The Blue Mountains of Kabuta by Hilary Wilde

valley.’
    He bent and kissed her, very gently. Then he was gone and she could hear the bath running and him whistling.
    She sat very still for a moment, then stood up. Somehow she moved, forcing her limbs to obey, going to the linen cupboard, then taking the linen to the guest room, making up the bed, letting the dogs out for a last-minute run.
    The rain was still teeming down, a curtain of grey water. She went to her bedroom, closed the door, and went to the mirror to gaze at herself.
    Her eyes looked worriedly back at her.
    â€˜It can’t be true,’ she whispered. ‘It just can’t be true.’
    But it was. She knew it was. Much later that night as she lay awake, no longer afraid of the thunder or of the bright white light that filled the room at intervals, no longer aware of anything except the truth.
    The truth? That she was in love. In love with a man who saw her only as ‘little Jon’, the niece of his best friend.
    In love with Alex.

CHAPTER FIVE
    When Jon awoke, the sun was streaming into her room. She sat up quickly and Rex moved to her side to lick her hand.
    â€˜The wonderful thing about this country, Rex,’ Jon said sleepily, ‘is that even though it can rain like mad, you know the sun will shine.’ She yawned happily, stretching her arms, and then, quite suddenly, she stiffened as she remembered!
    Alex!
    Her mouth was dry, her throat seemed to close so that, for a moment, she could hardly breathe.
    Alex. He was here. He had been for the night and she had just discovered that she loved him, more than she had ever believed it possible to love. It couldn’t be true! It mustn’t. It only made everything even more complicated than before.
    She slid out of bed, hurriedly pulling on jeans and a white shirt, then quietly opened her bedroom door. Now she must watch her every thought, be on guard against the chance of betraying her secret. Whatever happened, Alex must never know.
    From her bedroom doorway, she could see the guest room. The door stood open. The bed was covered with the bedspread. The room looked as it always did, as if it had never been slept in. In the bathroom, she glanced into the linen basket. The sheets were there, and two pillow-slips, awaiting the wash-girl. Jon looked at her watch. It was barely six o’clock. Alex must have risen early and gone off so quietly that she didn’t hear him.
    She looked out of the window. How pathetic the garden looked as a result of the storm. There were so many flowers beaten to the ground. Deep runnels were carved into the soft muddy soil. The trees were bent, some of the branches broken off, and the blue petals of the jacaranda flowers lined the ground. But, she reminded herself, the sun still shone!
    Walking with the dogs, she found the track was deep in mud, but she hardly noticed it, for she had too much to think about. What was love? she asked herself. How could she love a man she didn’t understand? Alex had so many different facets to his character. Like the night before when he had been so understanding, considerate and gentle. Yet at other times he could hurt her with his sarcastic patronage, his refusal to treat her as an adult. It was so odd how quickly his nature could change. One moment he could be kind and the next cruel.
    She bent and picked up part of a root, tossing it in the air for the dogs to run after. This time, as she stopped, Jock the spaniel looked up at her and wagged his tail. For a moment the tears were near as she gratefully patted him. At least there was one thing; Jock was starting to accept her. It was just as Alex had promised: ‘Give Jock time and he’ll let you replace Uncle Ned in his old dog’s heart.’
    Jon caught her breath. The painful truth of understanding shot through her. Never, but never, could she hope to have a place in Alex’s heart. She would always be, to him, Uncle Ned’s
little Jon
. Never, but never, would he see her as a woman,