wispy blonde
hair at the side of her head. Her hand on the tool tightening the bolt slipped, and she
banged the knuckles painfully against the metal.
Exclaiming with frustration and pain, she brought the throbbing hand to her mouth to
suck on it too briefly before crying out, 'If I'd wanted any help, I would have asked for
it!'
'Well, what would you like me to do now?' asked Francis mildly. 'Let go of the thing?'
Kirstie hauled herself sideways, up and away to sit with her back to him, her legs
dangling out the side. 'How can you be so reasonable when only ten minutes ago in there
you were spoiling for a fight?' she demanded, feeling ridiculously close to tears. She'd
lost her tight grip on her confusion and it was threatening to swamp her.
Francis shifted as well. He had a harder time than she in manoeuvring in the confined
space, but he did his best to turn to look at her hunched back. 'Yes, well,' he said, 'I had a
chance to cool down. I didn't mean to '
She recoiled as if he had struck her, and his breath caught in his throat. 'Don't ' she
whispered '—don't bring me coffee, apologise, be nice. It only makes it worse.'
After a moment his voice came from behind her, as carefully as if he trod on cut glass.
'Do you want me to be something that I'm not?'
Through deadened lips she whispered, 'But who are you?'
'You know something, that is the first time you've asked me,' replied Francis. 'I could
probably tell you. But then you wouldn't believe me anyway.'
Her heavy head sank down into her hands. She heard him move carefully, then there was
a slight rhythmic creaking of metal. In no time at all he had the radio bolted securely
into position, and then he swung himself lightly out of the helicopter without another
word.
She lifted her head and looked around when he left, watching until he had gone inside
and the cabin door had banged shut. Unexpectedly her eyes filled with tears that she
would have given anything to avoid. Not for him. Not these. She didn't want to cry over
or because of him.
She didn't pretend to understand it. Oh, no. The only thing she could lay honest claim to
was this bewilderment that rose so strongly inside her that the feeling was painful.
She pressed the fleshless backs of her fingers into her cheeks furiously in an effort to
clear her mind. Somehow Francis had manipulated the situation today from a stalemate
to some sort of partnership. Sure, it was not necessarily a benevolent one, but still it was
a partnership of sorts, if only because they had agreed to disagree and were prepared to
thrash it out. The clever, subtle bastard!
Who was the immovable object at this point?
More questions were being asked than answered. She wasn't sure what was going on.
She wasn't sure of a lot of things any more, certainly not why Francis had found it so
important to make a point of fulfilling a trust. She wasn't even sure whether he had been
trying to prove something to her, or to himself.
And just the remembrance of one irrelevant thing sent her over the wobbling edge into
hot, wretched tears. It wouldn't have mattered seven, three, even two days ago. But
tonight it sheared, the way everything seemed to on this razor-backed rock of a
mountain, right through to the bone, and all because this afternoon, in the midst of her
dustmote-dancing daydreams, when she had thought back to her very first love, she
hadn't even been sure what he had looked like.
CHAPTER FOUR
BY THE end of Monday Kirstie felt as if she had been on the mountain forever, stuck in
some kind of weird limbo with Francis where their different pasts were as unreal as a
fable and the future had no significance. They were simply co-existing; at best it was a
shared purgatory without the cornerstone of a relationship. How he expected them to
work out their differences was beyond her—they couldn't even agree on what was black
and what was white.
Since time weighed heavily on her hands, she spent most of
hair at the side of her head. Her hand on the tool tightening the bolt slipped, and she
banged the knuckles painfully against the metal.
Exclaiming with frustration and pain, she brought the throbbing hand to her mouth to
suck on it too briefly before crying out, 'If I'd wanted any help, I would have asked for
it!'
'Well, what would you like me to do now?' asked Francis mildly. 'Let go of the thing?'
Kirstie hauled herself sideways, up and away to sit with her back to him, her legs
dangling out the side. 'How can you be so reasonable when only ten minutes ago in there
you were spoiling for a fight?' she demanded, feeling ridiculously close to tears. She'd
lost her tight grip on her confusion and it was threatening to swamp her.
Francis shifted as well. He had a harder time than she in manoeuvring in the confined
space, but he did his best to turn to look at her hunched back. 'Yes, well,' he said, 'I had a
chance to cool down. I didn't mean to '
She recoiled as if he had struck her, and his breath caught in his throat. 'Don't ' she
whispered '—don't bring me coffee, apologise, be nice. It only makes it worse.'
After a moment his voice came from behind her, as carefully as if he trod on cut glass.
'Do you want me to be something that I'm not?'
Through deadened lips she whispered, 'But who are you?'
'You know something, that is the first time you've asked me,' replied Francis. 'I could
probably tell you. But then you wouldn't believe me anyway.'
Her heavy head sank down into her hands. She heard him move carefully, then there was
a slight rhythmic creaking of metal. In no time at all he had the radio bolted securely
into position, and then he swung himself lightly out of the helicopter without another
word.
She lifted her head and looked around when he left, watching until he had gone inside
and the cabin door had banged shut. Unexpectedly her eyes filled with tears that she
would have given anything to avoid. Not for him. Not these. She didn't want to cry over
or because of him.
She didn't pretend to understand it. Oh, no. The only thing she could lay honest claim to
was this bewilderment that rose so strongly inside her that the feeling was painful.
She pressed the fleshless backs of her fingers into her cheeks furiously in an effort to
clear her mind. Somehow Francis had manipulated the situation today from a stalemate
to some sort of partnership. Sure, it was not necessarily a benevolent one, but still it was
a partnership of sorts, if only because they had agreed to disagree and were prepared to
thrash it out. The clever, subtle bastard!
Who was the immovable object at this point?
More questions were being asked than answered. She wasn't sure what was going on.
She wasn't sure of a lot of things any more, certainly not why Francis had found it so
important to make a point of fulfilling a trust. She wasn't even sure whether he had been
trying to prove something to her, or to himself.
And just the remembrance of one irrelevant thing sent her over the wobbling edge into
hot, wretched tears. It wouldn't have mattered seven, three, even two days ago. But
tonight it sheared, the way everything seemed to on this razor-backed rock of a
mountain, right through to the bone, and all because this afternoon, in the midst of her
dustmote-dancing daydreams, when she had thought back to her very first love, she
hadn't even been sure what he had looked like.
CHAPTER FOUR
BY THE end of Monday Kirstie felt as if she had been on the mountain forever, stuck in
some kind of weird limbo with Francis where their different pasts were as unreal as a
fable and the future had no significance. They were simply co-existing; at best it was a
shared purgatory without the cornerstone of a relationship. How he expected them to
work out their differences was beyond her—they couldn't even agree on what was black
and what was white.
Since time weighed heavily on her hands, she spent most of
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