Page 17 of Love in the Valley

Strolling thoughtfully out into the garden to look for surviving winter roses for the tea tray, Julia heard a loud clatter as she passed the lean-to behind the garden shed. Curious, she pushed back the old piece of sacking that hung down over the entrance.

‘Charley!’ She ducked into the gloomy interior. ‘So this is where you disappear to every morning? What are you doing?’

Charley wiped his nose with a greasy hand and shrugged.

‘Just mucking about.’

‘What with?’ On closer inspection the pieces of metal seemed to be arrayed in some kind of order. ‘Are you making something?’

‘A motorbike,’ he blurted out, and then glared as though he expected her to laugh.

‘Really!’ There was no danger of laughter from Julia and her genuine awe had Charley’s stubborn, square jaw relaxing. ‘That’s fantastic! Can you actually do it? How far have you got?’

‘Well, I only found this stuff last Friday,’ he replied with careful casualness which dissipated as he launched into a description of the difficulties involved in putting together the rusting parts he had discovered in the clutter of the big garage out front (which seemed to have been tacitly reserved for the grey Maserati). ‘Course, I haven’t got all the parts I need, but I have a pal whose Dad runs a garage. He lets me help with the cars sometimes when I stay. I’ve learnt an awful lot with him. Mr Franklin says I have a feel for engines.’

‘Does he live in Taupo?’ guessed Julia, thinking of Connie’s Christmas woes.

‘Why yes, how did you know? Anyhow, he says I should try for an apprenticeship, but …’ His enthusiasm abruptly tailed off, ‘I dunno yet what I want to be.’

But of course he did. It was in his eyes, his flushed, earnest face when he talked about cars. She gave him a sympathetic smile, realising that he knew of Connie’s hopes for his future.

‘Since you’re such a clever mechanic, maybe you should take a look at my car. It needs an overhaul, I’m told but I wouldn’t know a spark-plug from a … a … motor arm.’

‘Rotor arm,’ corrected Charley with a touch of male superiority, and, eagerly, ‘Would you really trust me?’

Julia had been half-teasing but she thought—why not? He was keen, and sensible enough to admit it if he couldn’t cope.

‘A man with a feel for engines?’ She grinned cheerfully. ‘Of course I would.’

‘You …’ Charley inspected a grimy thumb-nail, ‘you won’t tell about it will you? I don’t know that Mum would like me messing around out here.’

‘If you do decide to be a mechanic, she’s going to have to find out about it sometime,’ said Julia gently.

‘But not yet.’ Boy became adult before her eyes. ‘She’s a bit worried about Steve at the moment; Dad too. There’ll probably be a fuss … I’d rather wait. I have to stay and sit School Certificate this year anyway.’ Showing he had thought about it—probably, being Charley, long and hard and realistically.

‘That sounds sensible,’ agreed Julia, ‘I … oh my God!’ Her shout made Charley jump. ‘I left the kettle on. Hugh’s tea!’

She streaked up to the house, taking the shortcut through the bushes at the side, intending to slip in through the french doors of the dining room. She stopped dead when she came in sight of the pool. There was Hugh, setting down the tray on a wrought iron table. Horrors! He must have had to make the tea himself.

It was too late to duck back the way she came so Julia tried to stroll nonchalantly past the couple at the table. She could see what Connie meant about Ann Farrow. Elegant to her blood-red fingertips. Supercilious too, thought Julia, with instant dislike.

‘I see you found the tray,’ brazened Julia as she drew level with Hugh’s stony stare.

‘You have leaves in your hair,’ she was informed coolly and the woman smiled faintly, pityingly, at Julia’s rather tousled appearance. No doubt they thought she and Richard had retired to the shrubbery.

; ‘I was looking for some flowers, to put on your tray,’ she explained to Hugh’s polite scepticism.

‘I would have preferred less decoration and more substance,’ he said crushingly and Julia got another pitying glance. Goodness, the woman didn’t think that she had set her cap at Hugh, did she? The bubble of laughter in Julia’s throat deflated with a nasty gulp as she noticed the cake in pride of place on the tray.

‘Where did you get that?’ she squawked, and, rapidly recovering, ‘Actually I made that cake for tomorrow. I’ve some lovely biscuits for this morning.’

‘The cake is fine, thank you.’ Grey eyes were unimpressed by her brilliant smile. ‘You can bake another one for tomorrow. That is your job isn’t it?’ Not seducing male members of the household on the hall floor. The unspoken hovered in the air.

‘The biscuits really are scrumptious, and there are some lovely scones too,’ she wheedled. ‘Why don’t I just—ouch!’ Her reaching hand received a smart rap across the knuckles.

‘Julia.’ The normally soft voice flattened out threateningly. ‘We are having our tea. Would you stop hovering and go back to the kitchen? The cake stays.’