'The place stank of turps for a week,' said Sarah, unmollified, and they parted with grins, Sarah lazing around until two o'clock, when she left for Julie's party feeling very light and carefree.
The Somerville's house was a low L-shaped bungalow with a lounge that opened on to a stretch of glazed quarry tiles spreading around the rectangular pool, which was screened from the neighbours' backyards by a high wooden fence.
Smoke was rising slowly into the still air from the corner barbecue as Sarah slipped in through a side gate. Most of the thirty or so people present seemed to have taken adv
antage of the trio of changing cubicles to strip down to bare essentials and Sarah had to pick her way over prone bodies scattered around the pool as she headed for the shade of the vine-covered pergola which jutted out from the house. Julie was there, organising drinks at the bar.
'I thought you weren't coming. Where have you been?' she demanded.
'You said any time after noon.'
'Did I? Well, you're here now. Help yourself while I farm these out.' She picked up a tray of drinks and carried them off, leaving Sarah with the distinct feeling that she had been very relieved about something.
Mindful of the heat and the way these parties stretched, Sarah contented herself with a fruit punch and moved over to watch the dying moments of a violently disorganised game of water polo. She could see Keith and Marie in the middle of the mêlée, slugging it out, and Keith's wife, Danielle, splashing around, helpless with laughter at their antics.
When the game broke up Sarah decided to take advantage of the lull and grabbed an empty cubicle, changing into a plain, streamlined one-piece bathing suit.
The water was deliciously cool on her hot skin and she swam languidly up and down the pool a few times. Though the heat of Auckland's summer sometimes palled, swimming never did and Sarah tried to do a few kilometres every day, at the beach or a local pool.
Just as she was contemplating getting out, she saw
Steven Somerville come out of the house with Max at his side. Since he had told her to use his name, she had slipped surprisingly easily into the familiarity in her mind. The verbal barrier remained as yet insurmounted.
Although Sarah had suspected he would be here today she still felt an unpleasant little shock of surprise, and floundering, nearly choked on a mouthful of water. He was wearing only brief navy swimming togs and had a towel slung over his shoulder as he stood talking with Jack a few feet from the pool. Sarah trod water, allowing herself a critical study; there was little enough to criticise.
There wasn't an ounce of spare flesh on his body and although he didn't have a tan, neither did he look unhealthily pale. His olive skin had a natural dark cast that indicated that when he did tan he would do it easily and quickly. Although he was slim he had a hard muscularity; his chest was broad with a fine smothering of dark hair which arrowed down to the flat plane of his stomach. Sarah's eyes slid over narrow hips and strong, lean thighs and she felt an odd feathering sensation inside as he changed his position slightly. He was very nearly naked and for one traitorous instant she wondered what he would look like without that brief covering.
The dark head turned casually towards the pool arid Sarah hurriedly turned and swam to the far end. She didn't want him to catch her staring. Mind you, he was probably used to it. It was that arrogant assumption of his that so got on her nerves. She hoped that her new, fragile awareness of herself as a woman wasn't going to manifest itself in mentally stripping every man she looked at. Especially a man like Max, who was overpowering enough covered neck to toe! What had she hoped to discover, anyway? Some hidden defect? A beer belly or knobbly knees? Instead he was like a fined-down version of Michelangelo's 'David'.
She rested her folded arms on the edge of the pool at the deep end and sought to return her thoughts to the mundane by chatting for a few minutes with Marie, who was dangling her feet in the water and munching on a thick, juicy barbecued steak. When she got up to go and refill her paper plate Sarah was left alone and reluctantly pushed off to swim back down to where she had put her towel. Halfway she came face to face with Max doing a slow, well-disciplined crawl. She returned his pleasant greeting calmly and continued on her way, but he turned to accompany her.
'I watched you from inside, you're an excellent swimmer. Do you swim a lot?'
'Quite a bit. There's a beach on my back doorstep,' she replied politely as she reached the steps.
'You're lucky.' He forestalled her intention to get out. 'I enjoy it too, but I rarely get the chance. When I do, I like to do it in style. I take my boat out on a long cruise and spend as much time under the water as on it. Have you done any scuba diving?'
Conscious of the silver drops slithering from wet sinewy shoulders through the dark curls on his chest, Sarah struggled to keep her eyes level with his. They showed an unnerving tendency to drift downwards.
'I've had the opportunity but it's never really appealed.'
'Afraid of getting out of your depth?' The familiar mockery was a relief, sparking as it did familiar annoyance. 'I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you prefer the shallows. But you should try diving, it's quite an experience, you might even surprise yourself.'
'No thanks,' she replied tartly. 'As you just pointed out, there are all sorts of nasties lurking in the deep.'
'I'm sure a water-baby like you would have no trouble outdistancing any. . .er. . .devils from the deep,' he said, amused by her little dig. 'If you wanted to, that is. Or aren't you as confident in the water as you'd have me believe? Another false trail?'
Unsure of what he meant, Sarah frowned. Standing waist-deep in water, hair blue-black in the sun and wet face sponged of several years' age, he did not seem quite as intimidating as usual. Or perhaps it was Sarah who was nöT her usual self. She was seized with a sudden recklessness, a desire to beat him at his own game of double entendre.
'So confident that I don't feel the need to constantly prove myself. That's the prerogative of the male ego,' she drawled sweetly.
'You have a thing about the male ego, don't you?' he replied smoothly. 'How about indulging mine. A race? There and back. . . if it's not too much of an effort for you,' he added drily.
'No. But it might be for you. Are you sure you're up to it?' That seemed to strike a nerve, for the amused eyes hardened.
'I'm up to anything you can deal out,' he told her and the words were barely out of his mouth before she was off. She had no intention of giving him any advantage, fair or unfair, and thus had a fractional start. She deserved it, she told herself, for all the times he had taken unfair advantage of her, knowing she was battling to stay polite in the face of his mockery, yet still pushing, pushing until she cracked and lost her temper. He always looked triumphant when she snapped or got flustered.
She turned at the wall still ahead but he quickly moved up beside her, cutting through the water with an ease that spurred her to fresh effort. His strength was superior but Sarah was quick and light and very much in condition. She was a mere hand's touch ahead when they made the steps again and both rose up, sparkling wetly, to face each other.