The Rouseabout Girl (2 page)

She nodded. ‘Do you think it was a stupid thing to do
?’

‘Not a bit of it!’ he assured her warmly. ‘Give it a go
,
if that’s what you want.’

‘It’s just,’ she picked at the oyster pattie on her plate, ‘that I don’t know what I do want. Just some job in the country, I guess, something
...
different.’

‘You’ve done the right thing,’ he assured her, and his definite tone made Lanie feel encouraged all over again. ‘You’ll win out, not a doubt about it. Take a chance in life and you’ll be surprised at what can happen!’ His voice took on an appreciative note, ‘You must be a top-notcher in the kitchen department! Cordon Bleu meals every day of the week, is that the way it is?’

‘Goodness, no! It was only a recipe I got the prizes for.’ Her face brightened. ‘Oh, and there are one hundred shares in the company as well!’

‘There you are, then,’ he told her triumphantly, ‘you are a shareholder here after all, or you wi
ll
be at any minute. Congratulations!’ He pushed a laden plate towards her. ‘Have another cream cake on the strength of it.’

‘Thank you.’ Lanie helped herself to a fluffy butterfly sponge cake oozing rich dairy cream. She had no problem about keeping her weight down, on the contrary, and with this meal she would be able to skip dinner tonight and conserve her dwindling resources.

All at once she realised that the main business of the meet
ing had begun, as shareholders w
ere made aware of the financial situation of the firm. To Lanie the reports and speeches seemed to go on for ever, and she fell to reviewing her own financial position. Who would have believed that job-chasing, with its outlay in bus fares, postage stamps and toll calls, could run away with so much money?

The sound of her own name jerked her back to the present and she became aware of John Garfield, who was approaching the table. ‘It’s the presentation of the prizes!’ in near panic she appealed to her newly-found friend. ‘What on earth will I say?’

He smiled encouragingly. ‘No need to go into details. Jus
t
take it easy, smile, and say “thank you”. You’ll be all right.’

Nevertheless,
Lanie
felt an embarrassed hush rising to her cheeks as she faced the huge audience. A thunder of applause rippled through the big room and she realised that a friendly-looking woman was pinning a mauve-coloured orchid to the shoulder of her white sun-frock. John Garfield’s words reached her as from a distance. ‘Much pleasure in awarding you the prize in our recent flour promotion contest ... one hundred
shares
,’
he handed her a long white envelope and she smiled and said, ‘Thank you.’

'And so that you can keep your hand in with the
baking
—
’ he handed her a second envelope. ‘You can
pick up the electric range at our warehouse right away if you wish.’ More applause. Lanie found herself smiling back, saying ‘thank you
’
all over again, then thankfully she escaped and made her way back towards her seat. As she threaded her way between the tables a sharp-faced woman of middle age rose to her feet. ‘Do tell us, Miss Petersen, the secret of your winning bread recipe!’

Lanie’s face felt stiff from forcing the smiles.
‘I
guess it’s a bottle of beer!’

Amid more applause, John Garfield held up a hand and when the sound of clapping had died down, his voice could be heard. ‘Not to worry, the recipe will appear on our packs of flour as from next month.’ He appealed to the crowd of shareholders, all of whom were obviously enjoying the novelty of a light note amidst the mundane profit and loss accounts and long lists of figures, stock sheets and imports. ‘Didn’t she do well?’

‘Well, thank goodness that’s over!’ Lanie dropped down into her seat and sipped the wine in its crystal goblet.

‘That’s fame for you.’ Jim Sanderson was eyeing her with pride, almost as if she were his own Elaine.

She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Wasn’t I lucky they didn’t print my pictures on the flour packets as well as the recipe! Bu
t
that huge electric range, do you think I should sell it?’

‘I’ve got a better idea.
H
ow’d you like to take on a cooking job with me and my partner for three months? We could take you back with us to Rangimarie.’

The thoughts raced through
Lanie
’s mind. She had taken a liking to this nice elderly farmer, and no doubt his partner would be just as agreeable. Two nice old guys who it would be easy to get on with. A faint hope stirred in her. Could she take this job? Dared she? After all, she could buy a cookery book, and she needed a job rather desperately right now.

She became aware that he was eyeing her attentively. ‘It’s only for a short time,’ he urged, ‘plain fare, no frills. You could handle it, no problem.’

She hesitated. ‘It’s awfully tempting to take you up on that offer but—you don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for.’

He waved her objection aside with a mahogany-tanned finger. ‘We’re used to that. Our Mrs. Hooper’s a treasure, she's been with us for three years now and she's taking three months off to visit a sister in London. Before her time we had a succession of cooks, they came in all shapes and sizes and none of them lasted for long.’

A thought struck her. ‘But how about your partner?’

‘He won’t worry. It will take a load off his mind, actually. That's one reason he came to town with me to try and jack up a temporary cook. He’s at the employment agency, worrying hell out of them, right now.’

‘Supposing he’s found someone already, some other woman with experience in the work? I’m not really a cook, you know.’

He grinned. ‘Too bad, he’ll just have to cancel the booking. Anyway, it would be some woman he’d never
set eyes on before, an unknown quantity ’

Lanie dimpled. ‘Like me?’ As always in moments of indecision, she twisted a lock of shining hair round and round her finger.
‘I
t does sound attractive, especially as
I’m looking for country work and
—’

‘Your funds are running low?’

She looked up, surprised.
‘
Now how did you know that?’

He chuckled. ‘The free meal today, remember?’

She laughed. ‘But you don’t seem to understand. I don’t know a thing about real cooking. Just simple
things I whipped up at the flat for Mary and me
.
’

He waved her misgivings aside. ‘What the heck? You’ll soon pick it up. Come on, give it a go!’ There was an urgency about his tone that puzzled her. ‘It’s only for three months, after all
.
’

It was true, she thought. The job wasn’t going to last for ever, and surely she could manage somehow. Two nice quiet e
l
derlies. Probably
they
would be out working on the farm all day and there would be only one main meal to prepare in the evenings. A sheep farm ... they would be sure to live on mutton. A
l
l she need do would be to throw a roast in the oven each day or two.

‘Ever done any riding, Lanie?’ The masculine tones cut through her musing.

She raised a sparkling face. ‘Have I ever? I love it. Of course I’ve only had weekends to ride. I don’t even own a horse, but my friend Mary used to let me exercise her mare and ride at shows.’

‘Swags of room to ride up in the hills at Kangimarie!’

Her face was alight with interest. ‘I’d like that!’ Her voice dropped to a puzzled note. ‘Don
’
t any experienced cooks want to work in the country?’ she asked.

‘We’re a long way from civilisation, way back in the hills and fairly isolated. That means no social life to
speak of, not much in the way of days off
—
’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind that!’ Lanie’s eyes shone with
enthusiasm. ‘It would all be new to me. If only
—
’

‘You can practice on us. S
h
eep-farmers are a notoriously tough breed. We can take it.’

All at once she decided to take his advice and throw it over to fate. Her eyes were shining. ‘I’ll do it!’

‘That’s the spirit! Shake on it!’ Jim Sanderson extended a sinewy arm and Lanie was about to grasp his extended hand when his arm fell limply and his head drooped. There was a grey tinge creeping around his mouth and she barely caught the words that fell from his lips. ‘Pills ... pocket.’

It all happened so swiftly that she acted compulsively. In a second she had leaped from her seat and was bending over him, feeling in the breast pocket of his jacket. With trembling fingers she found a small cardboard box, opened it and forced a pill between his lips. Thank heaven he retained consciousness sufficiently to swallow it, she thought, supporting him in her arms. After a moment or two a tinge of colour returned to his face and his eyelids fluttered open. His gaze focussed on her anxious face. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, ‘I must have flaked out for a moment.’

‘You did! You gave me an awful fright, but luckily you told me you carried medication on you, and that was such a relief! Would you like me to call a doctor? There’ll be a phone handy?’

‘Lord no!’ For a moment he looked distressed. ‘Don’t do that whatever you do!’ He went on in a calmer tone, ‘All I need is half an hour’s rest and I’ll be as good as new. I get these turns once in a while—a damned nuisance, but they don’t last.’

‘Let me take you back to your hotel, then?’

‘No!’ the word came explosively, ‘that’s the last thing I want! Not with Jard due back there
a
t any moment!’

Lanie said, puzzled, ‘But surely your partner will understand?’

‘He won’t get the chance.’ His lips were set in a determined line. ‘Not if I can help it
!
’

All at once she became aware of groups drifting towards the open doorway. ‘Come along with me, then, and you can rest at the flat.’ A taxi fare to the other end of town where she rented a modest bedsitter would make further inroads on her slender resources, but what matter?

Placing a guiding hand on Jim Sanderson’s arm, she accompanied him to the lift and luckily, she thought, for her companion still looked rather groggy, she managed to flag down a taxi immediately. She helped
him up the stairs and into her bedsitter, then flung open the windows with their view of the busy port of Auckland, while Jim Sanderson dropped thankfully down to a low couch. Lanie covered him with a light rug. ‘How about a cuppa?’ she suggested gently.

‘Just what I need.’ He spoke with closed eyes. Moving into the tiny kitchen, she switched on the electric jug, but when she returned to the other room he was breathing deeply. Lanie let him sleep. Standing by the open window, she stared out to the sun-sparkled water where overseas liners lay alongside their berths. The suddenness of Jim Sanderson’s heart attack, if that was what it had been, had driven everything else from her mind, but now she recalled his offer of a cooking job in the country. Would he mention it again when he awoke from sleep? she wondered.

As he had told her, half an hour’s rest was all he needed to recover from the attack. He got to his feet, running a hand over tousled hair. ‘Good of you to bother with me. Sorry to be such a nuisance.’ All at once he was eyeing her with, his penetrating gaze. ‘Thought any more about that job offer of mine?' His voice took on an eager note. I’m hoping your answer is yes and we can take, you back with us tomorrow. How does that st
ri
ke you?’

Lanie’s smile lighted up her small face. ‘I think it’s great! Always an enthusiast, she ran on happily. ‘I’ve been looking for a job in the country and you need someone to help out in the kitchen department, so why not?’

He looked incredibly relieved at her words. ‘That’s the spirit, girl! Give it a go, I always say!’

The nice elderly partners must indeed be worried over their lack of staff in their home, she thought, for her companion to look so downright delighted at her acceptance of his offer of employment. If only they realised ... Honestly impelled her to say, ‘I’m not a real cook, but if you don’t mind my practising on you and
your partner
—
’

‘Not a bit. You’ll pick it up in no time, you’ll see.’

Seeing this was exactly the way she felt in the matter herself, Lanie nodded happily. Then a thought struck her. ‘Your partner—he may have found someone suitable at the agency?’

‘Not a hope! Unless they’re working miracles in the employment line.’

‘He won’t mind—about me being young and all that?’

‘Jard? Why should he? It’ll be all the same to him. He’d planned to take someone back with him he didn’t know from Adam, so what’s the difference?’ His lips twisted in a wry grin that she couldn’t fathom. ‘He doesn’t know yet how lucky he is!’

‘Lucky?’