LITMIR.BIZ

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wondered how long you’d last,’ Jan said comfortably. ‘I told Kear a month or so ago that it must be time for you to look around for something new.’

      ‘Butterfly brain, that’s me.’

      ‘Don’t be an idiot.’ For a tiny woman Jan could be very robust. ‘You bend your not inconsiderable mental energy to mastering something, and as soon as you’ve done it you find something else. Nothing butterfly about that. Anyway, if I remember correctly it was your soft heart that got you into the modelling business. You left the magazine because you didn’t agree with the way it was going—and you were right; it’s just appalling now, and I refuse to buy it—and Honor needed an anchor after she broke up with that awful man she was living with. Whatever happened to him?’

      ‘He died of an overdose. He was a drug addict.’

      ‘What a tragedy,’ Jan sighed. ‘If you’re on the lookout for another job, will you stay in the fashion industry?’

      ‘It’s a very narrow field,’ Gerry said, wondering why she now yearned for wider horizons. She’d been perfectly happy working in or on the fringes of that world since she’d left university.

      ‘Well, if you’re stuck you can take over from me.’

      ‘In which capacity—babysitter, part-time image consultant, or den mother to a pack of wayward girls?’

      Several years previously Jan had inherited land from her grandfather in one of Northland’s most beautiful coastal areas, and had set up a camp for girls at risk. After marrying the extremely sexy man next door, she’d settled into her new life as though she’d been born for it.

      Jan laughed. ‘The camp is going well,’ she said cheerfully, ‘but I don’t think it’s you. I meant as image consultant. You’d be good at it—you know what style means because you’ve got it right to your bones, and you like people. I’ve had Maria Hastings working for me, but she, wretched woman, has fallen in love with a Frenchman and is going to live in Provence with him! And I’m pregnant again, which forces the issue. I sell, or I retire. I’d rather sell the business to you if you’ve got the money.’

      ‘Well—congratulations!’ It hurt. Stupid, but it hurt. Jan had everything—an adoring husband, an interesting career, a gorgeous child and now the prospect of another. Quickly, vivaciously, Gerry added, ‘I’ll think about it. If I decide to do it, my share of the agency should be enough to buy you out.’

      ‘Have you spoken to Honor? Does she mind the thought of you leaving?’

      ‘No. Apparently she’s got a backer, and she’ll buy my share at a negotiated price.’

      ‘I don’t want to over-persuade you,’ Jan said quickly. ‘I know you like to develop things for yourself, so don’t feel obliged to think about it. Another woman wants it, and she’ll do just as well. You’re a bit inclined to let the people you like push you around, you know. Too soft-hearted.’

      ‘You’re not over-persuading.’ Already the initial glow of enthusiasm was evaporating. What would happen when she got tired of being an image consultant? As she would. A shiver of panic threaded through her. Surely that wasn’t to be her life? Her mother had spent her short life searching for something, and had failed spectacularly to find it. Gerry was determined not to do the same.

      ‘Something wrong?’ Jan asked.

      ‘Nothing at all, apart from an upsetting start to my day.’ She told her about the abandoned baby, and they discussed it for a while, until Gerry asked, ‘When’s your baby due?’

      ‘In about seven months. What’s the matter, Gerry?’

      ‘Nothing. Just—oh, I suppose I do need this holiday. I’ll let you know about the business,’ Gerry said.

      ‘Do you want to come up and stay with us? We’d love to see you.’

      ‘It sounds lovely, but no, I think I want to wander a bit.’

      Jan’s tone altered. ‘Feeling restless?’

      ‘Yes,’ she admitted.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Jan said in a bracing voice. ‘Even if you don’t buy my business a job will come hopping along saying, Take me, take me. I’m fascinating and fun and you’ll love me. Why don’t you go overseas for a couple of weeks—somewhere nice and warm? I don’t blame you for being out of sorts; I can’t remember when New Zealand’s had such a wet winter.’

      ‘My mother used to go overseas whenever life got into too tedious a routine,’ Gerry said.

      ‘You are not like your mother,’ Jan said even more bracingly. ‘She was a spoilt, pampered brat who never grew up. You are a darling.’

      ‘Thank you for those kind words, but I must have ended up with some of her genes.’

      ‘You got the face,’ Jan said drily. ‘And the smile—but you didn’t get the belief that everyone owed you a life. According to my mama, Aunt Fliss was spoilt stupid by her father, and she just expected the rest of the world to treat her the way he did. You aren’t like that.’

      ‘I hope not.’

      ‘Not a bit. Gerry, I have to go—your goddaughter is yelling from her bedroom, and by the tone of her voice it’s urgent. I’ll ring you tonight and we can really gossip. As for a new job—well, why not think PR? You know everyone there is to know in New Zealand, and you’d be wonderful at it. One flash of that notorious smile and people would be falling over themselves to publicise whatever you want.’

      ‘Oh, exaggerate away!’ Gerry laughed, but after she’d hung up she stood looking down at the table, tracing the line of the grain with one long finger.

      For the last year she’d been fighting a weariness of spirit; it had crept on her so gradually that for months she hadn’t realised what it was. The curse of my life, she thought melodramatically, and rolled her eyes.

      But it terrified her; boredom had driven her mother through three unsatisfactory marriages, leaving behind shattered lives and discarded children as she’d searched for the elusive happiness she’d craved. Gerry’s father had never got over his wife’s defection, and Gerry had two half-brothers she hardly ever saw, one in France, one in America—both abandoned, just as she’d been.

      She sat down with the newspaper, but a sudden scatter of rain against the window sent her fleeing to bring in the clothes she’d hung on the line an hour before.

      A quick glance at the sky told her they weren’t going to get dry outside, so she sorted them into the drier and set it going. Staring at the tumble of clothes behind the glass door, she wondered if perhaps she should go overseas.

      Somewhere warm and dry, she thought dourly, heading back to pick up the newspaper from the sofa. The model disporting herself beneath palm trees was one she had worked with several occasions in her time as fashion editor; Gerry was meanly pleased to see that her striking face was at last showing signs of the temper tantrums she habitually engaged in.

      ‘Serves her right, the trollop,’ she muttered, flicking the pages over before putting the newspaper down.

      No, she wouldn’t head overseas. She couldn’t really afford it; she had a mortgage to pay. Perhaps she should try something totally different.

      She read the Sits Vac with mounting gloom. Nothing there. Well, she could make a right-angle turn and do another degree. She rooted in a drawer for the catalogue of extension courses at the local university, and began reading it.

      But after a short while she put it to one side. She felt tired and grey and over the hill, and she wondered what had happened to the baby. Had she been checked, and was she now in the arms of a foster-mother?

      Gerry decided to clean the oven.

      It was par for the course when halfway through this most despised of chores the telephone beeped imperatively.

      An

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