for Winkelmann’s roving fancy to alight upon. Which would kind of leave Phoebe free for— Quite. Ralph was also aware that in view of this his purchase of a sexy dress for Roberta was not as altruistic a move as it might have seemed to some. Well, to little Vicki Austin, quite obviously.

    As for Roberta herself— He glanced sideways at her handsome dark face as they drove down the motorway and thought wryly that if she was capable of analysing his motives at all, which at this moment she probably wasn’t, judging by the clenched fists in her lap, she’d very likely decide he was doing it out of a kinky interest in the progress of Hugh’s love life. There could well be an element of that in it: why not? How boring life must be to those of—er—simple mind, thought Ralph, taking the outer lane and passing three ugly Mitsubishis and a vile Honda sports thing without straining the BMW in the least.

    “How smart you look, darling,” he said to a returning traveller. “Where have you been, and why wasn’t I informed?”

    “Thanks; Sydney, to a job interview; and because it was none of your business,” returned Phoebe without emotion.

    Ralph’s stomach felt as it if had fallen into his boots but he said: “Oh? Successful, was it?”

    “No, it was a jack-up: it was perfectly apparent they had their own candidate lined up for the job and were going through the motions. However, it was a nice free jaunt. How are you, Roberta? You’re looking well,” she added.

    Roberta had been looking in awe at the severe apple-green silk shirt and the severer dark navy linen suit. Now she jumped and said weakly: “Fine, thanks; how are you?”

    “Blooming,” replied Phoebe calmly. “You don’t look too good, Ralph: a bit liverish?” she added kindly.

    Glaring, Ralph replied: “Undoubtedly. Do you have transport, or would you care to wait for Hugh’s plane with us and get a free ride?”

    “Oh, I don’t need a free ride, thanks. I’ll see ya. ’Bye, Roberta,” she said, striding off.

    “Masterful, isn’t she?” he whispered.

    “She looks awfully smart.”

    Ralph took her elbow. “Smart enough to induce trembling awe in the bravest of us: quite. You, on the other hand, look marvellous, or have I already said that?”

    “I don’t reckon she thought so,” she said glumly.

    Lips twitching, Ralph replied: “I’m damn sure she did. Turned as green as that shirt of hers the minute she set eyes on you.”

    “Rubbish,” she said uneasily.

    “Not rubbish: apart from the fact that she thought you were not merely with me but—er—that we were together, your, er, glowing young womanhood is such as to bring it forcibly to the notice of such unmarried dames as Phoebe Fothergill that they’ll never see twenty-four again. Or, in Phoebe’s case, forty-four,” he added nastily.

    Roberta pulled away from him. “I thought she was going round with Sol Winkelmann?”

    “Oh, so does she. ’Tis but a momentary aberration.”

    “Oh.”

    “They tell me the master potter is seeing rather a lot of him, these days,” he added affably.

    Roberta went very red and said crossly: “I suppose you got that off Vicki! That crafts boutique at Kingfisher Bay’s open now, she’s doing quite a lot of stuff for it, if that’s what you mean.”

    “Mm. Tell me, who actually owns that boutique?”

    “I don’t know,” she said blankly. “Doesn’t Sol?”

    “My spies tell me he apparently doesn’t. Though he is believed to have an interest.”

    “Oh.” There was a pause. “Isn’t there a place you can look things like that up?”

    Ralph closed his eyes for a split second. “One can find out with relative ease who owns the freehold of the property: yes. But unless Winkelmann’s turned himself into a public company it might be rather difficult to ascertain exactly who owns the crafts business.”

    “Oh. Well, I don’t know. –I need to go to the loo; can you wait here?”

    “Yes,” he sighed. “Run along.”

    Roberta hurried off. Ralph watched: why not? Damn good, that butt in that dress. If Hugh didn’t do anything about it, then there was bloody well something wrong with the man!

    At first Hugh, catching sight of Ralph in the crowd with something raven-haired and gorgeous next to him, merely thought there Ralph went again. Then he realized who it was and for a split second felt as if he was going to faint. Then Ralph, looking very dry, flipped a hand at him and Roberta smiled nervously and went very red and Hugh realized she was there to meet him, not—

    He hurried forward and said hoarsely: “Hullo.”

    “Hullo,” she said.

    “‘Welcome back, your dreams were your ticket out,’” drawled Ralph.

    “How are you, Roberta?” said Hugh hoarsely, ignoring him.

    “Good. Um—is that all yours?”

    Hugh jumped, and looked at the trolley-load of luggage he’d abandoned. “Yes.” He went back for it.

    “‘Thanks for sacrificing your Saturday morning to drive fifty miles to meet me, Ralph,’” drawled Ralph, coming up to his elbow.

    “Yeah, that, too. You look the same as usual.”

    “Really? That’s odd, we’ve just bumped into Phoebe and she told me I was looking liverish!” he squeaked.

    “Yeah: the same as usual!” choked Hugh.

    Roberta laughed, and Ralph groaned.

    “And how was the flight?” he asked in a nasty voice as they began making their way through the crowds to the exit.

    “Uh—all right, I suppose,” Hugh replied blankly.

    “What was Hawaii like?” asked Roberta shyly.

    “Very American. The volcanoes were good, though.”

    Ralph sighed loudly.

    “Recollect I’ve been in California for six months,” said Hugh with a laugh in his voice.

    “I see. Affects the brain as well as the vocabulary, does it?”

    “What?” he replied vaguely, looking at Roberta.

    Ralph sighed.

    … “Well, souls,” he said, after they’d unloaded the mountain of luggage at the foot of Hugh’s steps: “I’ll see you later, I have no doubt: I’m late for golf.”

    “Righto: thanks,” said Hugh in a vague voice.

    Ralph sighed, and drove away.

    Hugh looked at the mountain of luggage. “I went mad over there in the consumerist society,” he explained.

    “It looks like it,” Roberta agreed numbly. “Ralph said you only took one suitcase.”

    “Yes... There’s something in there for you,” he said vaguely.

    Roberta went very red and looked away.

    “The flat been okay? No problems?” he asked.

    “Fine. Um—well, there was that damp patch in the games room: I wrote to you about that,” she said, flushing.

    “Mm. Has Ralph got someone onto it yet?”

    “Yes; it was something to do with the—um—flashing, I think,” she said, swallowing. “Where the downstairs window frames are fitted in.”

    “Oh.”

    “I think it was the angle of the wind.”

    “Mm.” Hugh looked at the luggage. “You take that small green case, Roberta, I’ll grab these.”

    He heaved up two heavy dark cases. Roberta picked up the green one but said: “This as light as anything!” and hefted up the big grey one.

    When they’d both made a second trip and all the baggage was in the sitting-room they looked at each other uncertainly.

    “Um—that green one’s mainly pyjamas and things: I’ll take it into the bedroom,” said Hugh.

    “Mm.”

    When he came back she was still just standing there. “It’s good to be home,” he said, looking round his oatmeal décor and smiling. “I’ve missed my Woollaston.”

    “Yes. Ralph said you should have put it in storage while you were away.”

    “The flat was perfectly all right, though.” Hugh smiled at his Woollaston and went over to the window and gazed at the Woollaston-ish view to the northwest of Willow Grove. “I’ve missed this, too. Aren’t the hills green, at this time of year?”

    “Yes,” she said hoarsely. “Not so Woollaston-ish.”

    “No. Nice, though.”

    There was a short pause.

     Hugh said hoarsely, not turning round: “It was good to get your letters.”

    “Yes. Me, too.” Roberta swallowed loudly.

    “America was so... Well, American!” he said with a sheepish laugh. “The work was damn good, though.”

    “Yes. It sounded interesting.”

    “Yes.” Hugh turned round and said with difficulty: “I missed you, Roberta.”

    “So did I,” she said in a low voice.

    He looked at her uncertainly. “You look wonderful,” he said huskily.

    Roberta blushed and glared at the oatmeal carpet. “Thanks. Um…”  Suddenly she looked up and said: “Ralph did all this, it wasn’t me.”

    “All— Dressed you up?” he said incredulously.

    “Yes. Well, Vicki helped him with the shoes, I think.”

    Hugh passed a hand dazedly over his hair and said: “Was it supposed to be a welcome-home present, dare I ask?”

    “Yes,” she said, biting her lip and looking at him uncertainly. “I think it was.”

    “That’ll be why he’s pushed off to golf,” he said dazedly.

    “Yes. You don’t have to— I mean— Just because he thinks—”

    Hugh looked at her disturbed face and quivering lips and realized she was near tears. He swallowed, stepped up very close and took her hands and said: “Ssh. I want to, very much. Only do you want to?”

    Roberta’s eyes filled with tears and she nodded hard.

    Hugh put his arms round her very gently and pulled her against him, and after a moment she said into his shoulder: “What about Michaela, though?”

    “That’s all over. I did let her have my address but she didn’t write to me, you know. Has she said anything to you?”

    “Um—yes,” she said in a muffled voice. “Sort of. Well, she said she knew all along it wasn’t going to work out, and it hadn’t. And—um—another time she said she couldn’t be the sort of lady you wanted.” She looked up at him dubiously.

    Hugh made a bitter face. “No. I’m afraid my ideas aren’t as liberated as I fancied they were.”

    “She would be a very difficult person to live with, I think, if you wanted a—a normal sort of life.”

    “Yes.” Hugh looked down at her and said dubiously: “Do you want a normal sort of life?”

    “I don’t know,” replied Roberta, blushing brightly. “I’ve been a student for quite a while, now, I’ve sort of got used to it. Only sometimes I do—um—you know. Want things,” she ended glumly.

    “Things?” he groped.

    “Consumerist junk,” she said, pulling a face.

    “Oh!” Hugh twinkled at her. “Pretty dresses and strings of pearls? Or do you go the whole hog and hanker after tumble-driers and video machines and, um, microwave ovens?”

    Roberta replied with a weak smile: “I don’t exactly hanker. Only I can’t help seeing that if you’re leading a busy life microwaves and tumble-driers are awfully sensible.”

    “Mm. What about the dresses and the pearls?”

    “All right, I would like some decent clothes, why do you think I let him give me this?” she cried angrily, pulling away from him.

    Hugh looked at her thoughtfully. Roberta glared. “I think,” he said slowly, “that you let him give it to you, conniving prick though he undoubtedly is,”—she looked at him doubtfully—“because once you’d got it on, you realized you looked bloody marvellous in it and couldn’t force yourself to take it off. Liberated or not.”

    “All right, I’m a hypocrite!” she shouted angrily.

    “No. Self-adornment is apparently a human instinct: even the most primitive tribespeople do it. Why should you be free of it, alone of humankind? That’s my opinion, anyway,” he said as she looked dubious. “I don’t think you need to assume that your weak little psyche’s been brainwashed by our consumerist society.”

    Roberta gave a sheepish smile. “High heels and all.”

    “Yes. You’ve got damn beautiful legs and those shoes show ’em off bloody well: why the Hell not?”

    She went very red again but said: “Aren’t I turning myself into a sex object, though?”

    “Yes. But aren’t we all to some extent sex objects to one another?”

    Roberta hesitated. Then she admitted: “Dad said something like that to me once but I—um—wouldn’t listen.”

    “Mm. Sensible man, your father.”

    “Yes.”

    “Did he also mention that it’s rather enjoyable?” he murmured.

    Roberta looked him bravely in the eye and said: “Yes. Only it was just after Mark Michaels had dumped me and I wouldn’t listen.”

    Hugh didn’t ask who or why, he just said: “Silly Mark Michaels.”

    “He’s an idiot,” she said shortly.

    Hugh’s mouth twitched. “I’ll say!”

    She looked at him uncertainly with her head a little on one side. Hugh smiled, but his heart pounded terrifically and he suddenly knew that if she turned him down he’d—well, he didn’t know what, exactly, he’d do, but there bloody well wouldn’t be any point to anything any more, he did know that; and he said huskily: “Roberta, I know I’m too bloody old for you, and I’m damn sure I’m older than your very sensible father, but—well, if you’d like to, couldn’t we at least try it? For a bit?”

    “Yes,” she said hoarsely.

    He stepped up to her and clenched his fists and said: “Sure?”

    “Yes,” she said, nodding, and looking into his eyes.

    Hugh stopped forcing himself to think about how young she was and how old he was, and put his arms round her very gently and put his mouth on hers. Roberta kissed him eagerly and hugged him fiercely.

    “Come into the bedroom,” he said at last, releasing her with a little sigh.

    “Okay. Have you got a condom?” she replied.

    Shades of Michaela. Oh, well, the post-AIDS generation, or something. “Mm. I’m quite a responsible fellow, in my way.”

    “I didn’t mean— Well, you have just been on a trip.”

    “Uh—yeah. Oh, I see. Well, if you and the Woollaston and Ralph’s plumber or carpenter amongst you haven’t got down on ’em, there’ll be some in my bedside cabinet.”

    “They won’t have gone off, will they?”

    “Perished? No, not in our climate. Could have grown mould, though.”

    “No, I’ve been airing the flat,” she said seriously.

    In the bedroom he hesitated and then said: “I should have told you to use the bloody flat. I’m sorry, Roberta, it never occurred to me. It was damn selfish of me.”

    “That’s okay. Well, I mean, I’ve only got my bike, it wouldn’t have been as handy for me as our place.”

    “No.” Hugh bent to the cabinet. “Here they are. –Can you drive?” he asked abruptly.

    “Yes, of course,” she replied in surprize.

    Hugh swallowed a smile. “Mm.” He stood up, chucked the packet on the bed and said: “Come here.”

    Roberta came up to him looking shy. He pulled her gently against him and said in her ear: “I hope you don’t like to drive in bed, though.”

    “I don’t think so. Um—I don’t really know what that means.”

    “Good. This—uh—Mark Thing, is he the only fellow you’ve done it with?”

    “No, there was that awful John Nicholls in my first year at Med School. He’s no relation, he came and sat by me because our names were the same and—um—”

    “Hit on you,” said Hugh drily.

    “Yes.”

    He hugged her gently and said: “And did you like it with either of them, sweetheart?”

    “No,” she said, going a fiery red.

    He stroked her bum gently and said: “Never mind, you’ll like it with me.”

    Roberta replied in a shaking voice: “What if I don’t?”

    Hugh put his hand under her chin and said: “Is your blood all fizzy and are your knees all shaky?”

    “Yes, but I don’t know if it’s more excitement or nerves,” she replied, honest but somewhat desperate.

    “Both. Me, too,” he said, stroking the bum again and mumbling his face into the hair that draped over her shoulder.

    “You?” she said in amazement.

    “Mm. Men get nervous, too,” said Hugh into the hair.

    “Oh,” said Roberta slowly.

    “Nervous but Hellishly excited!” he said with a strangled laugh, and bit her neck gently.

    She gasped, and clutched him, and he smiled into the hair and said: “Mm. Hang onto me, that’s right.”

    Roberta held onto him but said: “I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to do.”

    “You’re doing fine.” He got a hand on each buttock, pushed her strongly against him and shoved his genitals against her firm belly and looked into her face and said, panting a little but also laughing a little: “Fine! Kiss me, lovely Greek!”

    She kissed him with what Hugh recognized with some amusement was obedience, not passion, and he rubbed himself against her a little and said: “Mmm, nice. –Need to use the bathroom?”

    “Yes: I’m awfully nervous!” she gasped.

    “You pop in there, then, and I’ll”—he looked at the blaze of light in the big, airy room and smiled—“adjust the curtains and nip into bed.”

    “Righto,” said Roberta in a strangled voice, hurrying into the ensuite. –Hugh had got carried away in the Puriri branch of the Purple Palladium (such was the name of the chain of bathroom-supplies shops that had recently spread all over the country like a rash) and his ensuite was all black Aakronite fittings, with black marble floor tiles and smaller black ceramic wall- and ceiling-tiles, and gold accessories. Ralph declared it was the nadir or possibly the ninth circle of bathroom taste but Hugh knew he was secretly jealous as Hell of it and wouldn’t have been in the least surprized to have learnt he was planning to have his own pale green Aakronite, courtesy of Willow Plains Limited, ripped out.

    Hugh adjusted the bedroom curtains, dumped his clothes on a chair, and got into bed. Although it was a beautiful day he turned the electric blanket on. Good for nerves, electric blankets were. Besides, beautiful day or not, the sun wasn’t on this side of the flat yet and it wasn’t too warm. Or was it just that he’d got used to sybaritic American living? Very probably. He looked round his brown and oatmeal bedroom and thought vaguely that he was a bit fed up with brown and oatmeal, maybe Roberta would have a few ideas about what they could do to brighten it up a bit...

    “Now, either you could get undressed, or I could undress you, I’d enjoy either,” he said with a grin as she came back.

    “I’ll do it,” she said in a strangled voice.

    Hugh knew she was very nervous. He didn’t pander to this to the extent of not watching, though: that would have been madness. But he didn’t insist on undressing her himself, he was quite aware that she was both specifically too nervous and generally too inexperienced to get any enjoyment out of it.

    Roberta turned politely away from him, removed her finery and laid it carefully on a chair.

    “Come on,” he said hoarsely, flushing darkly as she turned shyly and he got the full frontal. All darkest cream with the appropriate rose and black patches: now, that was a colour scheme made in Heaven!

    She came over to the bed; Hugh raised the covers politely and she got in, not looking at him.

    “Come on, cuddle up,” he said, putting an arm over her waist.

    She turned towards him and he said hoarsely: “You’re beautiful, Roberta!”, kissed her greedily, squashed himself to her and sighed.

    “I’m afraid I’ll be awful,” she said anxiously, hugging him.

    Hugh began to stroke her long flanks. “You won’t be awful. If anything I will be, I’m terrifically turned on, and I haven’t had it for months and— Well!” He gave a shaky laugh.

    After a moment she said in a puzzled voice: “How can you be awful? I mean, you’ve got an erection, haven’t you?”

    “Manifestly,” he murmured, pressing it against her.

    “Then isn’t that what matters? Um—you don’t mean premature ejaculation, do you?”

    “No, just bloody quick ejaculation!” he choked.

    “Oh,” she said blankly.

    “Were those two young men of yours always pretty quick, may I ask?”

    “Um—I suppose so. I don’t really know. Um—sometimes Mark did it for a long time.”

    “A long and uncomfortable time?”

    “Yes. Only I suppose that was me.”

    “No. Takes practice, for most of us. Doubt if he knew what he was doing or why, let alone how.”

    Roberta gaped at him and he said: “Never mind. It is a pretty primitive instrument, the male member.”

    “Um—yes. Well, it’s a very interesting mechanism.”

    “Mm,” he said, tracing a finger the length of her profile. “What’s up?” he asked, as she flinched.

    “Nothing,” she muttered.

    Hugh put a finger gently on her nose and said: “Your nose? Has some cretin told you it’s too big?”

    “Only about a thousand of them.”

    “The world is full of cretins. It’s both long and beautiful, okay?”

    Roberta admitted in a small voice: “Jemima said something like that, once.”

    “She’s got excellent taste,” approved Hugh with a little smile. He stroked one breast gently and said: “Has she had her baby?”

    “Yes: a boy, he’s lovely, he’s got black hair like hers!” she revealed, beaming suddenly.

    “I suppose Tom’s batty over him?”

    “Yes, he’s building him a pedal car already!” she gurgled.

    “Eh?”

    “Jemima reckons he’s being so particular about it that baby Dirk will’ve have grown out of it by the time it’s finished!”

    Hugh chuckled but said dubiously: “Dirk?”

    “It is a bit fancy, I suppose. It was Jemima’s suggestion, but Tom likes it, he says the baby does look like a Dirk.”

    “Poor little scrap.”

    “Um—I don’t think he meant Dirk Bogarde,” she said cautiously.

    Hugh laughed and hugged her. “That’s a relief! And you like him, do you?”

    Roberta said again that he was lovely and Hugh thought silently that that was also a relief.

    “Feel a bit more warm and relaxed?” he murmured, pressing more closely against her.

    “Yes. It’s nice, isn’t it?” she said shyly.

    “Bodies?”

    “Mm.”

    “Yes, very nice.” He didn’t bother to ask whether the two young louts had just jumped on her and shoved it up there, it was bloody obvious they had. He went on stroking her flanks and occasionally squeezing a breast a little, for quite some time. Then he began to kiss her a little, still stroking and squeezing. Then he began to mumble his face between her breasts and suddenly Roberta grabbed his back and gasped: “Oh, Hugh!” And Hugh’s body jerked and he collapsed on her with all his weight and groaned into her breasts: “Hold me, darling: it’s lovely—oh, God!”

    Roberta held him obediently. Gradually the crashing need to come eased and he drew a breath and took some of his weight off her, kissed a tit and said: “Sorry. I damned nearly came, that was so good.”

    “Was it?” she said, looking at him with huge wondering dark eyes.

    “Yes: kiss me, Roberta!” he said, squeezing her very hard.

    She kissed him obediently and Hugh kissed her passionately and then mumbled at her neck and when she gave a little squeak smiled a bit and nibbled again and said: “Want me to do it down there?”

    “What?” she said faintly.

    Hugh rested on an elbow and smiled into her face and touched her lower lip with his tongue. Roberta’s face went deep scarlet and her body trembled, and he said to her in a very conversational voice: “Did you flood down there just then?”

    “Yes!” she gasped, completely horrified.

    “Thank God, because my erection’s about the heat and height of a bloody towering inferno”—he grabbed her hand and put it on him to prove it—Roberta gulped—“and if we don’t do something about it soon, I may just explode regardless.” He paused.

    “Oh,” she said.

    “Only before I get in there and come like fury, I usually quite like to feel the lady’s also enjoyed—um—some of it,” he said, twinkling madly.

    “Oh,” she said, blanker than ever. “I see. Um—well, I am enjoying it, Hugh.”

    “Darling idiot!” he gasped.

    Roberta looked at him with her brow furrowed and he poked his tongue out very slowly and slowly approached it to her mouth. She trembled and he drew the point of it along her lips, gently outlining them. “Good?” he murmured.

    “Yes,” she said looking at him in a wondering sort of way. “Awfully good.”

    Hugh did it a couple more times, then very slowly slid it into her mouth. For the first time her body jerked and she responded with genuine eagerness. He went on kissing and her breath began to come short and she clutched his torso. Finally, when she gave a little moan, he stopped and drew breath. Then he touched her lip gently again and this time Roberta’s tongue touched his shyly.

    “Jesus!” he said in a shaken tone, stopping.

    “Was that okay?” she asked.

    “Bloody nearly Nirvana,” he croaked.

    “Good,” she said, blushing. “I liked it, too.”

    He knelt up and said: “Let’s try it again. But this time you touch this old fellow that’s poking out at you too, mm?”

    She blushed furiously and didn’t look down and nodded.

    Hugh guided her hand to him and knelt up with Roberta holding him shyly and said: “And I might just touch something too, if I may.”

    She didn’t move her legs but never mind. He fiddled a bit and she gasped and they just touched tongues…

    After a few heart-stopping seconds he pulled her hand off him with a gasp and knelt up, panting.

    “Just cuddle me a minute. Then I’ll get on with Plan A,” he suggested, lying down and pressing against her. Roberta hugged him obediently.

    “Mmm...” said Hugh at last. “Plan A.” He nuzzled her neck a bit, then nuzzled down and cupped her breasts and nibbled a bit. When she squeaked and—without any doubt at all unaware of what a turn-on that was to a gent—moved her legs a bit, he began tracing the whole profile of her, down to the neat waist and the flat belly with its little button. She gasped then, so she obviously liked that, which was good. Hugh thought it was fun, too, so he did that for a few seconds, and then lower...

    Roberta gave a muffled scream and grabbed his shoulders and Hugh pushed his face right in there. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she cried: “Oh, Hugh, oh, Hugh!” and began to move her pelvis in rhythm.

    Finally he paused for breath, panting, and sat up and looked at her and Roberta looked at him dazedly and gasped: “I’ve never done that before!”

    “Never?” he croaked.

    “No: it’s wonderful!” she panted.

    “Too right. Listen, you come if you can and—and then I will—okay?” he said shakily.

    She nodded hard and he smiled and lay down and gently parted the lips and this time touched her very gently with the tip of his tongue. Roberta gave a long wailing cry and grabbed him again. So there was nothing wrong with that aspect of the good old Morton technique, either. Goody. He fiddled at her a little bit, eventually, because he couldn’t help himself, shoving a doubled-up fist against her. When she started to rub herself on it he had an instant’s panic that he was going to come but held back like fury, and she gave a series of deep groans and pushed herself against him and then said: “Oh!” in a funny little croak of a voice and drew breath and shrieked and pulsed all round him like fury.

    At which point Hugh forgot everything including the fact it was the post-AIDS generation, hauled himself up, fell on her and let himself be sucked in there, and came like a surging Hawaiian volcano in its prime.

    … “My God, I’m sorry, Roberta,” he said very faintly into the tangled black hair.

    He heard her swallow. “You said you’d use one.”

    “Mm.” He raised himself on an elbow and peered into her face and said shakily: “I swear I meant to; I just—I just lost sight of everything. I— Well, I don’t know, what with all the holding back, and then you started to come and I— Christ, I just—I just had to, I didn’t stop to think or…” He stopped, and looked at her helplessly.

    Roberta looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t think I could have stopped, either, I suppose it was the same sort of thing.”

    “Yes,” said Hugh, biting his lip. “Is—is your period due quite soon?”

    “Um—yes,” she said in surprize: “in about three days, I think.”

    “I thought it must be,” he said in relief, lying down again. “I mean, I didn’t consciously decide it must be and then behave like a pig, but— Well, thank Christ for that, that’s all!”

    After a moment she said: “How could you tell?”

    Hugh lay back against the pillows and rubbed his hand over his face and grimaced and said: “Uh—well, by the taste, darling. I mean, like I said, I didn’t consciously think it at the time, but now…”

    “I see,” she said.

    He glanced at her cautiously and found she was looking at him with—ugh, disapproval? Something not good, at any rate. “Look, I haven’t got AIDS!” he said loudly and angrily, raising himself on an elbow and passing his hand across his face again.

    “Nor have I. Well, I’ve never done it before without a condom. Only what if I had had?” she said seriously.

    Hugh flung himself back on his pillows. “Believe me, it would have been worth it! I can’t think of a better way to go. Well, apart from a heart attack when you’re actually in the saddle. And believe you me, sweetheart, with what you’ve got down there I bloody nearly felt I was having one! Well, gonna have one if I didn’t get in there and— Oh, well. Like I said, I’m sorry.”

    She didn’t answer. After some time he found the courage to glance cautiously at her again and saw to his horror that she was crying silently.

    “Don’t!” he said, putting his arms round her. “Don’t, sweetheart: it’ll be all right! You won’t get pregnant and you won’t catch anything, and—and I’ll swear on anything you like that I’ll never do it without a condom again if you don’t want me to!”

    Roberta just sniffled and he held her tight and whispered helplessly: “Please don’t cry, sweetheart.”

     After a while she sobbed: “It was—lovely—and you—spoiled—it!”

    “I know, darling: I’m a selfish beast,” he said miserably.

    “No! Stop—apologizing!” she gasped.

    He swallowed and managed to croak: “I’m spoiling it by apologizing?”

    “Mm!” she gulped.

    “Hang on.” He sat up and grabbed a handful of tissues and shoved them into her hand. Roberta blew her nose hard and he said with a whimsical grimace: “I was only trying to make up for not having been a gent by apologizing like a gent.”

    “Mm.”

    He pulled her against him gently and said: “Close your eyes. –Have you?” She nodded into his shoulder and he murmured: “It was wonderful for me too, sweetheart. That was why all the urgency and the shouting and—well. The whole thing was wonderful, you were wonderful and—and the actual orgasm was—well, one can’t describe these things, really, but it was every bloody Guy Fawkes Day and Fourth of July rolled into one and then some.”

    After a moment she looked into his eyes with a little frown and said: “Truly?”

    Hugh nodded fervently.

    “It was like that for me, too,” she said earnestly. She hesitated. “I’ve never had one before.”

    Hugh swallowed. “You mean—uh—not with a boy, darling?”

    “No, never. I know lots of girls masturbate, but I never have. I suppose I never really thought about it. Well—um—until I met John Nicholls,” she said, going very red, “I never really knew how to. He tried to do it to me with his finger and he got awfully wild when I couldn’t. So I just assumed that—um—that I couldn’t, I suppose.”

    Hugh’s eyes filled with tears. He held her tight and said into her satiny shoulder: “I’ll give you lots, Roberta, for as long as you can put up with me.”

    “Thanks,” she said gruffly, hugging him.

    He stroked the long length of her back and hips and she turned her head and smiled at him in a serene sort of way.

    Hugh’s heart jolted unexpectedly and he said: “We can go on with this, can we, darling?”

    “Yes; if you like,” she said shyly.

    “Of course I like, blokes are made like that. What about you? I don’t just mean the sex, can you stand it if—if I go along with the sex?”

    Roberta looked at him uncertainly and realized that Michaela’s refusal to go with him to America had really shaken his confidence in himself. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve always known I could stand you. It was the sex I wasn’t sure about.”

    Hugh’s mouth trembled and he said: “Come down in the bed.”

    She snuggled down and he pulled her against him and pulled up the covers and said: “That’s it, let’s be cosy... I’m glad it’s not just the sex. It isn’t just the sex with me, either, I’ve spent the last six months just living for your letters.”

    “Me, too,” said Roberta with a sigh.

    After a while he mumbled something into her neck and gave a sheepish laugh, and Roberta said anxiously: “What?”

    “I said that I bought you a sexy negligée in the States—about the shade of that dress bloody Ralph got you, he’s got a good eye for colour, I’ll say that for him—but for the last eight thousand miles or so I’ve been quite sure I’d never work up the guts to give it to you!”

    Roberta just smiled and said: “It sounds lovely. We’ll unpack it later. I’ve never had a negligée before.”

    “Good,” yawned Hugh. He nuzzled into her bosom and fell fast asleep.

    On Puriri Beach Ginny sat under Felicity Wiseman’s large sun umbrella hugging her knees and glaring crossly out to sea. “He’s taken her over!”

    “Mm. Well, it is natural, I suppose,” murmured Felicity.

    “Yeah: he must know a lot more than her. I mean—you know. And he’d expect her to kind of fit in with his way of life—I mean, he is a Helluva lot older than her, Twin,” agreed Vicki on an uncertain note.

    “He’s too old for her: he’s ancient!” retorted Ginny immediately.

    “Well, you had that stupid thing for that stupid old Brownloe creep,” Vicki reminded her.

    “That was ages ago!” she said crossly, turning scarlet. “Anyway, that was different.”

    “I’ll say: he never loaded you up with dresses and bags and shoes and stuff: did you see that violet suit she had on the other day?”

    “Yes, and I think it’s disgusting!” said Ginny angrily.

    After a moment Vicki said uncertainly: “It’s a nice suit.”

    “Of course it’s a nice suit, ya moron, it’s her accepting all these presents from that creepy old Hugh that’s disgusting!”

    “That’s not quite fair, Ginny: I think he really is in love with her,” protested Felicity.

    “Yeah, but he’s still ancient, Mum,” objected Anne, suddenly raising her head from her folded arms.

    Felicity sighed. “Go to sleep again.”

    “I wasn’t!” Anne yawned widely but appeared unabashed. “Do you reckon it’s all right to take dresses and junk from old men if they’re in love with you, then?”

    Felicity opened her mouth. She perceived that all three of them were looking at her expectantly: pack of little sillies! Eventually she said weakly: “You do have this trick of phrasing things the most unfortunate way possible, Anne...”

    “What do you mean? I do not!” cried Anne indignantly, sitting up.

    “Yes, you do,” said her, mother weakly. “You’ve just implied—um—well, the way  you put it made it sound as if we were all still living in the nineteenth century! Good Heavens, he’s an attractive man, and he’s got very little else to spend his money on: why on earth shouldn’t he give her a few dresses and so on? If you ask me, I think she’s a very lucky young woman!”

    They all goggled at her.

    Finally Vicki said weakly: “Yeah, he’s not that bad, Twin. Well, Polly likes him.”

    “Polly!” she cried scornfully. She got up. “I’m going for another swim.”

    “Put some more sunscreen cream on,” said Felicity weakly.

    Vicki bounced up and began to slather her twin’s back in sunscreen. When Ginny had run down to the water she sat down again and said crossly: “I reckon she’s just jealous!”

    “Yeah, only which of?” asked Anne deeply.

    Felicity gave her a Look. “That’ll do, Madam: just because you’re going to start Psychology at varsity next year—”

    “Sociology, mainly,” replied Anne smugly. She sat up and hugged her knees. Vicki immediately began to plaster her back with sunscreen.

    Felicity sighed. “Yes. –I never dreamed I’d see the day; Margaret Prior deserves a medal,” she muttered.

    Anne grinned and poked her tongue out at her. “It’s my brains.”

    “Yes, but it took Margaret to make you see that they could be used to work at something you really enjoy!” rejoined her mother with spirit.

    “That’s true,” agreed Vicki.

    “Yeah,” conceded Anne. “Mrs Prior’s okay.”

    “And she deserves a medal,” said Felicity firmly, but with a twinkle in her eye.

    “And she deserves a medal,” conceded Anne, grinning. “Yeah. –Only which of them is Ginny jealous of, do you reckon, Mum?”

    Felicity groaned.

    “Both,” said Vicki sourly. “Here, do my back.” She handed Anne the sunscreen cream and turned her back on her.

    Anne rubbed cream on her obediently but said: “Yeah: I reckon it could be both. She’s jealous because Roberta’s her friend and old Hughey-Dewey’s taking up all her time and never lets her get a glimpse of her, hardly, and on the other hand because Roberta’s got a boyfriend and she hasn’t!” She beamed.

    “Deep,” noted Felicity drily.

    “Yeah: wait until she gets to varsity,” predicted Vicki glumly. “You oughta hear some of the garbage Twin comes out with.”

    “Mm,” agreed Felicity despite herself.

    “The other day she said there was some bloke—some Greek bloke, I think, or was he Latin?—some old philosopher or something, that reckoned the whole world was only made of numbers!”

    There was a short silence. During it Anne began to look very thoughtful.

    “And then,” said Vicki impressively: “she reckoned that in a way he was right!”

    Felicity swallowed.

    “Yeah, because listen—” began Anne, all lit up.

    “No,” said Felicity firmly. She put on her tee-shirt and got up. “Not on top of Roberta’s affaire with that orthopaedic surgeon, thank you, Anne, I just couldn’t.”

    “But Mum, it’s interesti—”

    “No. I’m going to get an ice cream. I’ll get you all one, only DON’T COME WITH ME, THANK YOU, ANNE!”

    As she came back with the ice creams Anne was just saying: “I still vote for Paris. With Honolulu a close second.”

    “For what?” asked Felicity limply. “Grab these, they’re melting, it’s this dratted El Nino.”

    They all grabbed ice cream cones and Felicity sat down and said: “Well? Paris and Honolulu for what?”

    “A honeymoon,” admitted Anne.

    Felicity’s lips twitched. This would have been provoked by her and Ted deciding to go to Norfolk Island for theirs. “I see. You’re marrying a millionaire, are you? No, hang on, you’ll wait until little Davey and Johnny Carrano are grown up, and then grab one of them!”

    The Austin twins giggled madly and Anne grinned and said: “Nah: I knew Polly and Jake before they were even born! Before they were married, even!”

    Felicity had long since done the requisite arithmetic and she thought to herself, yeah, just, but not before the twins were thought of; but refrained from saying it.

    “Our ideal honeymoon,” elaborated Vicki seriously.

    “I vote for Paris,” Anne explained, “and Vicki votes for Honolulu and Ginny—um, do you still vote for Japan, Ginny?”

    “Yes. The cherry blossoms would be nice... You wouldn’t have to go to where all the office workers go. Somewhere in the country would be nice. One of those old-fashioned inns.”

    “I’ve always thought they sounded draughty and cold,” said Felicity. “Anyway, it’s rather more who you go with, not where.”

    They ate ice cream reflectively.

    After a while Ginny said: “Roberta’s given up her job at The Blue Heron. Mrs Collingwood was quite upset, they’d been relying on her for the summer holidays.”

    “Blow, I coulda stayed up here and done it, if I’da known!” cried Vicki crossly.

    “Don’t be mad, that job at New Plymouth hospital’s miles better pay, and at least you’ll be within coo-ee of your own profession!” retorted Ginny.

    Vicki sighed. “Yeah. Emptying bedpans within coo-ee of my own profession. And being dragged off home every weekend won’t be much chop.”

    “Not when you’re on shifts, though.”

    “No, that’ll be worse: they’ll drag me off during the week and I’ll never see the shops or anything!”

    Felicity hesitated. Then she said: “Why has Roberta given up the job at the motel, Ginny?”

    Ginny sighed. “She’s doing rounds with him all summer, or some such garbage.”

    “It’s a marvellous opportunity,” said Vicki on a weak note.

    “It won’t pay her rent next year when he dumps her, though!”

    “Rounds? Won’t he take a holiday over Christmas and New Year’s, though?” ventured Felicity.

    “Yeah, probably, don’tcha think, Twin?” asked Vicki.

    “Don’t ask me!” Ginny got up abruptly, hauled her tee-shirt on and walked away.

    “Not our day,” observed Felicity drily.

    “No,” said Vicki weakly. “I wish she was coming down home with me.”

    “I’m almost at the point of wishing she was coming to Norfolk Island with us—well, not quite!” said Felicity with a grin. “What is she going to do with herself all summer, if you’re off working in New Plymouth and Roberta’s time’s being occupied exclusively by Hugh Whatsisname?

    “Dunno. Well, she’s got that shelving job at Puriri Library, still, only it doesn’t pay much, and it’s only a few hours a week.”

    “Yes,” agreed Felicity dubiously.

    “And there’s my cleaning jobs as well as hers. Only some of them are going away, they won’t want her every week.”

    “I’ve gotta be back in good time to buy my varsity textbooks and enrol,” Anne reminded them. “She could come and stay with me at home!”

    Felicity winced. “Mm.”

    Vicki sighed. “It’ll be the first time we haven’t spent the Christmas holidays together... Oh, well, Euan’ll be there most of the time, and she’ll have her stupid books.”

    “Mm.”

    They stared out to sea through their sunglasses.

    After a while Vicki said: “Maybe Hugh’ll dump Roberta.”

    “Maybe he won’t,” contradicted her twin, coming back still looking sulky and sitting down beside her.

    Vicki gave her the sunscreen. “Do your legs,” she said. Ginny automatically began to do her legs.

    “What do you reckon, Felicity?” insisted Vicki.

    Felicity hesitated. Then she admitted: “After seeing the two of them at The Blue Heron Restaurant last week, I really don’t think— Well, I know there’s the age gap and so on, but Ted agrees with me that they seem very happy together. Not just in love, but—well, very well suited, we thought. And he is a nice man, Vicki.”

    “Huh!” said Ginny.

    “You liked him all right when he was going round with Michaela,” Anne reminded her.

    “Yes,” agreed Felicity. “And—” She hesitated. The three of them looked at her expectantly. Felicity swallowed a little sigh and said: “Roberta’s always been rather an unhappy girl, hasn’t she? I mean, her father’s a delightful man, of course, but I rather think he and his wife have always been very much wrapped up in each other and their careers, haven’t they? Not very much time for little Roberta.”

    Vicki nodded. “Yeah, they used to send her down to Wellington to those gruesome old great-aunties for her school holidays and that.”

    “Yeah,” agreed Ginny with a scowl.

    Felicity sighed. “Yes. Well, I’m no psychologist, but I’d say that Roberta’s getting the sort of affection from this man that she never got from her parents.”

    “Oh,” said Vicki numbly.

    “But— Oh,” said Ginny. “I get it. One theory is that everyone’s always looking for another mother, of course. It doesn’t matter what your sex is, either.”

    “Yeah!” Anne agreed eagerly

    Vicki opened her mouth but caught Felicity’s eye in time and shut it again.

    “Something very like that,” Felicity agreed mildly.

    After moment Vicki said: “You never can tell with relationships, mind you.”

    “No. But I wouldn’t write this one off just yet,” said Felicity, lying down and putting her head on her folded arms.

    “No. Well, I’m glad she’s happy,” said Ginny glumly.

    “She said no,” Roberta reported sadly, putting the phone down. “That’s the third time.”

    Hugh came up behind her and put his arms round her. “Never mind, darling. She’ll come round, in time. I think she feels that I’ve betrayed Michaela, or some such thing.”

    “That we both have, you mean. Well, she is her cousin. I have tried to explain that it was all over between you, but you know Ginny, she won’t listen.”

    Hugh didn’t know Ginny all that well but he was quite ready to take Roberta’s word for it. He did know that Ginny’s consistent refusal to come and dine with them was beginning to upset Roberta, however, and frankly he could cheerfully have put the bloody kid over his knee and belted her one.

    “Mm. Let’s invite someone else, instead,” he said, hugging her. Someone a bit bloody more adult, he thought, not saying it.

    “Um—who? I suppose I don’t know very many people, really.”

    Adult but not too old, he didn’t want Roberta feeling left out. “Um—Tom and Jemima? You like her, don’t you, darling?”

    “Ye-es... What about the baby?”

    Hugh hugged her again and said: “Unless he’s the sort that bawls all night, they could bring him in his carrycot. That’s what people usually do. Most infants of that age are quite happy to be carted all over the show and—er—dumped on the bed in the master bedroom is the usual style, I think!”

    “In the carrycot?”

    “Yes. Mustn’t leave a baby on a big bed, he might roll off,” said Hugh, hugging her to him.

    Roberta leaned back against him. “Mm. Shall I ring Jemima, then?”

    Hugh nuzzled her neck. “Mm-hm. Or I will, if you’d rather.”

    “No, I’ll do it,” she said, sounding eager.

    Good, thought Hugh.

    … “They’d love to come, and they will bring the baby in his carrycot!” she reported, eyes shining.

    Hugh had gathered all that but he just said: “Good. Come here.” He kissed her gently. “I love you, Ms Roberta Nicholls,” he said.

    “Will you love me after I’ve burnt the dinner, though?” she replied with a grin.

    “Is it possible to burn Chinese takeaways?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

    “Not tonight, you clot, Friday’s dinner!” she choked.

    “Oh—Friday’s. No, I’ll be covered in shame and never dare to show me head— Ow! No! Sorry!” he shouted, as she bashed his arm. “Look, let’s eat before it gets dried out.”

    He rescued the Chinese dinner from the low oven and they sat down to it.

    “What are you going to burn for us on Friday?” he asked with a twinkle.

    “Um—well, I did think about that spinach pie thing, Aunty Calliope taught me how to do that, but Tom’s is miles nicer than hers.”

    “Roast leg of lamb?” suggested Hugh, twinkling at her.

    Roberta swallowed nervously. “Um—well, what time will you be home, Hugh?”

    Hugh rubbed his nose. “Half-past fourish, I hope.”

    “Good,” she said with a sigh. “You can make sure I’ve got the temperature right.”

    “The right temperature scale,” he murmured.

    “Yeah. Oh, well, that chicken wasn’t too bad: at least you rescued it in time. Only there ought to be a law that cookery books can only use one scale!”

    “And that it matches the scale of eye-level ovens: quite.”

    Roberta grinned, and grabbed the last pork spare-rib from under his nose.

    “Dare I say it?” he murmured. “You shouldn’t have let Meg O’Connell foist that ancient cookery book on you.”

    “Well, she started off with it, she reckoned it was infallible. Only come to think of it, their oven probably is still in Fahrenheit.”

    “Yes!” he gasped, laughing himself silly and missing out on the last dim-sim.

    Roberta swallowed, grinned, and said: “Mum gave me a cookery book this morning.”

    Hugh choked on his mineral water.

    “I think she’s getting over the shock,” she said.

    “Yes!” he coughed.

    Roberta got up and bashed him on the back.

    “Either that,” said Hugh, recovering, “or your father’s pointed out that I’m having a civilizing influence on you.”

    “Yeah,” she agreed simply.

    “Dare I ask, what is it?” he whispered.

    “You sound like Ralph,” Roberta pointed out. “I’ll get it.”

    She put it in front of him without remark.

    After quite some time Hugh managed to say: “There’s nothing wrong with my heart.”

    “No, and according to Mum if we use this book there won’t be.”

    Hugh opened it gingerly. He winced, and closed it again.

    “It’s all like that,” she said calmly.

    “It would be. Did Ariadne—now, I know she’s your mother, but I’m afraid I have to ask this, darling—did Ariadne pay cash money for this?”

    “No, of course not: the surgery’s full of them, the Heart Foundation hands them out by the bucketload!” gasped Roberta, collapsing in hysterics.

    “I can think of better ways to ensure my heart stays healthy,” he murmured.

    “Yeah: Mum told me sex was good for you and not to worry about that,” she replied calmly.

    Hugh choked again. “She didn’t!” he gasped.

    “Yeah, of course she did,” Roberta replied in mild surprize. “She’s like that.”

    Hugh swallowed. “Did you ask her?”

    “No,” she replied mildly. “She volunteered it.”

    Hugh closed his eyes.

    Roberta poured herself a glass of mineral water. “Then she said did you buy the thing I had on.”

    Hugh opened his eyes cautiously. “What did you have on? –Strewth, not the negligée?”

    “No, even Mum wouldn’t have had to ask about that! No, my new jeans and that red blouse with the frills all down the sleeves.”

    “Your Mexican blouse!” Hugh smiled reminiscently. “The Oppenheimers took me to a real tourist trap that day: a Spanish mission place. It was just after I’d got the letter where you told me the pussy-willows were out up the old Waikaukau road and how you felt swooping down it on your bike—you know.” Roberta blushed. Hugh smiled and went on: “Anyway, the purpose of the Spanish mission seemed to be to sell as much Mexicany tourist junk as possible, and even though I knew it was mad to get you something like that because you’d probably throw it in my face, I went ahead and did it.”

    “It’s nice. It washes well, too.”

    “Yes, it’s a real American Mexicany tourist-junk blouse!” he choked. “Er—what did Ariadne say about it, or don’t I dare ask?”

    Roberta gulped. “She said the colour suited me and it was a nice change from seeing me drape myself in black like the aunties, and I ought to wear Grandma’s garnet earrings with it. And before I could say I didn’t have Grandma’s garnet earrings, she said she’d give them to me!”

    Hugh’s jaw sagged.

    “I think we’d better ask them to tea, too,” she said.

    “Yeah,” he croaked. “I think we better had.”

    “Mum quite likes babies, we could ask them on the same day as Jemima and Tom, if you like.”

    “All right, darling,” he croaked. “Let’s.”

    Roberta bounced up, beaming. “I’ll do it now!” She rushed out to the phone.

    Hugh just sat there, flabbergasted, for a while. But gradually a pleased smile crept over his lean countenance. “Well, well,” he murmured to himself. What was that bloody song that Ralph had quoted to—no, at him, at the airport? He couldn’t quite remember it, but something about: “Welcome back, your dreams were your ticket out”—um, da-da-da—um—something about “Back here is where we need you.” It was beginning to look like it, wasn’t it?

    When she came back, beaming, and reported that they’d accepted and Keith had said it had better be roast lamb, he was dying for a belt of protein and saturated fats, he hummed it to her but naturally she didn’t recognize it. “Wrong generation,” he said, pulling her onto his knee.

    “Mm,” agreed Roberta happily. “Isn’t it nice, though?”

    Hugh nuzzled into the hair at her neck. “Isn’t it?” he agreed happily.

Next chapter:

https://theamericanrefugeeanovel.blogspot.com/2022/10/summer-showers.html