Page 17 of A Bewitching Compulsion

'Never heard of them,' Tamara carelessly dismissed.

'I guess you wouldn't have,' said Clare mildly, 'if you haven't been in New Zealand much. They were only just achieving a following when Lee died and the band broke up. Their last hit was a couple of years ago.' The record company had shrewdly released the album just after Lee's death, and taken great advantage of the resultant publicity. Clare hadn't agreed with Virginia's accusation that it had been a morbid, mercenary act. She had preferred to look on the Myth album as a very fitting memorial to a very talented man. That Lee was the driving force and inspiration for the band was confirmed when Kraken had disbanded seven months later without having produced another record.

'I'm going down to bring out a few drinks and snacks,' Clare said, getting up after a few more abortive attempts at conversation. 'Would you like to come and help me?'

'It's your job, not mine. I'm not a waitress,' Tamara sneered, and Clare had to leave before she made the crushing retort that was on the tip of her tongue. Tamara was obviously a very unhappy girl, intent on taking it out on everyone else.

When Tim and his idol came back on deck, Clare endeavoured to manoeuvre Deverenko into the chair by his daughter, and got Tim to take a few snacks and a couple of cold cans of beer to Miles and Doug on the upper deck—but her efforts were in vain. Tim was not to be separated for any length of time from the new sun on his horizon, basking openly in the warmth of his interest. Clare found herself becoming as tense and quiet as Tamara. Couldn't Deverenko see how much he was alienating his daughter? Why couldn't he make the effort to include her more in his conversation? No wonder she felt left out. Clare was feeling left out, too, a very unusual occurrence with Tim. Usually it was Clare to whom he turned for approval; today it was Deverenko.

After creaming lazily around the perimeter of the lake for a couple of hours, Miles anchored off a small bay and Clare set out the sumptuous lunch that Grace had prepared. There were oysters and smoked marlin and trout, lamb and cashew-nut terrine, lobster salad and a variety of imaginative sandwiches that would appeal to young palates, although Clare noticed without much surprise that Tamara ate the adult fare. At least her problems didn't include anorexia, for, although her painful thinness was accentuated by the unflattering simplicity of the red dress, Tamara's appetite seemed healthily casual. For dessert there was an ultra-rich kiwi-fruit cheesecake and plenty of fresh fruit and several kinds of New Zealand cheese served with plain water crackers.

They ate on the deck, the food shaded by a blue-and-white striped awning, watching the ducks, crested grebes and dabchicks ripple the glassy surface of the lake. Used to Doug's ever-present camera, Clare didn't take any notice of the photographs he was taking until Deverenko held up a hand.

'If you don't mind, I'd rather you didn't include Tamara and me.' His voice was pleasant, but with enough of an edge for Doug to lower his camera immediately.

'These aren't for publication, just a few personal shots.' After an awkward pause, he added, 'You're welcome to see the pictures. In fact, I'll give you the prints and the negs when I've developed them—I have a temporary dark-room rigged up in my chalet.'

'Thanks, I'd like to have them,' Deverenko said, turning to Miles as they both leaned on the rail. 'Is the launch just for cruising, or can you fish this lake?'

'The fishing season closed at the end of June, otherwise I'd bring you out,' Miles told him. 'There's good trout fishing here, I could guarantee you a Rainbow of a couple of kilos at least. You come back between October and June and I'll show you. We generally use sinking lines to twenty or so metres; the waters around here are pretty deep.'

'I might take you up on that.'

'I thought you didn't like fishing,' frowned Tim. It always disconcerted him to find that his precious books had misled him.

'If I fish, I eat what I catch,' Deverenko told him. 'But I don't get the opportunity very often, and I certainly wouldn't do it as a sport.'

'Most sport fishing is on a tag and release basis,' said Miles, prompting a mild argument on the subject of wildlife management. By the time it wound up, Clare had cleared the lunch debris away, and Miles proposed continuing to the north end of the lake.

'How about taking a turn at the wheel, sport?' Miles asked Tim.

'Not today, thanks, Uncle Miles,' said Tim politely.

'You usually pester the life out of Miles to let you have a go,' Clare protested, looking helplessly at her son.

'Next time, maybe,' he temporised, for all the world like an adult placating an awkward child, and Clare rolled her eyes while Miles laughed and clapped Deverenko on the back.

'You seem to have acquired a shadow, old man.'

Deverenko smiled, and a few minutes later he and Tim were down on the fishing platform at the stern. From the deck, she could see Tim's hands gesturing as he talked.

'What on earth do they find to talk about all the time? Tim's never been a chatterer, but now he doesn't seem to be able to stop.'

Her murmur was supposed to be for Doug, but Tamara answered.

'They're talking about music, of course.' Her rough-edged voice was sullen with resentment. The sun had gone behind a cloud, and Clare noticed the way her thin arms were wrapped across her chest.

'Are you cold? There's an extra sweater in the forward cabin if you want one.'

'No, thanks.' I don't need anyone's help, her tone said, and Clare and Doug exchanged glances of silent understanding.

'I'm getting pretty chilly myself,' said Doug. 'I'll go below and get my jacket. I'll bring the sweater back for you, Tamara. We can't have a fellow guest, and a young lady at that, risking a chill. You don't want to be laid low with flu when you're on holiday…'

It was the right touch, referring to her as a fellow guest, and a lady. Tamara gave him a graciously condescending smile, and he saluted her with a grin in return.

Clare returned her thoughtful glances to the two backs on the fishing platform, ignoring the silent girl at her side until Tamara was driven to say.

'Your kid is pretty pushy, isn't he?'

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