Page 35 of Reasons Of the Heart

Fran towelled herself quickly, grimacing as she caught sight of the bedroom clock. Eight-thirty. The few of her friends who hadn't been driven off by her inhospitable hours knew better than to make social calls after dark. Fran was often in bed at this time, trying to wrest sleep away from regretful, disturbing dreams.

The soft pink and grey tracksuit clung uncomfortably to her still-damp skin, but Fran was too tired to care. She would get rid of whoever it was, heat a quick TV dinner and fall into bed.

She was yawning as she opened the front door of her apartment, leaving the safety chain attached. The yawn froze in her throat.

'Beth!'

Fran fumbled with the chain and threw the door wide, her eyes automatically going past the hesitantly smiling girl to the echoingly empty corridor beyond. Her stomach twisted. What had she expected? She had made it very clear to Ross that she didn't want to see him again, and he had as much pride as she did.

The painful thought must have shown in her face be­cause Beth Tarrant's smile faded and she shifted her bag awkwardly from one shoulder to the other.

'Hello, Fran... I know I should have rung first but... well, Mum did give me your address and said you asked about me when you wrote. She said I should look you up... I was just on my way back to the hostel from the movies, and since I was passing—' The girl shrugged and tried another smile. 'Look, if I've come at a bad time, I can come back...' She half turned away.

'No!' Fran's urgent cry surprised them both. 'I mean, it's lovely to see you, Beth. I was just surprised, that's all.' In those last few golden days at Whaler's Bay she and Beth had become quite friendly, the teenager con­fiding her firm intention to start her nursing training in Auckland as soon as she was old enough. 'Come on through. Excuse the faint air of neglect,' she apologised, with the guilt of former fastidiousness for the comfort­ably furnished but untidy lounge. 'I've been so flat out I really only use this place for washing, eating and sleeping... in that order.'

'You live here alone?'

'I used to share with another nurse, but when she moved out to get married I didn't bother to find anyone else. I can afford the rent and I appreciate the peace and quiet.' Fran hoped that Beth didn't notice the slight ring of hollowness. Since the girl looked interested she showed her around. Beth seemed strangely subdued and diffi­dent, quite unlike her usual bouncy self.

'When did you start your training?' Fran asked, as the tour finished up in the second bedroom and Beth showed the first glimmer of her former animation.

'Three weeks ago today. Of course it'll be ages before I'm allowed near real patients.' She sighed. Was she dis­illusioned already? Fran could have sworn that Beth had the enthusiasm, determination and resilience to make a good nurse. It was all she had ever wanted to be, she had told Fran, with that Tarrant confidence.

'Would you like some tea or coffee? I was just about to heat myself some dinner...'

'I'm a bit peckish myself,' Beth said with engaging wistfulness. 'I'm paying full board at the hostel, but the meal hours are fixed and if you miss out, you miss out. The biddy who runs it doesn't like us mucking about too much in her kitchen, so other than snacks I don't get a chance to cook the things I like.' Beth had her mother's flair in the kitchen and Fran, having tasted some of her offerings, could appreciate the mournful look.

"I was only going to heat up something frozen, but you can make us some of your fancy omelettes if you like.'

Fran showed her where everything was in the compact kitchen and then set the oval table, listening in amusement to Beth's rapid-fire chatter as she whirled from fridge to bench to stove, her long, dark plait flying around her slim shoulders.

'I would have called ages ago.' Beth raised her voice over the whisking of eggs. 'But I wasn't quite sure of my welcome. I know that you and Ross had some kind of fight...'

'Yes, we did... but you're always welcome to call in, Beth,' Fran managed to keep her voice even. 'A lot of my work involves beavering away on my own, so I ap­preciate a bit of company.' It was as close as she'd come to admitting she was a little lonely. Success was sweet, but it would be sweeter with someone to share it.

Christine, as a solo mother of two teenage children, had a very busy life outside the running of the seven-day-a-week Garden Centre, and the assistant who helped Fran with the contracting was also studying horticulture, so she didn't see much of them in her off-hours. Now that she had begun to adjust to the new rhythms of her life, Fran had the awful feeling that she was going to miss Ross even more...

Ross. To say that they had had a fight wasn't quite accurate. She had fought, Ross had reasoned, but Fran had been in no mood to listen to reason. She had been afraid, and as always when she was afraid she had closed up and listened only to the promptings of her fear. In all his sweet seduction Ross had never murmured a word of love. He had been honest. There had been no embar­rassing slip of the tongue to encourage false hopes, he had spoken only of mutual needs and desires. Oh yes, Fran had those, but her close encounter with the white heat of her own passion had shaken her deeply. That she was capable of such unreserved feeling was frighten­ing, and realising that she had fallen in love with him against the dictates of her own will was even more dis­turbing. The strength of her feelings made a mockery of her fond belief that she could handle a brief holiday affair with Ross. Or a long one, that would be even worse... storing up pain for herself day by day, week by week, until Ross got bored with her acquiescence and sought new challenges, new adventures, and returned her love with its legacy of bitter interest. He might demand no more of her than passion, but her own hunger for loving would demand that she give him everything, try and purchase his love with hers. In doing so she would lose a vital part of herself, her self-respect... turn into the kind of woman who pursued passion blindly, relent­lessly hopeful, relentlessly disappointed. No, Fran wanted to be master of her own fate, not a mistress in someone else's...

So instead of awakening to a new day with a new lover in his arms, Ross had padded out into the lounge next morning, lazy and sensuous as a cat, to find Fran packing, her defences honed razor-sharp by the fear of what those penetrating blue eyes would see.

He had been justifiably incredulous at her announce­ment that she had decided that she had been neglecting her 'real life' for too long. At first he had been teasing, then coaxing, then stunningly sincere as he suggested that he help her solve her 'real life' problems. Instead of her worrying about probate being settled, why didn't he underwrite her loan? Hell, he would loan her the money himself, at a far better rate than the bank allowed her...and that would mean that instead of selling the cabin they could keep it on as a weekend hide-away.

Fran had exploded. So that was what he wanted... a hole-in-the-corner affair, a weekend lover who wouldn't intrude into the rest of his life! Well, he had intruded too far into hers already. It wasn't enough that he had summarily invaded her heart, now he was trying to muscle in on the only thing of her own that she truly and freely possessed... her dream. He was buying an affair, but not with love... with his money. Talking as if he had some right to a stake in her future.

She had said bitter things and he had responded with a withering contempt that seemed to see straight through her feverish rejection of any kind of involvement be­tween them.

'My God, is this the way you usually function, Fran? Slitting the throat of a relationship before it can make any real demands on you?'

'What sort of demands were you thinking of making?' She had meant to make it sound sarcastic, but it came out horrifyingly like a plea.

'Oh, no, Fran.' He shook his head, voice soft and veined with cynicism. 'No free rides. You pays your money and you takes your choice. You'll never know if you don't take the plunge with me. Human relationships don't come with written guarantees.'

'I'm not asking for guarantees,' she denied furiously. 'Certainly not from a man like you. Sooner or later you're going to break your crazy neck in one of your stunts and leave those unfortunate enough to care about you high and dry.'

His eyes narrowed and she turned away, afraid that she had revealed too much. 'Would you have me differ­ent, Fran?'

If he had been different she probably wouldn't have fallen in love with him and she wouldn't be suffering now. 'Yes.'

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