Part Two

The big day had arrived. Mart paced impatiently as he waited for Daphne’s plane to unload and for her to walk through the gates. The past five months, as interminable as they had seemed to Mart, suddenly melted away. In his mind, he could still feel Daphne in his arms and his lips burned from her kisses.

Passengers were filing through the gates as Mart stopped pacing next to a large potted plant. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then started to pace once again. I can’t just stand here, he thought, looking for a better vantage point. She could be a long time yet. He sighed heavily, frustrated at this final delay. In a vain attempt to make the time pass more quickly, he began scrutinising the arriving passengers, assigning them imaginary nationalities and occupations.

After only a few rounds of this mental game, his breath caught in his throat as Daphne finally came into sight. Her face lit up with a brilliant smile and she threw herself at him, hugging him tightly as he spun her around. The room was still spinning as they kissed.

“I missed you,” she told him, breathlessly.

“I missed you more,” he replied with a smile.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so, but let’s not stand here arguing about it. I have so much to do here, I don’t want to waste a minute!”

Mart readily agreed and soon the pair were on their way to the hotel which Mart had booked for a couple of nights. It seemed, however, that Daphne’s stay would not go as smoothly as planned. She approached the reception area a little behind Mart, having lingered to take in every detail of the lobby, only to find him arguing with the man behind the desk.

“But my booking is confirmed,” she heard him say. “Two rooms. I have the receipt for the deposit right here.”

“I’m sorry sir,” the man replied. “There is only one room available – and, as I mentioned, it is a larger room than those you booked and at no extra cost.”

“Does it have two beds?” Daphne interrupted, putting a calming hand on Mart’s shoulder.

“Yes, madam,” the man responded, politely.

“Then it will be just fine,” she told him. She added to her companion, “Don’t worry about it, Marty. It’s only for a couple of nights.”

Feeling off-balance, but unwilling to show it, Mart nodded and proceeded with the check-in.

Half an hour later, Daphne emerged from the bathroom freshly showered and slumped onto the nearest bed. “By the way,” she asked, while staring at the ceiling, “what was the problem with the room?”

“Something about water damage from a broken pipe,” he muttered.

“Well there was nothing the poor man could do about that,” she replied with a laugh. “Besides, this is much more cosy. You’ll be able to massage all the kinks out of my back.”

“What makes you think I’ll do that?” Mart asked, smiling.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Daphne said, smiling back at him. “Just a hunch.”

Mart sighed contentedly and sat down next to her. She rolled onto her front, stretching luxuriously. A moment later, she gave a little sigh and asked, “So, where’s this massage you were going to give me?”

“You haven’t been here an hour and already you’re making me work?” Mart teased, putting his hands to her shoulders.

“Yup.”

He smiled down at her, though she couldn’t see him, and wondered how he’d gotten through the last five months. For that matter, he thought, what am I going to do when she leaves? His hands moved down her spine, working away the aches.

“Mmm,” she murmured, sounding sleepy, “that’s really nice.”

“I’ve got a table booked for dinner,” he warned, giving her a little shake. “Don’t go to sleep on me, yet.”

“Okay, then,” she mumbled, rearranging herself on the bed. “You’d better try a bit harder, in that case.”

Moments later he laughed and asked, “What do you think you’re doing? I said ‘a table booked for dinner,’ not ‘burning, uncontrollable desire!’”

“I’m just pulling my shirt up a bit,” she told him with a lazy smile. “If you massage my back, skin on skin, it’ll help me wake up.”

Lying face down on the bed, she reached behind herself to unclip her bra.

“What are you doing now?” asked Mart, in mock exasperation. “I didn’t say anything about burning, uncontrollable desire, but that doesn’t mean you can’t awaken some by undressing in front of me. I thought I’d made it clear that I didn’t want us to rush things.”

“Control yourself,” Daphne ordered, though she could barely speak for giggling. “It’s not like I jumped on you and started ripping off your clothes. You’d think you never saw a naked woman before. Besides, it’s only my back. Now get to work!”

Mart gulped. Does she realise what she’s doing to me? he wondered. And how difficult it is to keep control? Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself and did as Daphne bid. “How is this?” he asked, after he had established an easy rhythm.

“I feel more awake already,” she decided. “Another half hour of this and I’ll be ready to face the world.”

He groaned, then looked over at the clock. “Luckily for my tired fingers, we don’t have that much time. How long do you need to get ready?”

“An hour should do it,” she decided.

“Then you’d better start forty-five minutes ago,” he replied. “Massage over.”

Daphne groaned, hastily rearranged her clothes and forced herself into a standing position. A short ten minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom and declared herself ready to leave. With a flourish, he escorted her outside, into a cab and onwards to a stylish restaurant.

Mart could see that his girlfriend was impressed as they walked inside. Her admiring glances were plain enough to interpret. With a confident spring in his step, he approached the maitre’d and asked for his reservation. His heart sank as he noted the subtle change in the man’s expression and knew, before he was told, that there was a problem.

“I am sorry, sir. We do not have a reservation in that name.”

A surge of indignation filled Mart and he was seized with determination. This time, he was going to have his own way. “I have had the booking for weeks. I called earlier today and was assured that everything was fine,” he informed the man. “You can’t tell me you’ve lost the booking in the last six or seven hours.”

There was another slight change in the man’s expression and he excused himself for a moment. After a hurried conversation with another member of the staff, Mart and Daphne were offered profuse apologies and politely led to a small table in the busiest part of the room.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Mart muttered, as soon as they were alone. “This must be the worst table in the place!”

“So long as the food is good, it’ll be fine,” Daphne commented, without looking up from the menu she perused. “It all sounds pretty good. What do you suggest?”

Begrudgingly, Mart left behind his bad mood and began to discuss the relative merits of various items on the menu. After a few minutes’ discussion, they had chosen two different meals so that each could try some of the other’s food. The service was particularly quick, perhaps in compensation for the earlier problem, and before they knew it, their orders were taken and the food began to arrive.

To Mart’s bemusement, his companion did not seem to be worried about the deficiencies of the arrangements. She chattered happily, obviously enjoyed the food, and made an effort to keep his mind off of the problems they had experienced. Try as he would, however, he could not quite get over the earlier disappointment. They finished their meals and he ushered Daphne outside a little more eagerly than would normally be the case.

“Oh, that was just wonderful, but now I’m totally stuffed!” Daphne declared in a low voice, as soon as the restaurant door had closed behind them. “Are we going back to the hotel, now? I think I could sleep for about a week.”

“No, no, no,” Mart told her, gently pulling her along by the arm. The crisp air did something towards restoring his humour and he resolutely pushed all failings of the rest of humanity out of his mind. “We haven’t got much time here and we’re going to do some sight-seeing tonight. There are a few things around New York that need to be seen at night and you, my dear, are going to see them.”

His heart began to beat harder as he recognised the light of mischief in her eyes. “Night clubs?” she asked.

“No, no, no!” he repeated. “You, my incorrigible friend, are under age here. I am not taking you clubbing. You will have to save that for when you go home. I have already taken the liberty of procuring tickets for one of the most famous buildings in the world, to look out over the splendour that is New York City.”

“You mean the Empire State Building?” she asked, with an excited bounce. The tiredness he had seen in her face only moments before was nowhere to be found. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

“Do you even know where it is from here?” For a moment, she took surreptitious glances at the skyline, all of which were in the wrong direction. At her reluctant shake of the head, he continued, “Then, perhaps, you might wait for me to escort you?”

Daphne gave in with good grace and allowed him to procure a cab for them. Her eyes darted here and there on their journey, wanting to take in everything at once, as the driver prattled on in English so heavily-accented that they could barely understand him. On arrival, Mart paid the fare and handed her out of the vehicle. He smiled at the look of excitement in her face as they entered the building and waited in line for the elevator to take them to the first observation deck.

“You know, I’ve seen pictures of this place lots of times,” Daphne told Mart in a low voice, “but I didn’t really expect it to be so… big! It takes your breath away.”

“Just wait until we start going up,” Mart replied, giving her hand a squeeze. “These elevators are the high-speed models – you’ll have to watch that you don’t leave your stomach behind.”

A moment later, they were on their way up to the eightieth floor, where they changed elevators and continued their ascent. The doors opened on the eighty-sixth floor and Daphne rushed onto the outdoor observation deck, dragging Mart by the hand. Her breath caught as the view opened up before them and she slowed, almost to a stop. Mart took the opportunity to come up behind her and drape his arms around her waist. Together, they looked out over the city.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, into her ear. “No matter how many times I come here, it still gives me the shivers.”

He felt her nod, but she made no reply. After a few long minutes, Mart gently disengaged himself enough to move them along a little, to a less-populated area of the observation deck. His lips gently caressed her cheek, as he held her close in front of him. Still, her eyes were fixed on the lights spread out around and below them. The sounds of the city filtered up to them: the hum of traffic, honking of horns and the occasional siren, and other, less identifiable noises.

Daphne snuggled further into Mart’s arms with a wiggle that sent his heart racing. At her waist, their fingers intertwined. “Tell me what I’m looking at,” she invited.

After a short pause to gather his scattered thoughts, Mart began naming the landmarks that were in view, knowing that his guest would not recognise or remember many of the names he mentioned. She seemed content, however, to listen to the sound of his voice and nestle into his arms as he guided her around.

“Can we go higher now?” she asked, when they reached their starting point.

“Do you want to?” he replied.

At her nod, he led the way and they were soon as high as they could get. The upper observation deck was enclosed, and thus a much more pleasant temperature, but the extra height was apparent in the view. From here, only two of the city’s other buildings were higher.

“Hold me close,” Daphne demanded, as soon as she looked down. “I feel dizzy!”

Mart laughed softly, but did as he was told. “What? Is the air up here too rarefied for you, or is this just a convenient excuse to get close to me?”

Half-turning in his arms, she looked up into his eyes and smiled. “I don’t need an excuse, do I?”

The air seemed to be sucked out of Mart’s lungs, so he just shook his head. With another smile, Daphne returned her gaze to the breathtaking view.

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” she whispered, some time later. She slipped out of his arms, but kept a tight hold of his hand.

With a nod, Mart followed. The elevator doors opened and the two entered, along with about half a dozen other people. Daphne squeezed Mart’s hand as they descended, and held on tight through the change of elevators and the resumed trip back to the ground. They could feel the elevator slowing as they neared the bottom of the shaft, then it jolted to a halt. After a few moments’ impatient wait, a large man with an irritated expression jabbed once or twice at the door open button. Nothing happened. The man grunted and began poking the other buttons in a haphazard manner.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” he asked, to the company at large. “Open, damn you!”

“I think you’ll find that it’s stuck.” The dry tones of the intelligent-looking woman in a severe black skirt suit cut through the undercurrent of muttering. Brushing the man aside, she pressed the call button and waited for the response. A few minutes later, the occupants of the elevator let out a collective groan: the company responsible would send someone to see to the elevator, but it was likely that they would be waiting there for over an hour.

“Well, that’s that, then.” Daphne’s no-nonsense tone cut through Mart’s haze of self-immolation and caused him to remove the hand he was holding in front of his eyes. He watched in bemusement as his girlfriend inspected the walls and floor of the elevator and selected a place to sit down. “You don’t expect me to stand there for an hour or two, do you? Come on, sit down here with me.”

“Uh, well… okay,” Mart finally agreed, unsure of the correct stuck-elevator etiquette, but feeling that it was somehow improper to do anything but remain standing.

The woman in the black suit was speaking in low tones to two other young women, who appeared to be her guests. On the other side of the car, two young men spoke softly together in a foreign language. The large man muttered to his companion, a middle-aged woman with a down-trodden look to her, who was possibly his wife. He fidgeted in agitation and made everyone else jump when he suddenly thumped on the doors with one large fist.

“I don’t think that will help,” chastised the woman in the black suit.

As the man’s face reddened in anger, Mart wondered how things could get any worse.

Almost two hours had passed, without any sign from the outside world that help might be on its way. Mart wasn’t clear how it had happened, but the argument had fizzled out into an uncomfortable silence. He suspected that the down-trodden woman had somehow calmed her husband, but he had not seen how she had done it. Two of the three young women were now also sitting on the floor, as were the foreign tourists. The other three resolutely remained standing. Beside him, Daphne traced lazy patterns along Mart’s thigh with her fingers. Part of him wished she would stop; most of him wished they could get out of the damn elevator and go somewhere more private.

Mart glanced at his watch and frowned. The evening had not gone at all how he had planned. If we had to get stuck in an elevator, he grumbled to himself for about the fifth time, why couldn’t it have been alone?

Suddenly, there was a thump from outside. A moment later, the doors slowly opened, revealing a drop of about three feet to the floor of the foyer. The same distance at the top of the doorway was blocked by the wall.

“About time!” the large man stormed, despite the calming hand his wife laid on his arm.

A janitor, visible through the small gap, shrugged. “I can get him to shut the doors and leave you in there overnight.” Without another word, he indicated to one of the women who was sitting on the floor that she should climb down onto the small stepladder which was waiting. The other young woman followed, as did Daphne and Mart. They did not wait to see the other passengers disembark, but went outside into the chilly night.

“Is it far back to the hotel?” Daphne wondered, as Mart guided her away at such a fast walking pace that she had trouble keeping up.

His mood ruined by the misadventures of the evening, Mart only shrugged.

“Are we going anywhere in particular?” she persisted, a dangerous note coming into her voice.

Shame coursed through Mart and he came to an abrupt halt, causing inconvenience to a number of people behind them. “Sorry,” he muttered to several people who were freely swearing at him. Pulling back against the wall of the nearest building, he explained, “We’re going back to the hotel. It’s not all that far. It’s probably quicker to walk than find a cab.”

“Thank you,” Daphne replied primly, before plastering him with a short but searing kiss. “That’s all I needed to know.” She tugged his arm until he was once more walking quickly. “I don’t expect everything to be perfect. I just expect you to talk to me.”

After another whirlwind day of sight-seeing, Mart and Daphne packed their bags, checked out of the hotel and headed for the subway. They were destined for Crabapple Farm, where Mart expected to be fully occupied in preparing for the next day’s Thanksgiving Open House. He had planned, along the way, for enough time to explore Grand Central Terminal, but a half-hour spent searching for a missing earring, an inconveniently-placed traffic accident and a small problem with wrist watches conspired to delay them by just enough time that the best train home was missed. A few seconds of lateness had added forty minutes to their trip in one blow.

“I should have checked that my watch was right,” Mart muttered, as he huddled disconsolately against the movement of the surging crowds.

With characteristic practicality, Daphne shook her head. “And I should have been wearing mine instead of putting it carefully into my luggage. It’s not your fault, Mart, and even if it was, it doesn’t matter very much. You managed to let your parents know that we’ll be a little late and that’s the important thing. Talk to me; it’s what I came here for… partly.”

Despite his bad mood, Mart’s curiosity was piqued. “Partly?”

One index finger wound a strand of long, blonde hair into a spiral. “I did have a few other aims in mind,” she teased. “You know… sightseeing… meeting new people… broadening the scope of my experience.”

“Daphne,” he warned. The tone of her voice, as she said the last few words, hinted to him that his leg was being pulled. The words had sent messages to that part of his brain which was dedicated to double entendres. A part of him, which knew her sense of humour, was frantically trying to override the idea.

“Snow,” she explained, with impossible innocence. “A white Christmas. American food and culture. That sort of thing.”

Softly, Mart groaned and willed the train to hurry up. By the looks of things, it was going to be a long and uncomfortable trip.

“Helen? We’re home,” Mart heard his father call, as the older man opened the farmhouse door. He had collected the travellers, a short time previously, from the train station.

There was the sound of rushing footsteps as Moms approached, then a subtle change in her expression told Mart that his parents had exchanged a glance. His heart sank. With half an ear, he listened to the warm welcome that Daphne received, while he mentally geared himself for the ‘little talk’ that was bound to be sent in his direction at the first available moment… which arrived almost immediately.

“Let me help you get settled in the guest room,” his mother offered, ushering Daphne in that direction and commandeering her suitcase from Mart.

With a meaningful look, his father directed Mart into the study. Head bowed to his fate, Mart obeyed.

“I think you know why you’re here,” Peter began, in solemn tones. “I know that your mother and I agreed to this situation when you first approached us about it, but I don’t think you gave us the full facts of the matter, did you?”

Mart’s expression hardened. “That is not the case, Dad. I told you everything you needed to know. What more did you want me to say?”

“How about an accurate indication of her age? I thought you said she was a college student. What age do they start college in Australia? Fifteen? Sixteen? She must be barely older than your baby brother,” his father chastised. “She’s too young for you, and far too young to be wandering the globe unchaperoned.”

“She’s years older than Bobby!” Mart objected, a little louder than he had intended. He resisted the urge to be more precise, knowing that his father would consider a six-year age gap too large. “There’s no comparison. Besides, she’s an adult. She chose to come here. Her own parents didn’t object.”

“Didn’t they?” His father’s scepticism was plain to see. “And did they object two years ago when you started chasing after their daughter?”

“What? Dad! That is completely unfair. Two years ago, she was just a friend. I didn’t even kiss her until she was eighteen, and even then I kind of wondered if things were moving too fast.” His face settled into a scowl. “Why don’t you just come out and say what you’re really getting at? It would be quicker.”

His father nodded slowly. “Are you sleeping with her?”

“No – not that it’s any of your business.”

“I would appreciate it if you did not in our home,” Peter softly replied.

Mart’s scowl deepened. “I wasn’t intending to,” he threw behind him on his way out the door.

The following day was Moms’ famous Thanksgiving Open House, and Mart was pressed into service almost at the crack of dawn. By the time the guests started arriving, he was already feeling tired and a little ill-humoured. The situation became worse when he found himself cornered by Regan.

“I hear that young girl is a friend of yours,” he began, conversationally.

No, no, no! Oh, damn it! Mart cursed to himself. Six-year-old Gianna Regan had her Daddy firmly twisted around her little finger, he knew. Ever since she had come into the world Bill Regan had developed a protective streak a mile wide, which he applied indiscriminately.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said aloud, in the mildest of tones. “She’s visiting from Australia.”

“Visiting America, or visiting you?” Regan asked. There was an undertone in his voice that Mart dreaded to hear.

“Yes,” he replied, ambiguously. “So, how are things around here? I hear Mr. Wheeler’s been looking for some more horses.”

The diversion did not work. “He likes to keep an eye out,” Bill agreed, then immediately reverted to his previous line of thought. “She seems rather young, this friend of yours.”

Inwardly, Mart groaned. “She’s a little younger than me,” he was forced to admit.

“A little too young?”

“Not at all,” Mart replied, through clenched teeth.

“You’re not being too… forward, are you?” Regan’s face took on an element of menace, which caused Mart to take a small step backwards.

“No, I don’t think I am,” he answered, nervously. I’m certainly a lot less forward with her than she is with me, he added to himself. “I’m being a good boy, Regan, scout’s honour.”

Regan nodded grimly and let the younger man escape. Mart was in the midst of fortifying himself at the buffet table when he saw Celia approaching with a thoughtful, yet determined, look on her face. There seemed no avenue of escape until Trixie noticed his dilemma and neatly intercepted his pursuer.

With barely a backward glance, and little consideration of the fact that he was leaving Daphne to fend for herself, Mart headed out onto the back porch and settled onto the porch swing with a grunt. He had barely settled into the cushions when the door swung open once more to reveal his best friend, who seated himself casually in a neighbouring seat.

“What do you think you’re doing with that little girl?” Dan asked with a bemused shake of the head. “Man, you’re just about old enough to be her grandfather!”

“Shut up, Mangan.” Mart leaned across and gave his friend a thump on the arm.

Dan continued, as if nothing had happened. “I mean, she’s cute, she’s got personality, and she’s got curves in all the right places, but don’t you think she’d be better off with someone her own age… and who lives, say, for example, in her own country?”

Shaking his head, Mart rose and stalked away without answering.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Dan called after him.

“Away from you and your preaching.” Mart turned a scowl on his friend. “I didn’t plan this; it just happened, all right? I don’t need your attitude.”

“Easy,” Dan replied, the teasing tone gone from his voice. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Mart shook his head to clear it. “I know. It’s a sore point, okay?”

The other man nodded. “If it’s meant to be, you’ll figure something out.” He gave a careless shrug. “They need farmers everywhere and you know a whole lot about sheep. This time next year, you might be riding through the outback on horseback, herding sheep.”

“She’s not from the outback,” Mart contradicted. “Even if she was, I think they use motorcycles and helicopters, rather than horses.”

“Whatever.” Dan gave a careless shrug. “So, you can herd vegetables instead. Just make sure you don’t eat them all before they have a chance to sell them.”

“I can’t just pick myself up and move right across the world,” Mart pointed out, though it was uncertain to whom the remark was addressed. “I have a life here – family and friends, a job…”

“So? You live in a different state to the rest of us most of the time. Is a different country that much different?”

“Yes.” Mart’s voice was terse. “Yes, actually, it’s a hell of a lot different. It’s so different, I can’t even begin to express it.”

Dan’s frown portrayed without words his utter incredulity at that statement. There was a pause, in which Mart hoped he was about to change the subject. When Dan next spoke, Mart wished that he hadn’t.

“So, what’s she like in the sack?”

“Aargh!” he cried, jumping up and throwing the back door open. “I don’t need this. I really don’t need this.”

In the living room once more, he decided that the safest place to be would be right at Daphne’s side. Many of those present would not think twice about confronting him, but their natural good manners might keep them quiet in her presence. His eyes scanned the room, looking for her, and found her talking with several of the other Bob-Whites, with Di’s four-month-old daughter Imogen cuddled against her shoulder.

“Hi,” he greeted, sidling up beside her. “What’s up?”

Daphne favoured him with a smile. “She’s cute, isn’t she? My arm is about to drop off, though. Here.”

Before he knew what was happening, the baby was in his arms and Daphne was shaking the circulation back into her fingers. Di raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to Honey to make some sort of remark.

“Di,” Mart warned, as he recognised the look, if not the actual words. She turned an innocent face towards him, as did Honey. “Just leave it, okay? I’ve had just about enough.”

For a moment, she looked about to ignore his interruption, but then she apologised and said, “I was just going to say that you two make a cute couple.” A look of mischief returned to her face. “Though, really, you need to be holding a baby with fairer hair.”

Mart brought out his best ‘kicked puppy’ look, but did not otherwise reply. I just can’t win, he thought. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

Continue to part three.