going into Keanu’s bedroom and what was presumably a bathroom off it was a step too far, so she dumped the little notebook and laptop on the dining table.
And sat down to do some work.
She still didn’t have the running costs of the mine but Reuben would know, or once she found Peter she could get a rough figure from him. Where they’d get the money she didn’t have a clue, but somehow she had to do this. She made up neat lists. The back pay she could put a figure against but superannuation had a question mark, as had running costs. And she’d have to work out how much pay was owed to Bessie and Harold.
On top of that, if she was going to continue to live at the house, she should check what food was there. The next flight was Friday—she should order supplies …
As she paused, considering what to do next, she heard the music from the longhouse. It flowed through her blood and sent her fingers tapping until she stood up and began to move. She would never have the lithe grace of the islanders but she couldn’t help swaying her hips to the rhythm of the music.
Keanu had teased her …
Had she summoned him up by thought wave that he appeared in the doorway? She stopped her movement immediately before he teased her again.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve actually done what you were told,’ he said, then he looked at the book and laptop on the table. ‘Well, not entirely, you obviously went up to the house to get those and I’ll bet no one went with you.’
‘Everyone’s back at the party—I was quite safe,’ she retorted, then sniffed the air and looked at the basket he carried in one hand.
‘You’ve brought food? Oh, Keanu, thank you. It is so long since I tasted hangi meat and vegetables.’
She pushed the laptop to one end of the small table and hurried into the kitchen area, finding plates on her second foray into the cupboards and cutlery in the top drawer she expected it to be in.
Keanu had taken a cloth off the top of the delicacies in the basket and the aromas made Caroline’s mouth water.
He divided the food onto the two plates, stopping when she protested it was too much. But the delicious, tender pork, the taro and potatoes disappeared from her plate in no time, conversation forgotten as the food took them back to happier times when they’d often attended island feasts.
‘Were you dancing as I came in?’ Keanu asked when she’d pushed her plate away unfinished, and he’d slowed down his eating enough to talk.
‘Maybe moving just a little,’ she admitted. ‘As you’ve told me so many times, girls with European blood can’t dance.’
He smiled, remembering, as she had been, and sadness for those lost days filled her soul.
Keanu read the sadness in her eyes and knew what she was thinking.
‘Our childhood was truly blessed,’ he said quietly.
He set down his knife and fork and pushed his plate away, but as Caroline stood up to take it, he reached out and took her hand, closing his fingers around hers.
Just that touch sent messages he didn’t want to acknowledge streaming through his body, but he needed to say what he had to say.
‘I want you to stay here tonight, Caro. The rabble-rousers—if it turns out to be more than one—will probably be too drunk to do anything other than sleep but in case they want more trouble, they certainly won’t go door to door in the hospital quarters in search of you.’
She eased her hand out of his and stepped back.
‘No way. They could attack the house,’ she reminded him. ‘Not find me there, and become angry, burn the place. I can’t stay here, Keanu. I’ll get Bessie and Harold to stay there with me if you really believe there’s any danger.’
She hesitated, and he sensed she wanted to say more.
But she returned to gathering up the dishes, taking them to the kitchen, putting leftover food into the refrigerator—busywork while she avoided him in case he asked what was going on.
‘Aren’t you in charge over at the hospital?’ she asked when she’d finished cleaning. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here until the party is over, then track down Bessie and Harold to ask them about tonight.’
Bessie and Harold, both well into their sixties, would be fine protection. He supposed if she was insistent about staying in the house, he’d have to stay there too, which, in fact, would be preferable to both of them staying here, her in the bed—he’d insist on that—and him on the couch, aware in every fibre of his being that she was there, so close.
And how could he return to that bed when she’d departed?
Wouldn’t he always feel her presence there? Smell the Caro scent of her on the sheets and pillowslip?
‘I’ll be over at the hospital,’ he said, knowing he had to get away from her before he was completely tied in knots. ‘Hettie’s very worried about the ulcer—worrying if we’ve misdiagnosed it as it seems to be getting worse, not better. You call when you’re going up to the house and I’ll walk you up.’
For a moment he thought she’d argue, but instead she flipped him a snappy salute, said, ‘Yes, sir!’ and opened her notebook again.
She wasn’t going to stop Keanu sleeping in the house—Caroline was only too aware of his stubbornness—but it would be better than having him sleeping in the big house somewhere far from her, rather than right next door, through partition walls that wouldn’t hold back the essence of him that seemed to fill her whenever he was near.
Every time she closed her eyes she felt the kiss they’d shared in the graveyard—felt the longing in her body for them to have taken it further.
But wasn’t it too soon?
Of course it was.
And he was married.
Her senseless mental meandering led nowhere so she sighed, gathered up the books and was halfway up the hill before she remembered she was supposed to summon Keanu to guard her on her walk.
But Bessie and Harold were there, arguing on the track not far from her, so she was safe.
‘We are staying at your place tonight and don’t you argue, missy.’
She’d caught up with Bessie and Harold, and on this subject they were obviously united for Bessie spoke and Harold nodded his head very firmly.
Harold and Bessie she could handle in the house.
But Keanu?
He came at nine.
Bessie had made a salad to go with leftover pork from the feast, and she, Harold and Caroline had eaten it at the kitchen table, Bessie refusing to eat in the dining room.
‘Makes me too sad to see that lovely chandelier and think of your grandma polishing each crystal,’ she said, by way of explanation. And in truth Caroline felt much the same way—plus she still had papers spread across the table,
