Stretched Horizons

by Ross Richdale

  They walked through to a modernised kitchen where Linda busied herself pouring the tea. Yvonne stayed with her while Jason excused himself and walked through to where Colin's voice could be heard speaking. Both men returned a few moments later.

  "It sounds bad," was all Colin said.

  "TELL ME," YVONNE SAID as she and Jason drove away a few moments later. "Was the atmosphere there somewhat strained or was it my imagination?"

  "When you tell someone his wife is missing and presumed dead you'd hardly expect him to be laughing."

  "I didn't mean that. It was the interaction between him and the woman." Yvonne shrugged. "Or should I say complete lack of it. If anything, Linda Rouke appeared more affected by the news than Ashworth was."

  "I've had to do this a few times," Jason said. "People react differently to tragic news." He stopped the squad car at a set of lights. "I must admit he did seem a somewhat cold character."

  "And her condition! Rouke had bruises on her arms."

  "You noticed? It sounds typical..."

  "What does?"

  "A young woman starts an affair with an older guy. Everything is grand until they move in together, then he shows his true colours. If he was prone to violence with his wife he just continues it with the mistress." He glowered at the red light. "Perhaps we could give the London Metro Police a call and see if they have anything on this pair. You've got me curious."

  Yvonne nodded. "Did anything new come up from his conversation with the New Zealand police?"

  "Not really. The weather over there has cleared and a ground party is searching the river for bodies. Apparently, there's a huge area to cover. I spoke to the chap on the phone and he told me the aeroplane was just a crumbled heap of metal, sliced in half through the fuselage. They'll keep in touch."

  "Tragic," Yvonne said. She reached forward as the radio splattered into life. Their next dispatch was coming through. For the moment, Colin Ashworth and his mistress were forgotten.

  BY THE TIME BREE REACHED her, Jenny lay slumped with eyes closed and a line of froth dribbling down her chin. The places not sunburned, were chalk white. Bree placed a hand on her forehead, the gasped.

  "She's burning up."

  Ray gave Jenny a quick appraisal. "Heat exhaustion," he said. He slid out of his backpack, found a canteen, poured a little water on the corner of a towel and wiped her face.

  "How do you know?"

  "Sweating, clammy skin." He straightened. "We need shade. I'll get the tent up."

  Bree held Jenny while Ray began erecting the tent. He was fast and, mere moments later; he lifted Jenny into his arms and carried her inside the tent, where he lay her on his unrolled sleeping bag.

  "I'll see what there is in my first aid kit," he said.

  Bree nodded and sat down near Jenny's head. Ray came up with a small bottle of clear liquid.

  "Try this," he said. "It's powerful so don't try sniffing it yourself."

  Bree nodded, unscrewed the top and pulled back. My God, it was powerful. The smell akin to ammonia and rotten eggs made her eyes water and she spluttered. She gulped, tipped a little of the fluid on the towel and held it under Jenny's nose.

  It worked. Jenny jerked conscious, coughed violently and her eyes bulged. "I'm going..." she groaned and vomited in a basin Ray had produced in anticipation.

  Afterwards, she sipped a little water and stared up at her concerned companions. "I'm sorry," she managed to gasp. "God I feel awful."

  She was sick again but afterwards a little colour appeared in her face and she took the towel from Bree to wipe her lips.

  "Just relax," Bree replied. "Sip a little water if you can. You'll be fine."

  Jenny nodded. "I'm, sorry," she apologized again. "One minute I was walking along, the next, the whole world began to spin. Then, I smell that vile stuff you waved under my nose. What is it?"

  "Some concoction my grandmother always used," Ray said. "She swore by it. I've always carried some in my medical kit."

  Jenny smiled faintly, wiped her eyes and attempted to sit up. "Oh, hell," she gasped and flopped back down. "Everything's spinning."

  "Just lie there," Bree said. "You're going nowhere at the moment."

  "But..."

  "There's no hurry," Ray said. "We'll just stay here until you feel better."

  Bree watched as Pattie crept into the tent and flopped down beside Jenny.

  Jenny looked up at the dog. "Hi, girl," she said. "I'm a cot case, aren't I?"

  Pattie lay down with her chin out along her front paws. Two massive brown eyes stared at the young woman.

  "You've a good pal there, Jenny," Ray said. "Pattie is mighty particular about who she befriends. Now, try a little more water if you wish but nothing else."

  "Okay," Jenny muttered, took a small sip, and lay back. Her eyes shut and she lapsed into sleep. This time though, her breathing appeared normal and her lips lost their blue hue.

  "She should be okay now," Ray said. "Keep the moist towel on her forehead."

  "Thanks, Ray," Bree said, then smiled. "You seem to have everything in that backpack of yours."

  "I guess," Ray replied. "I'm just a naturally cautious person, I suppose. You can't just stroll out here with a couple of apples in your back pocket and a spare jersey slung around your shoulders." He smiled back.

  "So, we'll be okay here?" Bree asked. "It's pretty exposed."

  "It's not a good place to spend the night. When it's cooler we should keep going. Once we get back to the bush line, we'll find a sheltered spot and go on to the hut tomorrow." He frowned. "It depends a little on Jenny's condition, of course." He looked across at Bree. "And how are you?"

  "Okay," Bree replied. "That steep climb was a killer but out here on the tussock I've coped." She sighed. "It is hot, though."

  "And your ribs?"

  "Better," Bree replied. "They're sore if I bump them but otherwise okay."

  "Good," Ray said. "I'll find us something to eat."

  "A never ending supply," Bree said.

  "Not quite. We're almost down to raisins and energy bars. There'll be no flash breakfast in the morning." He checked Jenny and slipped out of the tent.

  JENNY AWOKE A FEW MOMENTS later and insisted she would be able to walk. However, Ray and Bree insisted she rest until the sun was lower in the sky. When they did move, Jenny had lost her earlier bouncy pace but managed a steady rate across the tussock. It took another hour of walking through the slightly downhill terrain before Ray pointed to trees ahead. He checked his compass, declared they were going in the correct direction and placed an arm around Bree's shoulders.

  "It's Jenny who needs a helping hand," Bree said, but never pulled away.

  "She's got Pattie," Ray replied. "You're finding it as hard a trek as her, aren't you?"

  Bree sighed. "I am tired, yes. How do you manage to keep going? And don't give me any male macho crap." She let her head lean against Ray's shoulders.

  "I didn't just survive an aeroplane crash." He glanced down at her and smiled.

  As Jenny slipped in beside the pair, Bree glanced at her, flushed and stepped away from Ray.

  "It's been a long day," she said. "Are you still okay?"

  "Me," Jenny replied. "Apart from a splitting headache, I'm fine. By your looks, better than you, I'd say." She turned to Ray. "I'd like to try to reach the hut, if possible Ray. Will there be time before nightfall?"

  Ray glanced at his watch. "It's just after seven, so there's a couple of hours of daylight. Probably a little less once we're back in the bush. We' be cutting it fine but could make it." He turned. "Can you manage, Bree?"

  "As long as it's downhill, I can do it," Bree replied. "I wouldn't like another climb, though."

  With the end in sight, Bree felt more cheerful. Still, she was exhausted. Jenny never mentioned being tired but her haunted expression showed that she was at the end of her endurance, too. The plateau now sloped downhill and the trio were soon pushing through tall flax that towered over their heads and hid ev
erything from sight. Ray led, and using his tramping boots to push flax and grass aside. He helped everyone, even Pattie, who needed to be lifted over tree stumps that were buried beneath the flax.

  "This area was once covered in trees," Ray said. "A hundred and fifty years ago the settlers burned it down but only this secondary growth of flax grew back. In winter, this is quite swampy with water running off the top tussock."

  Bree found this new vegetation was far more difficult to walk through. She glanced at Ray but didn't say the words in her mind.

  "I didn't realize we'd have to got through this," he said as if he had read her thoughts. "We're further south than I had thought."

  "And what does that mean?" Jenny asked.

  "Once we're through this flax the distance to the hut will actually be less."

  "Shorter?" Bree teased. "Or are you trying to soften the blow? You know, it's 'just around the corner'."

  Ray reached out and squeezed her arm. "No, it's true," he said.

  He was partly right. It was after nine and twilight when something man-made showed through the foliage.

  "Taylor's Mistake Hut," Ray said and Bree sighed in relief. "That's the roof you can see. We've made it, ladies. We've made it, Pattie."

  "Woof," the dog barked and ran ahead though the dim light.

  Bree smiled and gave Jenny a quick hug. The younger woman glanced up at her. "And they call these things ranges," she whispered. "It makes Wales seem like a London suburb."

  TAYLOR'S MISTAKE HUT was a small modern 'A' framed building. The steep roof overhung the front to form a veranda the buildings width. A wooden bench was tucked along the wall under an aluminium-framed window and beside the end door.

  Bree walked up the wooden steps, across the veranda floor and pushed the door open. A smell of wood and smoke caught her nose as she stepped in. On the left, under the low exposed beams, a wooden bench, cupboards and kitchen sink were tucked next to a freestanding iron stove. Steel, cylindrical chimney poked up though the roof. A table and tubular steel chairs filled the centre of the room, while the right side held a sofa, one armchair and a low bench with some magazines and books stacked on it. The living quarters took the up over half the hut's area. Three adjacent doors dominated a dividing wall and a small ladder led up to a mezzanine space above the end rooms, where two packs and several cardboard boxes were stacked.

  "Good, my supplies are here," Ray said from the entrance door.

  Bree walked forward and pushed the left door open. Inside was a tiny bunkroom with a low ceiling, four bunks along one wall and a row of push-open windows above them. Mattresses were tipped sideways on each bunk. At the far end, another door probably led outside. The right door had another bunkroom that was a mirror image of the first, while the central door led to two narrow doors that slid open across each other. Inside were two cubicles; one contained a shower, while the second had a flush toilet and minute washbasin.

  "Oh my God," Bree whispered. "I never expected this."

  Ray smiled. "The hut parts were flown in by helicopter and bolted together a year ago. I believe the original one it replaced was over a hundred years old. There's a septic tank and water supply fed from a stream further up the hill. There's no electricity but once the stove is lit we'll have hot water in about three-quarters of an hour. If you can wait that long, you can have a hot shower."

  The relief of being able to relax showed in all their faces. Jenny sat on the couch and removed her shoes and socks to reveal massive blisters covering her feet. She glanced at her sunburned, scratched legs, then across to Bree.

  "Don't laugh," she said. "You should see your face. I reckon you could cook toast on it."

  Bree wiped a hand over her stinging brow. "My leg muscles are worse," she admitted. "If we had to go further they'd have seized up, I certain."

  "How are your bruised ribs?" Ray asked. He'd also removed his boots but appeared unaffected by his ordeal.

  "Sore," Bree admitted. "The bandage is filthy but I'll leave it until I've cleaned up."

  Ray smiled. "I'll get the stove lit, otherwise there'll be no hot water."

  Bree and Jenny helped with chores so that, by the time darkness descended on Taylor's Mistake Hut, a large kerosene lamp flickered away from a crossbeam hook. The fire was almost too hot but fresh food bubbled away. Bree told Jenny to have the first shower, and she disappeared with some of Ray's borrowed clothes under her arm. She returned ten minutes later wearing his shirt like a dress, and little else.

  "Your turn," she said to Bree. "If you toss your clothes out, I'll wash them."

  "All of them?" Bree replied doubtfully.

  "Oh, don't be a prude," Jenny retorted then grinned. "I'm sure Ray doesn't mind."

  It wasn't Bree but Ray who flushed. Bree noticed he avoided glancing at Jenny's ample portions outlined beneath the shirt. He suddenly muttered something about chopping some wood and disappeared outside with Pattie.

  "Jenny," Bree gasped. "Did you have to?"

  "What?"

  "You know! Poor Ray didn't know which way to look when you walked in."

  Jenny turned serious. "It's not me he keeps looking at," she said. "After that violent husband of yours, I reckon he's the best thing to happen to you in years." Her eyes widened. "The feeling's mutual isn't it?"

  "Jenny," Bree retorted. "Stop it!" She stood and walked towards the steamy shower. "You can come and get my clothes if you wish but, for God's sake don't go parading them around."

  "No, Mrs. Ashworth," Jenny replied in an innocent voice and gave a mock salute.

  In spite of herself, Bree had to laugh. "Okay," she said. "Point taken. You could put a jersey over that shirt, though."

  "Oh, can't stand the competition," Jenny replied and grinned warmly as Bree slid the shower door shut.

  BREE SLEPT BETTER THAN any time since her arrival in New Zealand but woke early to find the sun streaming in through the top window. Along the bunkroom, Jenny snored peacefully. Bree glanced at her watch. Even though it was only a little after five-thirty she decided to get up. As expected, the living quarters were empty. Not even Pattie was around. Bree gathered some wood from the woodbin and lit the fire. Next, she checked their washing and found it all dry, so she went back into the bunkroom and dressed in her own clothes.

  Still the only one awake, she slipped outside and wandered along a different trail from the way they'd come. This one followed the edge of the hillside and opened out onto a sunny, grassy section. As she walked, her mind wandered. Everything that had happened passed through her mind but her thoughts kept shifting back to the tall New Zealander who had rescued them. He was quiet yet confident, supportive and understanding, a man who had had his own tragedy in life but didn't dwell it. When they talked it was as if he was genuinely interested in her life and wasn't just being polite. What a contrast to Colin! Oh they'd had their good times but it had gradually lost its appeal. Perhaps if they'd had children but two miscarriages in as many years made this almost impossible.

  Perhaps she had changed. After the second miscarriage, she had her first real disagreement with Colin. She thought back to that time eight years earlier. It wasn't a disagreement but a full heated argument that was the first of many more.

  "I AM GOING BACK TO teaching, Colin," she said that fateful morning. "There are always vacancies at schools around London."

  Colin turned from the dresser where he was tying his tie. "Why?" he asked. "I make enough money for us both. You have a nice house, a new car and your volunteer groups. What else do you need?"

  "Lots," Bree replied. "I loved teaching and would still be doing it if it wasn't for my pregnancy problems."

  "We can try again."

  "Colin," Bree retorted. "You know what the gynaecologist said. You were there when she explained everything in minute detail."

  "Okay," Colin replied. "Anyhow, that's a different issue. To put it frankly, I don't want any wife of mine working."

  "But I did when we were first married."

&n
bsp; "Yes, to help pay the mortgage and get this house you're standing in. You're damned lucky you know. Not many women in their twenties have a home in a good London borough and all the money they need."

  "Yes, but I almost have to beg if I want anything. Everything, actually."

  "Oh rubbish," Colin snapped back. "You only need to ask and I write out a cheque. Look what you've got; the new car I mentioned, clothes galore, new furniture, at least two holidays a year..."

  "That's it," Bree blazed back. "Why should I have to ask? You never ask me when you go and buy something. You just turn up with it, even stuff for me; the new dishwasher for example."

  "But you needed it. The old one was worn out."

  "You don't get it Colin. The point is we never discuss things; you just go and do it but if I want the smallest thing I need to ask. God, Colin, it's not the sixties. You're trying to relive how your father acted."

  "All right," Colin said in a quieter voice. "I'll give you an allowance in addition to the housekeeping money. You can spend it how you want."

  "And that will solve all our problems, I suppose," Bree added bitterly.

  Colin's face darkened. "It's not my fault you can't carry children," he said.

  "But your behaviour is," Bree whispered.

  "Meaning?"

  "You know our sex life is almost nonexistent, Colin." She bit on her bottom lip. "I know about Shelly Carmichael..."

  "How?" Colin asked. "We've been..." He clamped his lips tight as if he realized he'd said too much.

  Bree stared and, in spite of an earlier promise to herself to remain calm and in control of her emotions, tears formed in her eyes.

  "I suspected," she said. "Then Shelly came to see me. Sexy bit isn't she? Trouble is her background is similar to yours, you know, strict Anglican upbringing..."

  Colin's frown became deeper but he said nothing.

  "She seems to think I'm the only one preventing a quickie divorce, your remarriage to her and happiness ever after... in this house, of course."