Freeing Kirsty Ch. 02

The three boys, realising they were slowly drifting out to sea, yelled for help.

In a flash Kirsty kicked off her shoes and was joined by a woman – later identified as the mother in charge – in the dash into the water. By this time the three boys had stood on the same side of the dinghy and they tumbled into the water.

With his feet dry, Merrick calmly took frame after frame of the inshore rescue. Both women, soaked and their bodies apparent under their wet clothing, emerged from the sea triumphant. A brilliant picture, thought Merrick, even if I say so myself.

As soon as the lad she'd carried ashore was in safe hands Kirsty ran storming at Merrick, beating her fists on his chest.

"You did nothing, absolutely nothing; they could have drowned," she screamed.

"Steady on, it's all right. They never were in danger," Merrick replied.

"How could you know?" she sobbed. "You'd do anything to get your picture."

"I spent eighteen summers on this beach," Merrick said softly. "I know it like the back of my hand. Look!"

"Sobbing, Kirsty look out into the bay, semi protected by high rising land to their left. A man and one of the 'rescued' boys had secured the dinghy and although just beyond the 'rescue' area, the young lad was still only chin deep in water.

Kirsty burst into tears and turned partly away from Merrick only to be gathered into the appreciative arms of the other soaked rescuer. Kirsty heard the camera click again.

"You poor dear," soothed the other woman. "You have had a traumatic experience. Why don't you and your companion come up to our bach and I'll get you some dry clothes. I'm Liz Waters. What a horrible experience for you. For us it's happening all the time - this is normal behaviour for young boys, pushing everything to the brink."

Merrick followed behind, calling up their accommodation on his phone. He confirmed they were on the island but would be checking in much later. His island experience told him they would be amid a rip-roaring party that night. Liz who he'd know as a youngster, was the now married to Bud Elder's tear-away son Mervyn. Saturday night was always a full-on night for the Elders, Waters, McKenzies, Ivors and hangers-on. Kirsty would be given a stiff gin and a cosy girlie shower with Liz – tank water collected from the roof had to be conserved; all this would cheer her up no end. Then later she would be introduced to New Zealander inter-family socialising at the very lowest level on the cultural scale. Merrick was absolutely certain she would revel in it.

Seven hours later Liz delivered them to their luxury beach lodge in her family's clapped out Land Rover. Kirsty was almost unconscious but was still aware enough that Liz was not in a fit state to drive home. She insisted that Liz should double up with her, muttering they'd had such a promising time in the shower together.

Merrick didn't mind. He'd taken numerous photographs during the evening so put the films into the cartridge cases and put them away safely. He lay back on the double bed, hands behind his head, smiling. It had been a great day. He'd enjoy helping to shape Kirsty into an effective journalist. The signs were good.

"Move over chump," Liz said, sending her dress and panties flying over the bed end. She'd been wearing nothing else.

"The others will be missing me unless I get back soon. Let me have my quickie; of course you are expected to move your bum."

Merrick was tempted, but pushed her away gently. "Sorry, love. But I'm on a promise to someone else. Just go to sleep, that's a good girl."

At 8:30 Kirsty crawled into the double bed, groaning and holding her head.

"What a night that was!"

"Yeah, awesome. I thought you would like it."

"Whose pants and dress are on the floor?"

"Liz's I suppose."

"Did she have her way with you?"

"Nah."

"Why didn't you let her?"

"Because I'm promised to you."

"Well, that's a novel defence. What did she wear home?"

"Nothing, I suspect. I saw her weaving off totally nude."

"Why didn't you stop her?"

"Because it was nervous about any further delay in her return home. The men would have come looking for her and they would have wanted to sample your wares."

"Thank you, kind sir, for saving me from that possible fate. Please get me pills for my headache."

"Yes, but remember we need to be on the road by 11:00 to get a good day's work in. Let's skip parties tonight and have sex in our spa pool."

"Can I delay my reply?"

"Yes, but we'll be having great wine at lunch time so you'll get rid of this hangover to start again."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

"Right then."

"Right then what?"

"Sex in the pool when we return here, and party afterwards."

Merrick grinned, and ran his hands down his thighs.

"You know, you're a really neat lady."

"I know. The headache pills?"

"Right."

Just on noon the small sedan Merrick was driving stopped short of a very modern-looking winery, perched dramatically on a hilltop. Equally dramatic was the view beyond it of other nearby islands of the gulf and Auckland in the distance.

"This is a sensational view – why aren't you taking a photo?"

"Patience, patience Kirsty. We'll come back this evening for late afternoon and sunset shots. It will be even more dramatic them."

Photos were taken of a group of Asian visitors examining the orderly rows of budding vines and watching the vines being sprayed mechanically.

Inside, Merrick spent almost fifteen minutes by his deliberately slow actions to have everything right and in doing so helped to develop cramp in the arm of a red-faced and moustached elderly man holding up a glass of chardonnay to look at its colour before tasting it.

Merrick goal was to take the photo at the optimum angle to capture the rich gold liquid in the glass and the ruddy features of the drinker's face while also allowing the background view of sky, sea and islands to show, although they would be somewhat blurred because of compromise to get the wineglass and face in sharp focus.

"I'm almost sorry I agreed to pose," said the old chap rubbing his elbow.

The subject's eyes lit up when Merrick tossed a $50 note on to the bar for the man to taste another wine and his eyes positively popped when Kirsty tossed her notebook and pen beside him and had to hitch her dress up high in order to climb onto the high stool to sit before taking down caption details.

"Ask Harry where else in the world he has tasted wine," Merrick suggested, putting a new film into one of his two cameras.

Kirsty asked that question, looing as if wondering whether she would have thought to ask it.

Harry's reply startled her: "Italy, France, Greece, Yugoslavia, Romania, Portugal, Hungary, South Africa, California, Chile, Argentina, Australia, New Zealand - those are the main ones. I'm here on holiday right now. My job is buying wine for distribution throughout the United Kingdom. Please join me for a drink, my dear."

Half an hour later Kirsty found Merrick seated outside, sipping water while basking in the sun and drinking in the panoramic view.

"The dirty old man – he was after my body, not to teach me finer points about wine tasting," she fumed.

"It's you fault for looking so beautiful and sexy."

"Bah to you too!" she snapped, before giggling.

They watched four twenty-somethings roar up in an open top bright red sports car.

"That's a rental car – why didn't you rent one of those for us Merrick instead of this lumbering hunk of old metal? We would have looked stunning in that and enjoyed the wind-slip streaming through our hair."

The reply was ever so practical. "You get room in the boot of that sports car for swimming gear, a picnic basket and a dozen of beer. That's about all. In our vehicle we can pack in all that plus all of my photographic gear and our overnight luggage and have it all securely locked away."

"Must you be so practical?"

"Yes, when it comes to my art and my livelihood."

Kirsty sighed and said of course.

"Right, let's get rid of the last elements of your hangover with fine food and fine wine," Merrick said, returning from the car carrying just a digital camera.

"I suppose that camera is coming with us as something might crop up?"

"Yes, just as you notebook and pen should be in your handbag."

"Yes master."

Merrick silenced those cheeky lips with a long kiss.

"Right, fresh up your lipstick and we'll go in for lunch. There is a table reserved for us."

"Yes master."

"By the way, our hosts manage the restaurant and wine sales and their other guest is that esteemed British victualler, Harold Leigh-Somerton you were rubbing your body against earlier."

"Oh no – can you sit between him and me? He'll be in groping mode by now."

That evening Merrick and Kirsty were late invitees at a formal dinner sponsored by several of the island's top winemakers; the restaurant was closed to the public for the function.

Guest of honour was Harold Leigh-Somerton and Kirsty groaned when informed they would be at the top table with Harold and his wife. That despair turned to delight when she found that Harold's wife, from Mendoza in Argentina, was seated beside her and was only a few years her senior.

Late in the evening Harold confided to Kirsty, "I asked that you to be invited here tonight because Camilla adores being in the company of tall, beautiful and intelligent women and it's damn difficult finding specimens possessing all three attributes. Then today I found you."

"Thank you for your compliment, Harold," Kirsty replied, giving him a dazzling smile as she hiccupped.

His mouth dropped open when she added: "It is not every day I'm admired as a trophy."

Camilla, over-hearing this, laughed delightedly. "Poor Harry, he never learns. Selecting a trophy, as you call it, with the intelligence factor can prove embarrassing for him; they can bite back unlike the others he calls bimbos."

Returning to Auckland on the ferry, possessing five times the amount of text and ten times the number of film exposures required for the final article for the client in Sydney, Merrick and Kirsty sipped coffee, watching Waiheke Island growing smaller beyond the turbulent wake of the QuickCat.

"That was a wonderful time on the island, darling. I can see why you loved spending your summers there in your youth."

"Aye, but then islands anywhere in the world seem to have their charm."

"Well, Merrick," Kirsty said sadly. "This marks the imminent end of my stay in your home. It's time for me to find my own accommodation and I'd like to find a job. Would you help me find a little apartment?"

Merrick took her hand and said there was an alternative.

Kirsty looked slightly dismayed, as if expecting to be selfishly asked to continue their existing living arrangement of her being his bed buddy.

"What is that?" she sighed.

"Marry me."

She swallowed and turned to examine his face.

"Marry you?"

"Precisely."

"But Merrick – my background; you don't really know me yet."

"So?"

"I can't allow you to take such a risk."

"So this lovely, charming, open and incredibly sexy companion has dark secrets to hide?"

"No."

Merrick opened his aluminium photographic case and from a recess in the lid pulled out a little black box and handed it to Kirsty with a soft smile.

"I anticipated my luck was about to change so purchased this with you in mind on that afternoon in the mall on Long Island."

"A ring?" whispered Kirsty, opening the small box with shaking hands. A gold ring with three small inset diamonds was exposed.

"It's lovely," she breathed. "Please slip it on to my ring finger for me."

It fitted perfectly. Merrick had taken to the jeweller a ring she often wore on the fourth finger of her other hand. When he made the purchase he'd known if not Kirsty he'd find someone to wear it for him.

She placed her arms around his neck and said to him sweetly, "I accept your offer of marriage sometime in the future."

They kissed, and sat back happily gazing at each other.

On the drive home, Merrick said that he wanted Kirsty to continue living and working with him.

"I have again grown accustomed to having sexual opportunity placed alongside me, to having company in the house again and I want to tutor you in practical journalism to allow you to turn that interest of yours into a career."

"Are the priorities in that order?" she enquired, mischievously.

"Yes," he smiled, and she clutched his arm happily.

"I am pleased about that – financially I am very secure so forging a career is not an absolute priority for me at the moment and then there are visitor permit restrictions to consider."

As they drove up to the garage Merrick said he would unload the vehicle and sort out films. Kirsty said she would make coffee and check for emails while running a bath.

A few minutes later she ran into the spare bedrooms that Merrick used as a studio.

"What's wrong?" he asked in alarm, noticing her expression. Kirsty handed him the print-out. The email was short and to the point: "Return immediately or I'll send someone to bring you back. Spiro."

Kirsty burst into tears. "How can he find me?" she wailed. "I've disappeared to the other side of the world."

"Easy," Merrick said grimly. "He's got your email address, has access to your computer in New York and no doubt visited some of your girl friends you emailed before you left. Have you sent emails to any of them on this machine?"

"Yes," sobbed Kirsty, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Two to my best friend Meg."

"Well then," said Merrick. "I'm buying a couple of baseball bats for protection and tomorrow will get the security system of this house upgraded with some panic buttons and pressure mats added. We'll have to take care from now on, keeping doors locked."

"But what about your safety?"

"I'll have to look after myself, won't I? I'm not concerned about you as you are only to be retrieved; Spiro would not want you marked or abused."

"Oh God – shouldn't we go away and hide?"

"What, and not know when the retriever will pop up? Here I have the advantage of being on familiar ground."

To Be Continued