The Australian Page 8
“I’ll say,” Adam agreed, slamming the car door. He kissed Priss warmly. It had been more than four years since his daughter had been home, and trips to Hawaii had necessarily been infrequent. He was looking forward to getting to know Priss all over again. “What a lady we raised!”
“Soon to be unrecognizable as I begin teaching primary school,” she bantered. “I can hardly wait. I brought back some storybooks from Honolulu for the children, just in case I couldn’t get them locally.”
“And I baked an apple pie, just for you, darling,” Renée told her, putting a motherly arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
“I know.” Priss grinned. “I smelled it when I walked into the house. How was the luncheon?”
“Lovely,” Renée said. “We went home with Betty Gaines and spent the rest of the day planning your homecoming party,” she added with a smile. “That’s why we couldn’t meet you. Uh, John said he didn’t mind giving you a ride.”
Priss’s face clouded. “No, he didn’t.”
Renée started to speak, but Adam shook his head quickly. “Betty Gaines teaches third grade now. You remember her, don’t you?” Adam asked.
“Yes, of course,” she replied warmly. “I liked her very much. It’s so sweet of her to give me a party.”
“Well, come on,” Renée urged. “Let’s go inside, darling. It’s so good to have you home!”
“I’ll miss Aunt Margaret a bit,” Priss confided. “She was such fun to live with!”
“She’ll miss you, I’m sure,” Renée said. She led the way into the kitchen, where Priss and Adam sat down while she made coffee and thick ham sandwiches. “By the way, how about Ronald George? He’s taking a position here, too, isn’t he?”
Priss grinned. “He says so, for a little while, anyway, until he proves to his father that he can make his own living without waiting to inherit the family fortune. But just between us, I think he’ll end up back in England eventually.”
“He’s a fine young man,” said Adam, who had met Ronald during his visits to Hawaii. He glanced at Priss. “We thought you might marry him.”
“Ronald?” Her expression made clear her feelings for the man in question. “No, he’s a lot of fun and we’re great friends. But we don’t even think alike on the important issues.”
Renée’s eyes closed briefly, but she didn’t say anything else.
“I’m glad you wanted to come back here to teach,” Adam said with quiet pride. “I’m sure you could have made a bigger salary in Hawaii.”
“But my parents aren’t in Hawaii,” she retorted. “I was getting sort of homesick, to tell the truth.”
They all laughed, and afterward things settled down into a normal, sweetly familiar routine. By bedtime, Priss felt as if she’d never been away. Except when she started remembering John. Sleeping in her bed again was an ordeal, because it held such powerful memories. She imagined that she could still feel the weight of his body above hers, feel the hard, warm crush of his mouth. And it was hours before she finally coaxed her mind into sleep. But when she slept, it was dreamlessly for once.
* * *
The primary school in Providence was a small brick building and nothing fancy to look at, but her few students were enthusiastic and attentive, and she loved working with them. And although they missed the teacher they’d begun the year with, they quickly warmed to Priss. First-graders, she thought, were the best kind of people to be around. Except for the twins...
The twins, Bobby and Gerry, were all that John had hinted, and more. Apparently they had very little discipline or attention at home, Priss noted, because they did everything possible to attract any kind of notice from the other students. On her first day in class, they put frogs in her desk and hid the chalk and nailed her chair to the floor. She sent a note home to Randy and Latrice to be signed, but the next day the boys came back empty-handed.
“Gerry, where is the note I sent home with you?” she asked one of the twins, the one whose hair was a deeper red than his brother’s.
“Uh, we lost it,” he said and smirked.
“Dead right, we did,” Bobby agreed. “Wind got it.”
She pursed her lips. “Really?” she asked.
They grinned at her. “Fair dinkum!” they promised.
“I’ll get you another one to take home this afternoon,” she said, then thought better of the idea. “No, tell you what, I’m going to a party tomorrow night. Your parents will be there, so I’ll give it to them myself and save you boys the trouble.”
Their expressions were comical. They began protesting at once, but she held up a hand and began the lesson. It was the first of many skirmishes to come.
The brightest spot in the week was the arrival of Ronald George, who was helping out in Betty Gaines’s third grade. His twinkling wit helped to pass the time, and Priss was grateful for a familiar face other than her father’s among the staff. She still had lunch with Adam, though, and she noticed that Ronald got into the habit of sitting with Amanda Neal, one of the other teachers. He grinned at Priss sheepishly, and she winked back. Mandy was very pretty, petite, blonde, and blue-eyed. And very British. That, she told herself, looked like the beginning of a nice match.
Friday ended with a bang, as the twins beat up another boy, whose mother came to violently protest her son’s abuse by “those ruffians!” Priss calmed her at great length and hurried home to eat her supper before it was time to dress for the party.
As she ate she tried to control the butterflies in her stomach. It was going to be a good night, she told herself. She was going to glow as she never had in the old days; she was going to bring John Sterling to his knees! Let him see what he was missing, what he’d thrown away. Her heart lifted as she contemplated her old vision of floating down an elegant staircase to watch his jaw fall, his eyes burn with wanting her. She smiled to herself. Yes, that would be sweet, to see his desire for her and show him that she felt nothing at all.
“I have to talk to Randy and Latrice about the twins,” she told her parents as she finished her second cup of coffee. “They beat up Mrs. Morrison’s boy today.”
Adam nodded. “The boy’s something of a bully, but they shouldn’t have ganged up on him,” he agreed. “I suppose Randy and Latrice will come to the party. If Latrice is home. She travels so much these days.”
“For pleasure?” Priss asked.
“I suppose. I don’t think she and Randy get along very well. And John can’t be making it easy for them,” he said quietly. “He’s been pure hell, from what I hear. He’s very bitter.”
About what? Priss wondered, but only nodded. “Will John be at the party?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “He’s rarely seen these days. He sticks to the station like glue, except for an occasional trip to cattle sales.”
That didn’t sound like the old John, who had loved people and socializing. She stared at her father. “Are things bad at the station?” she probed.
“They have been,” he said vaguely. “Drought, you know. But I guess they’re picking up now. John just bought that new Ford.”
“It’s not a luxury car, but it’s nice just the same,” Renée interrupted. “We’d better rush, darlings.”
Upstairs she put on the long white gown with its one shoulder strap and side slits and sequined bodice and studied herself in the mirror. She’d filled out in five years. She still wasn’t quite voluptuous, but she wasn’t thin, either. She looked good, she told herself. She put on a pearl necklace and bracelet and ear studs, and a minimum of makeup. To top it all off, she draped a blue fox boa around her neck. Yes, she thought. Yes, that would be just the thing to parade in front of John Sterling.
When she went back downstairs, her parents were waiting for her. Her father was dressed in dark evening clothes; her mother in a royal blue gown.
“G
orgeous couple.” Priss beamed. “You look lovely. You, too, Dad.”
“I’ll box your ears,” he threatened. “You’re a dish yourself. Didn’t we do well?” he teased Renée.
“Yes, we did, darling.” Renée grinned, taking his arm. “You’ll wow ’em, sweetheart,” she told her daughter.
Priss fiddled with the boa. “I’d like to stop by the Sterling place on the way to the party, if you don’t mind,” she said quietly. “I need to speak to Randy and Latrice alone, and even if they do come to the party, I realize it would be better to see them in a quieter setting.”
“No problem,” Adam said. “Shall we go, ladies?”
It was a chilly night, and Priss almost wished she’d worn a jacket instead of the boa. But the car soon warmed up, and it didn’t take long to wind up the oleander-lined driveway at the Sterling station to the old Colonial-style house with its graceful porches. It had been recently repainted and gleamed like a stoic ghost among the gum and wattle trees.
“I’ll only be a minute,” Priss promised. She got out of the car and walked slowly up the steps onto the wide porch. It looked just as it had years ago, when she used to come up here and have lunch with John’s mother. She’d always loved the elegance of the old house.
She knocked on the door, fraught with nerves, wondering who would answer it. Footsteps sounded, and the door was thrown open. But it wasn’t John, it was Randy.
He was shorter than his brother, with reddish-brown hair and pale blue eyes, and in his younger days he had had a frightful superiority complex. But now he seemed different as he grinned at Priss and let her into the house.
“Well, hello,” he greeted deeply, his eyes clearly approving little Priscilla Johnson’s new look. “Priscilla, how you’ve grown up!” He admired her.
“One does, inevitably,” she said and smiled back. She was trembling, but she maintained her poise. Was John nearby; was he here? she wondered feverishly.
“Can I help you?” he asked, looking puzzled as to why she might be there.
“Yes. I need to speak with you and Latrice, about the twins,” she said gently. “I’m sorry to bother you at home like this, but I sent a note, and it got lost. And at the party, it would be impossible. It won’t take long, I promise.”
“The twins,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I’ve thought of tying them to trees, you know. They ignore me and laugh at Latrice—when she’s home,” he added darkly.
“What’s all the commotion?” came a deep familiar drawl from the living room doorway. It was John, of course.
Tonight he was wearing close-fitting tan slacks and a brown plaid jacket with a white shirt and tie. Powerful muscles strained at the garments as if they were purchased when he was a little lighter, less mature. He looked faintly rumpled, and her eyes went over his worn garments with faint hauteur.
His cutting eyes flashed angrily as he received that insult, and they lingered on her own attire. If she’d expected to bring him to his knees, she was immediately disappointed. He eyed her indifferently, and then turned away. “I’m going on over to the Gaineses’,” he told his brother. “See you there; but I’m not staying long. Parties aren’t my style these days,” he added with a cold smile in Priss’s direction. “By the way, honey,” he drawled, “we’re simple folk around here. Designer gowns aren’t the routine. All they accomplish is to make the other women who can’t afford them feel uncomfortable.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, I can see the current style doesn’t owe anything to fashion,” she added with another meaningful glance at his own clothing. “You’ll have to forgive me. I grew used to genteel company in Hawaii.”
“Like that pommy you brought back?” John taunted with cold eyes and a cutting smile.
“At least,” she replied carelessly, “he has excellent breeding and rather admirable taste in suits!”
John’s face stiffened. He nodded toward Randy and walked out the door without a backward glance.
Randy looked as if he would have loved to say something, but he only shrugged uncomfortably.
“Latrice!” he called up the staircase. “Could you come down here, please?”
Seconds later an angry sigh came from upstairs, and Latrice descended. She was redheaded and petite, with a kewpie-doll prettiness.
“There you are,” Priss said, forcing herself to forget John and his bad temper and get her mind on the present. She smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Latrice. I’m afraid my visit isn’t purely social, though. I want to have a word with you about the twins.”
Latrice laughed huskily. “Oh, my. This sounds serious.”
“Not yet. But we’re headed that way,” Priss said and recounted the incidents of the past two days.
Latrice gasped. “All that, in just two days?”
“I told you they’re getting out of hand,” Randy told his wife sharply.
She glared at him and seemed to be on the verge of making a sharp retort when Priss interrupted.
“Uh, the twins?” she prompted. They both looked at her. “I barely saved you from a day in court with the Morrison boy’s mother,” she added meaningfully.
Latrice sighed. “Well, we’ll just take their telly away from them for a week,” she said. “That should do it.”
“Have you looked in their room?” Randy protested. “They’ve got a million damned toys. Being locked in there without the telly isn’t a punishment; it’s a reward!”
“Then, we’ll restrict their toys as well.”
Priss felt uncomfortable. It really wasn’t the time to go into child psychology and the attention-getting mechanism that was overly active in the twins.
“What good will that do? They need a good beating,” Randy said.
“You will not hit my sons!” Latrice fired right back.
Priss cleared her throat and Latrice looked at her with a guilty smile. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “We’ll have a talk with them, and we’ll do...something,” she added. She smiled politely. “Thank you for bringing it to our attention.”
“I didn’t like to bother you tonight,” Priss replied, “but it was reaching the critical stage.”
“That’s all right, Priss,” Randy said. “If the boys don’t improve, we’ll want to know about it.”
“Yes, I’ll see that you do. Well, I’d better run. I left Mom and Dad out in the car. Are you coming to the party?”
“Of course.” Randy grinned, hugging a reluctant Latrice to his side. “We don’t get invited out that often these days, do we, darling?”
She glowered at him. “No. Not that often.”
Priss mumbled a quick good night and beat a path to the door.
Chapter Seven
“Have any luck?” Adam Johnson asked his daughter after she’d climbed into the back seat and he was starting the car.
Priss gave him a rueful smile. “I hope so. They’re being deprived of television.”
Adam shook his head. “It won’t work.”
“Stop disillusioning me,” Priss said, hitting his shoulder playfully.
“Did you see John?” Renée asked quietly.
Priss sat back. “Yes.”
“I don’t think he even noticed us,” Adam related dryly. “He got straight into his car and drove off in a cloud of dust.”
She stared out the window. “How odd,” she said tensely, but she didn’t say anything else and, after a quickly exchanged look, neither did her parents.
Betty Gaines was a petite woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a glowing personality. She made them all feel right at home, and Priss was delighted to find a few young people her age at the party.
“What fun this is,” Ronald George commented in her ear. “I can hardly wait to go to sleep.”
“Hush!” she scolded. “It’s a lovely party!”
She peeked through her lashes, hoping that John was miserable. Hoping that she’d hurt him. “No, he doesn’t,” she said too sweetly. “Why don’t we go over and cheer him up, darling?” She laughed, and revenge glittered from her eyes. She caught his sleeve and half dragged him across the room.
“Why, hello, John,” Priss said with false warmth. “I don’t think you’ve ever met Ronald George, have you? Ronald, this is John Sterling, who owns the property adjoining ours.”
“So pleased to meet you, old chap,” Ronald said with his easy grin, and extended a hand.
John looked as if he were being offered a piece of moldy bacon. But after a slight hesitation, he shook the hand roughly and let it fall.
“I hear you’re in cattle,” Ronald nodded politely. “My father has a cow or two.” He grinned. “He owns a chain of steak restaurants. You might have heard of them—The George Steak Houses?”
“Sorry,” John said brusquely, staring down at the smaller man from his formidable height. He towered over everyone, Priss thought. He was powerfully built, right down to the huge hands whose gentleness she hated to remember.
“Ah, well, not to worry.” Ronald began to look uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “Nice town, Providence.”
“My grandfather thought so,” John returned quietly. “He founded it.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Ronald doesn’t know much about Australian history,” Priss told John. “But he is quite an authority on financial matters.” She smiled vaguely. “He and his father have made a fortune in investments.”
John seemed to withdraw. His eyes were the only things alive in that searing face, and they cut into Priss’s face. “Have they?”
“We’ve had some small successes,” Ronald said, with a puzzled glance at Priss. He cleared his throat. “Uh, darling, wouldn’t you like some punch?” he asked hopefully.