The Rouseabout Girl Read online

  THE ROUSEABOUT GIRL

  Gloria Bevan

  Could she ever prove her trustworthiness?

  Lanie Petersen’s first experience of Jard Sanderson was when she overheard him arguing—about her! The situation never improved; he mistrusted her so much he could barely be civil toward her.

  But if Lanie was going to be temporary cook at Rangimarie, Jard’s ranch, she would have to put up with his black moods.

  Lanie could only hope she would have an opportunity to prove he was wrong about her—and that she was worthy of his love—

  CHAPTER ONE

  Even before she reached the entrance leading to the spacious reception area Lanie caught the loud buzz of conversation and laughter echoing from the lavishly decorated room. At the open doorway she stood hesitating, then realised that an impeccably attired young man with dark-rimmed glasses and a welcoming smile was hurrying towards her. ‘Tell me, you’re not—you don’t happen to be our prizewinner in our flour promotion contest?’

  She smiled up at him. ‘That’s me! Lanie Petersen.’

  His eyes crinkled in a look of amusement. ‘We weren’t expecting anyone quite so young!’

  Lanie wrinkled her nose at him. ‘I’m nineteen!’ she said with spirit, but he merely grinned. She could almost read his thoughts. ‘It’s ridiculous that she could be our prizewinner. Why, she looks little more than a schoolgirl!’ It was a reactionary thing and she had come to expect it, something to do with being only an inch or so over five feet with a dimpled round face into the bargain. It was annoying not to look her age, but over the years she had become accustomed to it.

  ‘John Garfield!’ He shot out a hand and took her small paw in a strong grip. ‘General manager of the outfit. May I offer my congratulations on your winning entry? The general opinion of the company was that your recipe was outstanding and the advertising agency who judged the contest assured us they had no hesitation whatever in awarding you the prize.’

  ‘Thank you.’ As he bent to pin her name-tag to the shoulder of her dress Lanie couldn’t help giggling to herself. Imagine me, at a shareholder’s meeting, she thought. A quick glance around the crowded room and she estimated there was scarcely a man or woman here under the age of fifty. Golly, she thought, I must be the only girl in the whole place. A dimple dickered at each comer of her soft lips. I’m a shareholder in the company—or I soon will be. I can’t believe it!

  ‘This way, please,’ her escort was saying, and she went with him over the deep-piled carpet as they threaded their way between the festively decorated tables. There was a lightness in her step and her face was upturned to the man at her side. She was barely aware of appreciative masculine glances and envious feminine looks as watchers followed the progress of the slim young figure, dower-fresh in a simple white sun-frock, a cloud of bright hair that just missed being red falling over the shoe-string ties on lightly-tanned shoulders.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ her companion said, ‘there doesn’t seem to be a vacant table. We had one specially reserved for you among the V.I.Ps,’ his eyes twinkled behind thick lensed glasses, ‘but someone has beaten you to it. Shall I ask him to move away?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she protested in her soft husky tones, ‘it doesn’t matter a bit. Couldn’t we share it?’

  ‘If you’re quite sure.’

  At last they reached a table occupied by a spare elderly man with carefully brushed white hair. Lanie smiled down into the lined, sun-weathered face. ‘Do you mind if I share your table?’

  ‘Delighted.’ With old-fashioned courtesy he rose to his feet and saw her seated. The manager made a brief introduction. ‘Jim Sanderson. Jim happens to be one of our main shareholders in the farm.’

  The leathery face split into a grin. ‘Only because I happen to grow wheat for your mill!’ He had shrewd bright eyes, Lanie noticed, and he was so deeply tanned. Face, arms and neck were all a shade of mahogany. Clearly he was a tanata whenua—the Maori words sprang to her mind, a man of the land. Could that be the reason she got the impression he was feeling hot and uncomfortable this warm summer day in his city gear of well-cut grey suit and crisp white shirt?

  She brought her mind back to the pleasant masculine tones. ‘Seems like you and I are the only ones who are here on our own.’

  She sent him a twinkling glance.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Not now.’ His glance went to her name-tag. ‘It’s Elaine, is it?’

  ‘Goodness, no!’ She flashed him a smile. ‘No one ever calls me that. Just Lanie.’

  ‘Just Lanie.’ His glance flickered over her short nose with its scattering of freckles, the wide happy smile. There was something about this girl’s air of vitality and friendliness that made him feel young again. Suddenly he got the feeling that the deadly boring annual meeting of shareholders had been worth getting himself togged up for in this flaming hot suit and tie, after all. This girl was happy-natured, an enthusiast, like his own girl. A shadow clouded his eyes. Funny to think that though his only daughter had married in England and lived there for the past fifteen years, he still missed her around the place. She was the sort of girl who made life seem fresh and exciting, and he wouldn’t mind betting that this Elaine was the same. Odd that they both happened to have the same name too. Aloud he murmured pleasantly, ‘Quite a crowd for the meeting.’ His glance roved over the room with its many suntanned faces. ‘Looks like wheat-growers from all over the country are having a day out in the city. All but you.’ He had a really friendly smile, Lanie thought. ‘My guess is that you belong right here in town.’

  She glanced towards him in surprise. ‘What makes you say that?’

  He grinned. ‘Never came across anyone in the country looking the way you do,’ his eyes crinkled, ‘worse luck!’ Something in his expression robbed the words of any personal significance. Indeed, Lanie felt extraordinarily pleased at the compliment. Of course she knew she looked fairly attractive in a diminutive, flame-coloured-hair, extra-slim sort of way. How could she help knowing? All the same it was heartwarming to be told so, especially today, when she was in need of all the encouragement that came her way.

  ‘Forgive me,’ there was a glimmer of curiosity in the twinkling brown eyes, ‘but aren’t you a trifle young for this sort of caper?’

  ‘I do feel a bit out of it here today,’ she admitted. She sent him a wide and friendly smile. She enjoyed talking to people, and her habit of confiding her life story to strangers was one that was bound to land her in some sort of trouble sooner or later, her flatmate Mary often warned her. ‘You see, it was this way—’ She broke off as a waiter pushed a trolley towards the table. There was a tempting array of foods, both sweet and savoury, together with pots of tea and coffee. ‘Shall I be mother?’

  ‘If you please. Coffee for me. I’ll tell you something else,’ her companion observed when they had helped themselves to cold meats and attractively presented salads, ‘I don’t see you as a shareholder in the Arm. Like I said, you’re at least twenty years too young. Tell me, what are you doing here amongst all the old fogies like me?’

  Two dimples flickered at the corners of Lanie’s soft lips. Her mischievous smile, her companion mused, was something worth watching for. His own Elaine had smiled like that, as if she really meant it, as if life was worth living, every damned moment of it!

  ‘Would you believe,’ Lanie buttered a roll, ‘I’ve got a special invitation to the luncheon today! I’m hard up at the moment,’ she confided, ‘and a free meal isn’t to be turned down, not when you’re down to your last few dollars and out of a job!’

  ‘Oh?’ her companion was surprised he hid it well. ‘Shares,’ he agreed, ‘are good to own, but you can’t have them for dinner.’ There was a kindly twinkle in his b
rown eyes. ‘Let me guess? A well-heeled uncle passed on the luncheon invitation, right?’

  She eyed him laughingly. ‘Wrong! And I haven’t any shares in the company—not yet, that is, but I soon will have!’ She leaned forward confidentially. ‘Guess what!’

  ‘Your parents are passing on a few hundred or so as a birthday gift to you?’

  A shadow passed over her face. ‘No parents—they died when I was a child. Luckily I had a nice aunt who brought me up. But my parents didn’t have any capital. They had so little to come and go on they didn’t leave me a thing.’ She grinned impishly. ‘Except this red hair.’ Flicking a shining red-gold strand with her finger, she pulled a face, then murmured as an afterthought, ‘And the bread recipe, of course!’

  ‘Bread recipe?’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s the point, that’s why I happen to be here today. Don’t look so puzzled,’ she ran on impulsively, ‘it’s quite simple really. Just that I happened to see a competition advertised in the local newspaper. It was run by the flour company, and all you had to do was to submit an unusual recipe for home-made bread. I still have my mother’s old cookery book, all in her handwriting, and I thought her recipe was a bit unusual.’

  He was an attentive listener, studying her with amused interest. ‘Must have been a cracker, chockful of modern health foods and all that?’

  ‘Oh no, it was so simple a child could follow it. You just throw three cups of flour in a basin, toss in three teaspoons of baking powder with two tablespoons of sugar and a teaspoon of salt. Then you sift it all together and mix it up with ten fluid ounces of beer. It only takes an hour to bake and there you are! How does it strike you?’

  He chuckled. ‘The same way it would strike any man—a waste of a good bottle of beer!’

  ‘Oh, but you haven’t tasted the loaf. Anyway, the flour milling people sent me a letter asking me to be here today so that they can present me with the prizes.’

  ‘You don’t look too happy about it. What is the prize? A sack of flour?’

  A bubble of laughter rose to her lips. ‘Worse than that! They sent me a picture of it—a massive electric range with all the latest gadgets. Honestly, the way it looks in the photograph you'd need to hold a driving licence to work it!’ All at once her expression sobered. ‘That’s one of the reasons why I decided to give in my notice at the office and look for work somewhere in the country. Making the break now seemed to work in with everything else.’

  Everything else? In the silence her thoughts wandered and a picture of Trevor’s set, resentful face flashed before her mental vision. He had been so angry when she handed back her diamond solitaire engagement ring. Working at adjacent desks in the same office, they had drifted into a tepid relationship that on Lanie’s part had been more a matter of habit and companionship than anything else. When Trevor had told her with pride of the amount of his savings and had suggested a marriage date, all at once she had panicked. Was this what life was all about? A gold band on her linger, a boxlike house in the suburbs? What of the wild sweet ecstasy of love? Or could it be that was something that existed only in films and romantic novels?

  It was true that the contest win had sparked off her decision to break with the past and to start a new life. She had spent her childhood in a small country town, sliding down grassy banks and riding her pony to school, and she still preferred country living to the bustle of city streets. Over the last few years, she had managed to keep up her interest in horse riding and had become a familiar figure at local shows and gymkhanas. There must surely be some sort of work offering in a country settlement, she had thought—but although she had written many letters of application to banks and councils and made numerous phone calls, so far nothing had eventuated for her in the way of employment. If she didn’t find something soon she’d be forced to apply for another job in the city to supplement her dwindling resources. She would just have to, she thought desperately.

  Her companion’s voice jerked her from her musing. ‘Burned your boats behind you, is that it?’

  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 will 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 meeting had begun, as shareholders were 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. Just 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! But that huge electric range, do you think I should sell it?’

  ‘I’ve go
t a better idea. How’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. ‘It does sound attractive, especially as I’m looking for country work and—’