Page 8 of Reasons Of the Heart

A martyr to a bunch of male chauvinist piglets more like! Francesca poured mature scorn on the disturbingly vivid images of a long-dormant memory, shocked by their erotic intensity. As she bumped down the track to the cabin she told herself sternly that she wasn't going to think about the traumatic aftermath of her first date. She had long got over her girlish disillusionment, aided by the knowledge that she had got a sweet form of re­venge at the time. Besides, Ross's cruelty had actually done her a favour. It had taught her that one couldn't build one's life around someone else's. Rosy dreams were all very well, but if she was to make her way in the world, to gain acceptance from her peers, she had to earn it for herself.

And she had. She had gained top marks in School Certificate that year for the entire Northland region, and devoted her restricted spare time to convincing Agatha Lewis that nursing was almost as worthy a career as taking religious orders. The beginning of the new school year had found Francesca starting on a pre-nursing course at Auckland Technical Institute, living under close supervision in a girls' hostel.

Ross had also taught her another valuable lesson. By the time that Francesca, a nervous first-year nurse, en­countered her first raft of medical students, she was well armoured against charming young men who thought that plain-looking girls should be grateful for their indis­criminate attentions.

In a way, I suppose, I should be thanking the snake instead of resenting him, Fran thought with a wry grin. Her grin faded as she came into sight of the cabin and saw Ross rummaging around in the boot of a green con­vertible. In front of it was parked a battered-looking pick-up truck. Neither vehicle had been there when she'd left. She swung her car in beside the convertible and got out.

'Hello, pretty lady.'

She thought he was being sarcastic and frowned at the white smile, then blinked, wondering if she was going mad.

'It is Francesca, isn't it?' he said, his smile widening, and the reason for her momentary disorientation clicked.

'Hello, Jason.' How could she have thought he was Ross, even from the back? Jason was leaner, his hair the same shade as his brother's, but cut shorter. 'My, haven't you grown!' She imitated the teasing once-over he had given her. 'I thought you were Ross for a minute.'

He laughed. 'Give me a break, I've got a few years yet before I hit the big three-O. Come and say hello to Neville and Tess. You remember Neville Wilkins, don't you?'

'How could I forget?' Fran murmured. It had been Neville's car they had used that night. 'What is he up to these days? Is Tess his wife?'

'Tess is nobody's wife... yet. But she has a Tarrant dead in her sights.' Jason grinned as they went into the cabin and Fran struggled with a ridiculous sense of be­trayal. She must be some woman if she thought she could domesticate Ross. 'As for Neville, would you believe it— he's a cop, stationed in Whangarei!'

Fran burst out laughing. Neville had been the terror of the countryside in his souped-up old Zephyr, his de­linquency verging on the criminal with ominous fre­quency. Neville, a policeman! That was almost as funny as Ross a married man...

She was still smiling when she stepped out on to the sunlit deck to greet the three people lounging in deck-chairs. Ross didn't bother to get up, but Neville did, with appreciative speed as he returned her greeting.

'Hi, Francesca. Wow! Ross didn't tell me how much you'd changed. 'His hand froze in mid-handshake as he realised how unflattering that sounded. 'I mean—er— you're looking terrific' A slight tinge of pink entered the broad face at the compounding of his gaffe and Francesca enjoyed his momentary confusion.

'Thank you, Neville,' she said sweetly. 'But I've been ill. Give me a few weeks and I'll be as chubby as ever.' She grinned to show she wasn't offended. Nursing had taught her to take insults and compliments with equal aplomb. It was only when you really cared about someone that their poor opinion could hurt.

'I find that very hard to believe.' Neville recovered his cool at her relaxed good humour. As they smiled at each other Francesca noticed Ross lean back in his canvas chair. What was he looking so suspicious about? Then it came to her—he was wondering what had put her in such good spirit. He had expected her to come back from the lawyer covered in gloom and despondency. Fran stretched her smile wider.

Neville's brawny body moved out of her sightline as he dragged up a chair for Francesca to sit on, and she got her first look at the woman sitting beside Ross. She was tall and slender, with cropped brunette hair, lovely skin and warm brown eyes. Trust Ross to have a beauti­ful girlfriend, thought Fran, feeling suddenly frumpy. Her eyes fell on the unmistakable diamond ring on the slim left hand and she stared in disbelief, her heartbeat flickering. So Ross had her dead in his sights, too!

Jason handed Fran a cup of coffee, then circled round to stand behind the brunette. 'You don't know Tess, she only came to Whaler's Bay a couple of years ago to help her uncle at the hotel. This is my fiancée, Tessa Arm­strong ... Francesca Lewis.'

Fran could feel herself blush faintly as she nodded hello. Why had she automatically assumed that it was Ross, not Jason, that Tessa was attracted to? She didn't even want to know the answer to that one.

'Ross has told us the reason for your visit. I'm sorry about the circumstances,' Tess said with friendly sym­pathy. 'It must have been a shock for you to arrive and find somebody already in residence.'

'I think it was the gun, rather than the resident that shocked me,' Fran lied with a rueful smile.

'Gun? What gun?' Jason looked at his brother with sharp enquiry.

So he hadn't told them. Why? She would have expected him to make a meal of the story. She met the brooding blue eyes. Surely he hadn't been trying to save her embarrassment. No, he must have an ulterior motive.

'Didn't he tell you?' She decided to torpedo it, whatever it was. 'Ross arrived home to catch me skinny-dipping in the spa and tried to run me off with his shotgun. Maybe I should report him to the police for careless use of a firearm,' she said to Neville, catching him out in a flatteringly lecherous survey of her body.

'Maybe I should report you for indecent exposure!' Ross fired a return volley with deadly accuracy. 'I had to haul her out and rub her down,' he told their amused audience, while Fran tried to grapple with the turning of the tables. 'Not to mention cook her dinner and tuck her in for the night.'

'This obviously calls for a lengthy investigation,' Neville grinned. 'Are you staying on for a few days, Fran? Perhaps I could question you over dinner one night?'

'I think you'll find that Francesca will be wanting to get back to Auckland,' Ross said smugly, and a flare of indignation banished any thoughts of conciliation from Francesca's mind.

'On the contrary,' she said sweetly. 'I did only plan to stay a couple of days, but Mr Simpson changed my mind.' She felt a delicious fillip of satisfaction as the taunting blue eyes narrowed, revealing a distinct wariness.

'What did Simpson tell you about me?' he demanded.

'Exactly what you expected. That you could possibly make a claim against the estate.'

Source: www.allfreenovel.com