The Seduction of Suzanne (5 page)

“Arms, legs, firstborn son,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

True to his word he was only in the house long enough to raise the triple garage door, revealing an impressive array of recreational toys. Speedboat, jet skis, kayaks, and a rack full of water skis and diving gear. He collected a chilli bin and filled it with a bag of ice from the freezer, chose a pair of tanks, and bundled flippers, mask and a short wetsuit into a backpack he slung onto his back. Then he hit a button and ducked under the closing door, coming towards her. He carried the whole awkward load like it weighed nothing. She would have to make two trips to move so much gear.

Meanwhile
Suzanne pulled her shorts and T-shirt out of her bag and scrambled into them. She didn’t want to dress with him watching. It felt far too intimate. Her clothes were scratchy with the thin layer of salt and sand clinging to her, and she was probably leaving more in the car, but she wasn’t about to climb out to brush it off onto the ground.

“Andrew must really trust you,” she said as he climbed into the car, having packed the dive gear
into the trunk and closed it. One of her elbows was propped on the lintel of the window, fingers stroking absently at the fine finish of the interior.

“Don’t worry, I’ve driven it quite a bit, so you’re perfectly safe.”

“If you say so,” she replied, and fastened her own seatbelt as they turned onto the road.

After a moment of self-conscious silence as she wondered where she should go from here, after her earlier rudeness, she decided she should be polite and act indifferent to him. Maybe that would deflate his outrageous flirting where stroppy rejection had not. So she made small talk as he
drove, only giving directions when necessary.

He controlled the car with easy competency, putting it in exactly the right place on the narrow, sometimes metalled roads, and she soon relaxed about his competency behind the wheel.

Before long she’d discovered that he had been on the island for nearly a month, and had an open-ended ticket out of New Zealand and back to California.

“So I’m planning to stay for another five months or so, until my visitor’s entry into New Zealand expires.”

“Will you be on the Barrier all that time?”

“I had given some thought to travelling around the country. I like skiing, so I was considering going down to the South Island in May and June for the winter season.”

“And you’re not considering it anymore?”

“Now I’m thinking that I’d like to see what winter looks like here on Great Barrier,” he said, his eyes on the road.

“Wet. And muddy.” she said discouragingly.

“Well I’m sure the locals find plenty to do inside when the weather’s foul.”

“The mainland’s much more fun than the Barrier in winter. Here it’s cold and rainy, and there are sometimes storms so that they cancel the planes and ferries, and one is trapped on the island. The walking tracks turn to mud, it’s too rough for good fishing or kayaking, and snorkelling or swimming are practically out of the question. It’s grey, and gloomy, and dull.”

“That sounds grim. Trying to talk me out of staying?” he asked, his brow a little furrowed.

“I’m not. It’s just . . .” she didn’t know what to say. She
was
trying to talk him out of it, but she didn’t know why.

“Just that it’s best not to plan too far ahead,” she replied lightly. “When the bad weather rolls around, you may find that you prefer to be elsewhere, so it’s better not to tie yourself down so soon.”

She stole a glance at him and saw he was still frowning slightly, as if trying to see the meaning behind her words.

“Here we are,” she exclaimed with relief, having absolutely no desire to explain her thoughts to him. “It’s this turning on the left. By the red mailbox.”

He turned in where she pointed, following the driveway – two bare earth grooves over a stretch of grass with regrowing scrub on either side – for a hundred metres before it widened out into the clearing containing her home.

It was an old bungalow with a wraparound verandah, freshly painted and relaxed in the sun, framed by the huge pohutukawa tree that leaned in on one side, branches lightly tapping the roof. The tree was in full flower, a brilliant blaze of delicate red needles. Justin pulled the car up in front of the trim porch and she was out of it almost before he stopped.

“Don’t get out. I won’t be a moment,” she called over her shoulder as she bounced up the steps and through the door she hadn’t locked. The house smelt faintly of the wholegrain bread she’d baked that morning. She washed her hands then grabbed the loaf off the counter and tore off a chunk, thrusting the rest in a plastic bag along with a knife and a plastic container of homemade hummus from the fridge. She ate the bread in her hand as she added a punnet of blueberries, two peaches, two plastic cups and a stainless steel drink bottle full of rainwater from her tap.

She left the plastic bag by the front door and went back for a towel, wetsuit and the diving gear which was heaped casually on a chair in her front room. The tank was empty but she would refill it at Fitzroy. She also picked up the clever lasso gizmo she had bought from the fishing shop at Claris last
week.

Larry, who owned the shop, had pointed it out as soon as she came in.

“Gidday Suzanne. Look what I’ve got for you, kiddo. It’s a lasso stick. See this loop. You put it around the head of the crayfish and you tighten the loop by pulling this bit here. Then you can haul them out and have a look without hurting them, make sure they’re the right size. If they’re a bit on the small side just let them go, no harm done. Perfect. You’ll love it!”

And she had, enough to add it to her modest collection of fishing gear. Loaded up, she headed out the door. Justin was leaning against the front of the car but he immediately straightened and came towards her, ignoring her gesture trying to wave him off, and lifted the tank and bag of gear from her shoulders.

She shrugged mentally to herself – she wasn’t about to fight him for it – and climbed back into her seat with her plastic bag. As he stowed her equipment in the back she put the bag between her feet and tore a hunk of bread off the loaf, spreading it thickly with hummus and holding it out to Justin as he slid in behind the wheel.

“What’s this?” he enquired as he took it politely.

“Homemade bread and hummus.” She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen as he bit into it and started chewing.

“Good God! That tastes amazing!”

“Nothing quite like fresh,” she said with complacency. She was proud of her abilities in the kitchen. Certainly her father had been no cook. And her mother had left when she was ten so Suzanne had been in charge of meals for many years, even before her father died and left her alone.

Justin inhaled the rest and held out his hand expectantly as he started the car. She put another chunk into it and got one for herself. As he drove she continued to feed him bread, then pieces of peach she cut off with the knife, and blueberries. She hadn’t considered the intimacy of feeding him when she started on the project. Maybe she should have waited until Fitzroy to eat. Every time his hand brushed hers she felt acutely self-conscious, aware of the contact all the way to her toes. But he kept his eyes on the road so she hoped he was oblivious to her heightened awareness of him.

“How long have you lived in that house?”

“All my life.”

“It’s beautiful. Very peaceful. And much more private than Medlands.”

“I love it. The birdsong in the morning is amazing. I couldn’t bear to live down on the beach. It’s lovely to spend the day there but when I head home I want something a bit more secluded.”

“You don’t worry about living all alone in that isolation?”

“I have neighbours fairly close. You can’t see them through the trees but I know they’re there. If I had an intruder I could bellow and someone would come running. Not that that is likely to
happen on the island. An intruder I mean. I won’t say the crime rate is zero, but the local cops don’t have a lot to do.”

He kept asking her casual questions, and she found herself gradually loosening up and telling him more about herself than she would usually tell a stranger. In fact she had to keep reminding herself he was a stranger. He had such an easy-going, warm nature it quickly began to feel like she was sharing the car with a friend. Twice she caught herself back from telling him something quite personal.

But then she would look at him, at that perfectly chiselled profile and rippling golden hair and her stomach would churn with those same old warnings.

Any man that gorgeous was bad news.

Any visitor to the island would soon be gone.

Only a foolish woman took risks with a person she barely knew.

The trees and ponga ferns flashed by the car windows as they breasted the hill and started the drive down the winding road that led to Port Fitzroy. Several cars passed them, coming away from the port, and Suzanne wondered if the ferry was in. It would be a hassle filling her air tanks if the port was crowded. She should have done it after her last dive but she hated to lug them around full of air.

Justin had fallen silent and she suddenly realised he had asked all the question
s, so she had learnt nothing more about him. Not that she needed to know anything. She was perfectly happy for him to stay a closed book. Of course.

The ferry was just pulling away as they came around the last bend. The pace of their car slowed to a crawl as Justin negotiated the parked cars lining one side of the road, and the departing cars on the other side. The exchange of passengers arriving and leaving the island had choked the narrow road, but they would soon disperse.

Justin found a recently vacated space on the grass where the road levelled out, and pulled into it. Without hesitation Suzanne was around at the back to haul her gear out, but Justin was right behind her. He lifted her empty tanks from her hands and tucked them under one arm, his own tanks under the other arm and his backpack full of wetsuit, flippers and other things hanging from one shoulder. He made it look easy.

She didn’t much like being helped – even a tiny sense of obligation was too much – but she was too dignified to growl at him. She slung her own bag
on and led the way to the little booth offering air fills. 

“Hey Greg. Howzit?” she asked the lean, balding man behind the tiny desk. He raised his head from where he was frowning over a pile of dockets, and gave her a gap-toothed smile.

“Good. Good. Box of birds. After a refill?” He looked Justin up and down with curiosity, his smile still spread over his weatherbeaten face.

Following his gaze to Justin carrying her
equipment so casually, she knew Greg would make the natural assumption they were coupled up. She drew in a quiet sigh as she imagined the gossip mill cranking into life over her. No doubt she would receive congratulations on bagging such a fine specimen and hauling him off to her bed. The ladies up at the Fitzroy Store – a hundred metres back up the hill – would giggle and tease. No way was she stopping on the way home to get her usual icecream-on-a-stick. It wasn’t worth it.

“Yep. His are on a separate tab,” she said, flicking her head towards Justin.

He didn’t say anything but his eyes twinkled an understanding glint at her. She looked away then let her feet wander the few metres to the water’s edge.

Tiny wavelets lapped at the concrete boat ramp, cluttered with red needles and leaves from the overhanging pohutukawa trees that scrabbled their way out of the cliff. She stepped into the water and watched the debris part to make way for her feet, her rugged sandals soaked in an instant. It was warm on her ankles, heated by its slow crawl over the scorching stone and concrete.

A tiny rubber dinghy puttered up, directed by a man in a white cloth fisherman’s hat fastened securely under his chin. He brought the nose of his little craft competently to land, then jumped out to lend a hand to his stouter companion. The woman in her beige linen trousers and sleeveless floral shirt wobbled precariously for a moment as she stood, caught herself and managed to make the leap to dry ground. Suzanne stepped forward to grab the dinghy that was skating away, propelled by the woman’s back foot. She lifted it bodily out of the water by its handles – miniature outboard propellor and all – and put it to one side where others lay on the grass, awaiting their owners. They were tenders for some of the yachts moored in the sheltered bay.

Suzanne
waved away the man’s thanks with a: “No worries,” smiled briefly at the woman then turned back to the water, taking another step into it to feel it creep up her calves. She shoved her sunglasses a little further up her nose, glad of them with all the glare shining off the surface, then stooped to scoop up a handful of water to rub over her forearms for the coolness of it.

“Hey Miss Turlin, you want anything to eat?” called out Kyle’s teenage son Tui from the top of the boat ramp. She turned with a smile. He had been in her class the first year she came back to the island to teach, and even though that was a couple of years ago now, old habits died hard and he still sometimes forgot to call her by her first name.

“I’m good thanks. I ate on the way over. Ask Justin though. He might not have had enough.” The boy nodded his acknowledgement, turning and walking in one awkward motion that almost saw him stumble. He was thirteen and in the midst of a growth spurt, all big feet and flying elbows. He turned the hop into a loping trot over to the hamburger stall where Kyle stood waiting, chatting to Meihana who was taking orders today, her sister flipping burgers.