road, riding down the narrow dirt track that led them to their own private jade lagoon.
“Lord it’s so hot!” Suzannah jumped off her bike lightly, letting it go almost before he caught it and propped it against a tree. “I’ve never felt so much like a dip.” She began right there and then to shuck off her school clothing, a terrible maroon-and-white check pinafore, white school blouse and tie, shoes and stockings, until finally she stood in her navy swimsuit, tall for her age, slender as a willow, her long exquisite limbs gilded from a summer sun, her small blossoming breasts thrusting against the tight, thin material.
He had seen her do this many times before yet suddenly he felt a stab like a hot rapier straight to his loins.
“Come on. What’s holding you up?” She turned to laugh at him, her eyes brilliant with the anticipation of the kiss of the cold water.
He simply stood there, almost fully grown, staring and staring, not able to get enough breath around a few words of reply.
“Hey, you idiot. What are you staring at?” she cried. “Don’t stand there like a dummy.”
How could he not when he was soaking in her beauty and her femininity through every pore of his body. For the first time he truly knew what it was to be mesmerised by a woman. But she wasn’t a woman; she was a thirteen-year-old girl. A little virgin. Her father’s princess.
He came to then, stripping down to his bathing trunks and diving headlong into the water, grateful for the tingling coldness that closed over his head and the storm in his adolescent body. Suzannah was a flame. He knew that. And he could get burned. Even then he could think very clearly.
Yet there was wonderful exhilaration in his new discovery. Wonderful sport in swimming with her as if they were a pair of dolphins. Afterwards they pulled themselves up onto the sandy bank, their dark heads, an identical near black, sleek as seals.
“That was marvellous. Just what I needed.” Suzannah, towelled herself off quickly, passing her towel to him because he always managed to forget his.
Not surprisingly he didn’t answer, taking the towel extended to him from her long outstretched slender arm. Life is never going to be the same again, he thought. Never innocent and sweet as it once was but fraught with tension. He recognised it easily for what it was. Sexual tension. He couldn’t hold his feelings back. He had fallen in love.
“Nick?” she asked in such a strange voice. Not the usual glorious confidence, the self-assuredness befitting Marcus Sheffield’s adored daughter.
“We won’t ever come back here,” he said. “Not on our own.” The words were out in a spontaneous rush. The decision made.
“Oh, Nicko, it’s our place,” she said with a great wail. “I don’t want to stick with the others.”
“Your father won’t want us to come here,” he maintained.
“You can say that again!” Abruptly she laughed. “He’d kill us.”
“So you know what I mean, Suzy.” He looked at her, his expression barely veiled.
He remembered she stood perfectly still, fragile as a water nymph. “I’d be safer with you than anyone else in the world.” Tears suddenly shone in her blue-violet eyes.
“Yes, you are, but I’m not going to do anything that could possibly harm you. You’re a child”
“So are you.” She flashed with anger.
“No, I’m not I’ve never been a child like you and your friends are. In a way you’re all the same.”
“Well hell we are! I’m different.” She advanced on him, her cheeks stained red.
“But you don’t see what I see,” he protested. “You don’t feel as I do.”
“I know I love you.” She flipped back her silky black mane. “You’re my best friend in all the world.”
“Stupid baby. I swear I’m going to look after you.” He turned away abruptly, unaware of the muscles that rippled like a panther’s along his dark golden back.
She made the mistake of laying her hand along his bare skin. “Nick?”
“How about your clothes? Get them on,” he all but barked, outraged by his body’s powerful response.
“Nick, don’t turn angry,” she implored.
“I’m not angry. Never with you. Get a move on,” he urged. “You said yourself your father wouldn’t like us to be here.”
“I’ll be fourteen soon.” Obediently she turned away. “The same age as Juliet.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He tried to speak calmly, failed, and moved fast to collect his own clothes. He stepped into his trousers, zipped them, then reached for his dreary maroon shirt with the white trim. His mother had only just bought it and already it was getting too small. His father had stood over six foot three. He would be the same.
“No need to jump on me.” Anger leapt in her voice. “You’re not my big brother.” Something else in her voice made him think she was about to cry. Suzannah cry? She never cried. Even when she came a cropper from her horse.
“Ah, Suzy, come on. I never meant to upset you,” he relented.
“Well you have. I don’t like anything about this being an adult. I don’t understand what it’s all about.”
Until today.
It was then that he kissed her. Wrapping his hands around her small gilded face, touching her mouth with his own. It tasted so fresh and sweet, the shimmering joy that was Suzannah.
When he released her she held onto his wrist, the rosy delicacy of her lips pouting about to form words. Words that never came because an angry young male voice smote their ears, shouting, quivering with a kind of primal rage.
“What the hell are you up to, Konrads?” Martin White was dressed in a white shirt, jeans and sneakers, the light radiating off his thick golden hair.
He launched himself down the bank, a solid young man but no match for Nick. “Is this where you two get to?” he demanded, scarcely containing his jealousy. “Suzannah, I’m shocked at you. Wait until your father hears about this. Do you let this guy paw you?”
For answer she leapt into action, fists bunched, throwing her arm and hitting Martin squarely on the shoulder. “This guy here,” she yelled, “is worth any ten of you. He’s far and away the cleverest boy we’ve ever had in this town and probably ever will. He’s not only clever he’s highly principled and hard working. His father, the other kraut, was a distinguished man. His mother is a beautiful. talented lady. She plays the piano wonderfully. You’re the pathetic ignoramus with your offensive name-calling. Heck, you couldn’t even read until you were six. I could read when I was three!” She was so angry she was alight, pulses beating in her throat and at the blue-veined temples. “As for telling my father about anything!” she shouted. “Do that and I swear I’ll never speak to you again for the rest of my life.”
It was a threat Martin White was to take profoundly to heart. A handful of years later
