Eve's Passion

Chapter 1

Would you like to taste an apple? Eve held out the plate of sample apple quarters.

The customer studied her with appraising brown eyes, his lips curved in private amusement. He took a slice of apple and crunched into it. Juice spurted and ran down his chin.

Eve smiled. Good, isn’t it? What was he doing here? This well-dressed, handsome individual with his expensive foreign car would hardly be accustomed to buying fresh picked fruit at a roadside stall. Golden Delicious is my favourite.

Very sweet. Another, broader smile creased attractive lines at the corners of his mouth. He wiped his chin with a handkerchief. Were they initials she glimpsed before he stuffed it back in his pocket? And very juicy.

Eve compared the concept of monogrammed linen with the handful of paper tissues in her own pocket. Someone had to wash handkerchiefs. Preferably boil them. And iron them. He wouldn’t do that himself, this refined hunk of man in the charcoal grey Italian suit; he’d have a launderer. Or a wife. An elegant whippet of a wife who never lifted a packet of laundry detergent in anger.

Eve McGregor? He extended his hand towards her.

She nodded and hastily rubbed her own grimy hand on her overalls before taking his clean and manicured fingers. Wonder who buffed those nails? A slave girl? He had the dark good looks of a harem owner, a Persian prince, although would they have such riotous hair? Despite the efforts of a stylist, those curls softened the formality of his appearance, made him look like a naughty boy. Particularly when he grinned like that.

He held her hand firmly, stared disconcertingly straight into her eyes and said, Adam Henderson.

Adam? Eve blinked in astonishment then gave a gurgle of laughter. I offered you an apple.

He leaned closer. She caught a whiff of delicious male cologne. She was wearing, Eau d’Apple Farm a tangy, fresh fragrance with just a hint of earthiness and tractor oil.

I know. A low seductive voice. And I ate it.

Eve put her free hand to her mouth and raised her eyebrows in mock alarm. Oh no! Our fate is sealed. Desirable as a fate entwined with this man’s might be, a joke was as close as it was likely to get. Unfortunately. She could envisage worse things.

He popped the last piece of apple into his mouth with his eyes fixed on hers.

Henderson? The name was vaguely familiar, struck a chord somewhere in the memory banks. She frowned briefly but couldn’t pinpoint the reason. The intense gaze made her skin prickle. Was he trying to memorize her face? She turned away to put the plate of apple on the wooden bench. It had been on the tip of her tongue, under the spell of those eyes, to offer him more.

A car pulled up and an elderly couple clambered out. A tan dachshund took the opportunity to leap for freedom, bounce about their feet briefly then shoot through the hedge-lined fence behind Eve’s shed and disappear into the orchard. Feeble cries of, Fritzy, come back, floated after him.

Eve stifled a laugh.

Excuse me.

She walked across to the owners who were peering anxiously through the hedge, calling, Fritzy, Fritzy.

Come through the shed. He probably won’t go far, she said then called to Adam, who was inspecting the apples packed ready for sale. Sorry, won’t be a minute. He waved his arm in a no problems gesture.

I told you to put his lead on, wretched dog, muttered the old fellow as Eve led them past the benches stacked with bags of apples and into the packing area where the pickers unloaded the tractor and Eve operated the grader.

She pushed open the rear door and they stepped into bright, crisp, autumn sunlight. Fritzy had completely disappeared. The orderly rows of trees planted lovingly by her father so many years ago stretched away in all directions, interrupted only by the dirt track leading to the old family house in the centre of the six acre property.

He’s lost! wailed the woman and sniffled into a pink tissue. My poor baby.

You should have put his lead on. You never listen. Crabby old man. Eve was about to reassure them Fritzy wouldn’t be far away when an ear shattering whistle from behind them nearly burst her eardrums. The wife clutched her husband’s scrawny arm in shock. He let fly a curse and they all three turned in amazement to see Adam Henderson removing his fingers from his mouth with a broad grin on his face.

He should hear that! Eve gave a snort of laughter.

I’ll give him another blast just in case, said Adam, and the old lady quickly stuck her fingers in her ears.

Suddenly a little bounding figure appeared, big ears streaming behind in the breeze, little legs pumping as he leapt over the grassy tussocks in an effort to answer the call. The man scooped up the panting, wriggling dog as soon as he was able.

When the trio had departed with their purchase of ten apples, Eve turned to Adam Henderson. Sorry about that. You were here first. What would you like?

No problem, he said calmly. I’m a patient man. And Fritzy was an emergency.

His eyes seemed to caress her face. Hers wouldn’t keep away from his smiling lips. Should have worn her jeans today instead of the bib and brace overalls. Jeans showed off her figure better. Overalls made her look like a sack of potatoes. But when you were picking, sorting and packing apples all day, haute couture was not an issue. And she didn’t know this man Adam was coming.

Impressive whistle.

His gaze dropped briefly to her body then back to her face. I practice every day. The smile widened.

She must look a sight! Mud encrusted elastic-sided boots, navy blue overalls with the rip where she’d caught her leg on the fence, old green hand knitted sweater, dirty hands and nails, hair scraped back into a pony tail to keep it out of the way—regular farm labourer. He was being very polite. He’d probably go straight home and disinfect himself.

Eve felt her cheeks stretching wide in response to his smile, his undivided attention. Grinning stupidly. A half-witted farm labourer now.

Apples, she blurted.

Yes, delicious Golden Delicious. One bag please.

A business-like change in tone. He wasn’t here to flirt; he was here to buy fruit. She lifted a bag off the bench, her brain functioning again. Have to pack up some more as soon as he left, this Adam Henderson. Why did he introduce himself? No other customers bothered. And he knew her name. She opened her mouth to ask why and how but he said, Do you work here by yourself?

She snapped to full attention. A predator? Rapists and murderers came in all shapes and forms. Some of them went to a lot of trouble to case their victims. Sussing out women alone, checking their habits. The really dangerous, crazy ones. The ones in her psychology textbooks. Serial murderers like in the movie she’d watched last week on TV. He’d been handsome and charming. Chatted up his victims then strangled them.

No. There are two pickers back there. They come in regularly to unload. He didn’t need to know she’d laid them both off days ago because she had no money to pay them. Hardly had enough money to feed herself. She gritted her teeth against the reality.

Adam nodded. But you do the packing and the sorting?

Yes. His was casual interest. He wasn’t here to harm her, not with those eyes. She’d seen enough crazies in her other, previous career to know that.

Good business?

She hesitated, nearly told him the truth. Business was terrible. Impossible. In her blackest moments she toyed with selling the place to the orchardist next door, which really meant she was desperate. Her father had had a running, bickering, thirty-year feud with the old devil and the last thing he would have done was hand Eden over to Charlie Sparrow. Or admit failure. But if he hadn’t died she wouldn’t be here alone.

So-so. We had a light crop this year because of hail at the wrong time. The Golden Delicious survived and we had a good crop of Jonathans but the Granny Smiths are a write-off. Try as she might she couldn’t keep the quiver of despair from her voice.

Tough. Eve glanced up to find his brown eyes regarding her gravely again. Sympathetic but distant now, uninvolved. Assessing? Ever think of selling? Farming must be one of the hardest ways to make a living these days.

Was that an idle query from a casually interested passer-by? Or not.

I grew up here. She met his gaze full on. My dad planted all these trees. He must have gathered from her expression and the firmness of her voice that nothing more need be said. This was her home and her father’s dream. His Eden. Would Adam Henderson understand?

He nodded slowly, his lips pursed.

Family bonds can be strong. He pulled out a slim leather wallet and extracted a fifty dollar note. But being sentimental is a curse when business is involved. Sometimes you simply have to cut your losses and move on. Can you change this?

Business isn’t that bad. No, he wouldn’t understand. She took the note and turned away. By the look of his clothes and car he wasn’t cursed by sentimentality. She, on the other hand, must look the biggest soft touch known to man.

I just didn’t want to leave you short, that’s all.

It’s fine. She gave him the change from her biscuit tin cash register, spotting the amused smirk on his face before he hid it.

Thank you, Eve, he said. I shall enjoy eating your apples.

Goodbye. She watched him stride to his car, surprised by the strong pang of disappointment that he hadn't stayed to flirt a while longer. But she couldn’t expect a man like that to waste any more of his time on an apple seller. He opened the boot and carefully placed the bag inside, then, with a brief wave, he was gone in a silver blur of expensive automobile.

Eve went to the rear of the shed and started the apple grader. With a small grunt she lifted a heavy wooden crate of apples up to the platform and upended them onto the conveyor belt where they rolled through various sized gaps according to size. She ran five boxes through then stood packing the sorted apples into bags for sale, discarding damaged fruit as she went. Restful stress-free work, the biggest decision being whether an apple was a cooker or an eater. Plenty of time to think or talk. In the old days her father had employed two or three casual workers at crop time and they’d solved the problems of the world while they picked or sorted.

Now she was here on her own, struggling in the face of rising costs, increased competition, a house constantly in need of repair, old machinery, falling income and a bank overdraft ever harder to repay, to the point where she had to meet Mr Peacock, the bank manager, tomorrow morning, to discuss your situation. Eve knew her situation, and it was dire.

Maybe she should marry money. Women did that all the time. Apparently. At least they did in books and Hollywood and gossip magazines. Perhaps she could ensnare someone like Adam Henderson. But he wasn’t a geriatric, soft-in-the-head millionaire and she wasn’t a curvaceous gold digger. Eve tied up another bag and lifted it across to the bench. Another half dozen should do it for today.

Handsome Adam Henderson. He was handsome. Very handsome. What would life be like with him? Comfortable and luxurious? Certainly. Exciting? Undoubtedly—especially in bed. She giggled. Good thing he wasn’t a mind reader. Although…how did he know her name? Funny about their names. Offering him apple. He thought it was funny too. And her farm was called Eden. Wonder if he knew that? Her parents’ little joke. First girl child she was. As it turned out, first and only child.

Adam Henderson. Marry him for his money? And his sex appeal? He had loads of both. Good plan!

Except he was hardly likely to jump at marrying her the way she looked today. Not the best first impression she had to admit. Anyway! She counted her stock pile. Enough. He’ll probably never come by again. And he was presumably married already to the whippet.

You’ve missed your chance, Evie, she said aloud. Have to think of something else. Accepting the standing proposal of Brendan, best friend and local vet, was hardly worth considering. Brendan never had any money or if he did he kept it well hidden.

Eve pulled the big doors across the front of the shed and padlocked them securely from the inside. Then she put a bar across and went out the back way, locking that door as well. She carried a bucket of reject apples. The sun was hovering over the hills across the river, sending shafts of red-gold light through the trees and bathing everything in a soft golden glow. Leaves turned brown and yellow were beginning to fall in a soft thick carpet as the trees prepared for the cold winter weather.

She walked slowly, savouring the freshness of the crisp air. The warmth left the day quickly when the sun went down. She headed for the house but continued on past it to the field at the rear. Two faces peered anxiously over the gate. One gave a bellow of greeting; the other snickered softly through velvet nostrils.

Hello, hello. She flung the apples in a wide arc over the gate onto the tussocky grass and both animals darted away to begin crunching and munching contentedly. Eve leaned on the gate to watch.

Della, the chestnut mare, was getting fat and should be ridden more often but there was no time. Beauty, the cow, was an old aged pensioner living out her remaining days in comfort. She’d earned her retirement after years of producing milk and calves. Eve smiled fondly at them.

She and Della, together with friends Tanya and Brendan astride their own horses, had roamed far and wide. Coming home on evenings such as this was her favourite time—often she’d pause after unsaddling and breathe deeply, revelling in the autumn scents and what she in hindsight now recognised as the pure, unfettered joy of living in such a paradise. Her father would come to help her fork hay to the animals and they’d walk together to the house, silent in loving companionship.

Eve heaved a sigh, heavy tonight with resignation. She lifted her arms wearily from the top bar of the gate and went to feed herself, stopping at the hen house to collect the three or four eggs her little flock provided each day. The girls had already settled for the night, clucking and muttering softly on their perches as she looted the nests.

She kicked off her boots in the scullery and padded through to the kitchen in thick woolen socks to carefully place the eggs in the china bowl on the bench. She switched on the oven and took the leftover casserole from last night out of the fridge. A dash of water, a lid, and in it went. Now for a shower, hot and long. As the actress said to the bishop.

Eve grinned as she stripped off her filthy clothes and dumped them in the hamper. That was her father’s phrase, old fashioned and funny coming in his dry, gentle voice at the most unexpected moments. It was as far as he’d go with smutty talk. It’s all in your mind, he’d say blandly when she remonstrated.

Rosy, red light from the sunset streamed through her bedroom window and she gazed out at the view over the orchard and across the river to the hills. A beautiful pastoral view, or it had been until some developer began selling off acre blocks to hobby farmers. Now the development was growing like a malignant cancer, spreading its evil blight across the once beautiful grazing land. Spoiling her view.

Standing in her underwear, Eve realised with a resentful frown that if one of those residents had binoculars he’d be able to see right into her bedroom. That big two-story place had a perfect line of sight from the upstairs balcony. After years of neighbourlessness she’d have to start remembering to close her curtains. She grabbed a handful of the faded and frayed cotton fabric and yanked it closed against prying eyes. Damn nuisances up there with their money and their attitudes!

* * * *

Next morning, dressed smartly in a confidence inspiring navy skirt and jacket which dated back to her school teaching days, she coaxed Eric, the VW van, into action and drove the fifteen kilometres into Mittagong. She had no idea what she would say to Mr Peacock. She hoped he would have some brilliant strategy worked out whereby she got to stay on Eden and her overdraft repayments were minimised.

He didn’t. He suggested she sell and the sooner the better.

He steepled his hands earnestly and studied her through his rimless spectacles as if she were an interesting specimen of insect. Repayment Defaultus Feminina—attractive colouration but unreliable and incapable of survival without the support of the male of the species.

The developer building across the river would undoubtedly be interested.

Eve’s spine straightened in defiance. Never! I’d never ever sell Eden to someone like that! They’d bulldoze the trees and divide it up into little squares for their horrible houses. They don’t care about the land.

There’s also a whisper that BiChem wants to set up a plant in the area—an Australian base. They’d pay well.

"A fertiliser factory? That’s appalling! Unthinkable! Is there any other way?" she cried desperately, knowing the answer. Mr Peacock would think he’d just given her the solution.

I’m sorry. We’ve extended ourselves further than we should have already, and ultimately you don’t have much choice. I can wait until the end of the season. That’s June you said? End of the financial year then.

His desk calendar blasted April 10th at her in red letters. She had until June 30th. Eve nodded miserably and shook his hand. It was cold and dry. Hers was clammy.

She wandered out into the main street and stood uncertainly in the sun. There were a few errands to run but she couldn’t remember what she’d planned. Her mind could only comprehend one thought. Eden was doomed. She’d failed. Her father’s dream was becoming a nightmare. She pressed her fingers tightly against her eyes to prevent the tears flooding down her cheeks.

Hello. Are you all right? The voice was familiar. She whipped her hands away as her eyes flew open—Adam Henderson with a slight frown of concern as he gazed down at her. Come with me.

He placed his hand on her arm and led her firmly along the street to a coffee shop. Eve went with him, unable to summon any sort of resistance, glad to be told what to do for perhaps the first time in her adult life.

Coffee? he asked and she managed to nod. He ordered then shepherded her to a booth where they would be partly shielded from curious eyes. Not that there were any, the place was deserted.

Eve wiped her eyes with one of her tissues, summoned a weak smile.

Sorry, she murmured, and sniffed. Her already unstable heart fluttered at the genuine concern on his face. He had the most wonderful brown eyes, soft and tender,