by Gloria Bevan
He was friendly, Tracy realized with a surge of sheer happiness, his expression quizzical still, but the cold wary look was gone. Her heart did a queer little flip.
‘I’m learning.’ She put down the tray on a low concrete table and came to watch him. He shovelled out a few more spadefuls of earth, then kneeling, made a fire in the bottom of the pit. ‘That should do it!’ He placed some stones over the leaping flames in the earth oven.
‘What do you put in to cook?’ she inquired curiously.
‘Just about everything you could want for a man-sized dinner—pork, chicken, kumera, potato, cabbage, puha (you wouldn’t know that one. It’s a green the Maoris like to eat). You name it, the hangi way cooks it better.’
She eyed the smoking pit uncertainly. ‘I’ll wait and see.’
The day seemed to fly and Tracy was in her room that evening when she caught the echo of door chimes, then the sound of voices and laughter that faded away in the direction of the garden. She should have been ready long age, but she couldn’t decide on what to wear. Now, meeting her reflection in the long mirror, she was glad she had settled on the culotte suit. Burnished dark hair fell loosely over the green-and-gold brocaded jacket, and the soft green material swirled softly around her ankles. All she needed to complement the outfit was a piece of matching jewellery, but unfortunately she possessed nothing suitable. Wait, what about the cardboard box filled with a tangled assortment of costume jewellery that she had discovered pushed to the back of a high shelf in the wardrobe? No doubt it belonged to Alison, but there couldn’t be anything of real value amongst it or she would have taken it with her. Wasn’t there a pendant among the mass of clips and chains and pins? A dark green stone carved with strange symbols, that would be a perfect choice for her outfit. Reaching towards the high shelf, she carefully sorted the pendant from a tangle of chains and brooches and slipped the thin leather cord over her head. She was only just in time for the next moment someone knocked on the door. ‘Ready, Tracy?’ came Stephen’s deep tones. ‘I’ll take you down if you like. There’s someone arrived who knows you. I—’ He stopped short as she came to stand in the opening, young and slim and vibrantly alive, a look of excitement in the sea-blue eyes.
‘Someone,’ she dragged her gaze from that brilliant lock, ‘wants me?
‘That’s what they said. Diane and Lawrence—’
‘You mean, one of the picking staff?’
‘This is someone else. Come on, let’s go—Wait!’ His expression changed and Tracy’s lighthearted happiness fled in the face of his dark and angry look.
‘Where’d you get that?’
‘What do you mean?’ She stared back at him bewilderedly, lips parted and eyes wide. ‘Oh,’ she realized his grim look was fixed on the hanging green stone, ‘you mean this?’ Now what was the matter with him? It seemed there was no pleasing him. She gathered herself together, answered calmly. ‘It’s just ... it was stuffed into a cardboard box in the wardrobe. I thought Alison must have left it there when she went away.’ His unsmiling look was unnerving, but she forced herself to go on. ‘I didn’t think it would matter. I mean,’ she faltered uneasily, hating herself for the apologetic note that had crept into her tone. ‘It couldn’t be anything valuable or she wouldn’t have left it here—’
‘Take it off!’
‘Oh, all right, then!’ She couldn’t understand the straight line of his lips, the steely expression in his eyes. What was so wrong about her having borrowed her cousin’s costume jewellery for a few hours, for heaven’s sake? She turned away, slipped the pendant over her head and dropped it on the bureau top where it fell with a little clatter.
Still he made no reply, no explanation even. Seething with anger, Tracy flung the pendant back in the box. ‘There! Does that please you?’
He ignored that. ‘Shall we go?’
He locked as grim and unyielding, she thought as together they moved along the passage, as if she had committed some sort of crime. He hadn’t even given her an explanation of all this ... but wasn’t that just like him? She was always annoying him in one way or another, that expressive set jaw-line left no doubt about that, but how could she help it when he never explained anything, never told her anything but merely regarded her in that chilly expressionless way as he was doing at the moment?
In silence they went down the steps and out to the darkness of the tree-shadowed path, then suddenly they were in sight of a crowd of people. Coloured lights were strung among the branches of the towering evergreen trees that made a backdrop for the paved courtyard, and flares flamed among the greenery of low shrubs.
‘Here she is!’ a girl’s voice cried. Tracy pushed her resentful thoughts aside as the pixie-faced girl whom she had met on the night of the centenary celebrations in the city left a group of young people and came hurrying cowards her. A tall young man strode along at her side, a thin figure in scarlet shirt and fawn slacks. As he neared her the flickering light from a high flare caught the sheen of smooth blond hair, lit up the smiling young face. Why, she knew him. She’d met him before, quite often, but where?
‘Tracy! At last! If you only knew the trouble I’ve had tracking you down!’ A fair head was cocked to one side. ‘I thought you were going to phone me once you’d got settled?’
Realization returned with a rush. Of course! The voyage from England. Glenn.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t. Let’s just say,’ wildly she sought in her mind for an excuse, ‘that I never got around to getting settled, not really.’ She eyed him with a puzzled expression. ‘But how did you know where I was?’
‘I didn’t. I had to find out for myself.’
‘He’s phoned every vineyard in Auckland looking for you,’ Diane put in smilingly.
Glenn threw a laughing glance towards Tracy. ‘I’ll be staying at a western vineyard, she said, just like that. And there must be at least a dozen of them! Diane and Lawrence’s place was the last one on my list.’
‘And was he excited when he found out that we knew where you were!’ Diane gave a trill of laughter. ‘Anyone would have thought to hear him raving on that you were the most important girl in the world!’
‘How do you know she’s not?’ The smooth boyish face wore a delighted grin. ‘Come on, Tracy, hear that?’ Beguiling notes of guitars throbbed through the darkness. ‘Don’t let’s waste it!’
‘He’s got something there!’ Lawrence, fair, bearded, came to join them. Soon the group was moving towards the paved courtyard and as she turned away with the others Tracy was aware of Stephen standing silently in the shadows, smoking ... and watching.
She was glad, glad, glad that Glenn had arrived here tonight. As she fell into the familiar movement of the dance her thoughts were still on that hateful Stephen Crane. She was getting very tired of being at the receiving end of his swiftly-changing moods.
‘Smile!’ With a jerk she came back to the present, laughing up into Glenn’s excited face and throwing herself into the insistent beat provided by two Maori boys with their singing guitars.
When at last the couples wandered back to form into groups, Glenn drew Tracy towards a low stone seat in a shadowed corner, slipped an arm around her shoulders. ‘There’s a lot to catch up on. Your friends Diane and Lawrence put me in the picture about what happened over here. Must have been one heck of a shock to get here and find you weren’t needed for the celebrations after all?’
‘It was rather.’
‘Well, it worked out pretty well for me, finding you were still in Auckland.’ She felt relieved that he had no wish to pursue the subject of Alison and her fiancé. ‘I had this feeling all the time that you might have taken off on a tour of some son and I’d never catch up with you again!’
‘Oh, Glenn,’ she laughed mockingly, ‘and to think I never knew you cared!’
‘Never knew myself, until I thought I’d lost you!’ A serious note tinged the light tones. ‘Seeing you again, after all this rime ... I kind of missed you, Tracy. Somehow I couldn’t seem t
o get you out of my mind.’
‘With all those friends of yours I saw waiting on the wharf? I bet they gave you parties, took you out, introduced you to masses of nice New Zealand girls!’
‘Oh, they did! They did! But I happened to be looking for just one girl—’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And until tonight I couldn’t find her. Tracy—’
‘Dance?’ At the cool voice Tracy glanced up to find Stephen standing at her side. How long had he been there? she wondered. Then her heart lifted. Maybe he was regretting his brusque treatment of her earlier tonight. He’d come to make amends.
‘See you later,’ she murmured to Glenn, and as if mesmerized, rose to her feet and went with Stephen along the darkened path. She realized almost at once, however, that any ideas she might have entertained about Stephen regretting his actions she could forget right now. Oh, she might have known that he was the type of man who wouldn’t apologize, ever. You only had to glance at the grim line of his jaw, his mouth so set and stern, to realize that. Why then had he come to seek her out? Probably because of a simple duty towards a guest, or an employee—of a sort.
In silence they moved into the lighted courtyard and immediately were swept into the foot-tapping rhythm.
‘Enjoying it?’
She dropped her gaze before his sardonic look. ‘Or course.’ A nervous reflex made her add, ‘Glenn was on the boat with me coming out.’
‘So I gathered.’
It wasn’t the words, she thought, moving automatically to the beat, it was the way in which he said them, mocking, satirical. What could it matter to him, anyway, that Glenn had been seeking her ever since she had left the Oriana and was so obviously delighted at finding her again? She bet he wouldn’t ever seek any girl so assiduously, even Alison. Alison. Her random thoughts drifted and the notion that she had pushed to the back of her mind returned so that there was no escaping it. He was in love with Alison himself. He must be. That was why he couldn’t bear to see any other girl wearing the green pendant. Obviously it reminded him too painfully of all he had lost. If only she had never found the wretched thing! If only ... Well, she told herself hotly, glancing up at his unsmiling face as the sobbing guitars died away, he’d performed his duty dance, now he could relax!
Glenn was waiting for her and she went towards him, aware that Stephen had excused himself and gone to join a group of men standing nearby.
The next moment Tracy found herself surrounded by the party of women whom she had not seen since the abrupt ending of her ill-starred grape-picking venture.
‘"We never even knew you’d copped a sting that day!’
‘Why didn’t you let on? We’d have done something about it right away!’
‘When Steve told us next morning that you’d been rushed into casualty—’
‘I had a cousin once who was like that, an allergy they called it, only he died from a wasp sting. He was away in the bush at the time and he didn’t know—’
‘Oh well,’ she smiled around at the sympathetic, tanned faces, ‘it was just about the end of the picking season anyway.’ All at once she became aware of Glenn’s mystified expression. ‘It was only a wasp sting I collected one day out in the vines—’
‘Only!’ a chorus of voices chimed in. ‘She’s one of those unlucky folk who happens to be allergic to stings. Do you know, she almost died!’
‘It’s not true?’ Glenn’s fair young face was horror-stricken.
‘I’m quite all right now,’ she disclaimed laughingly, ‘and if it wasn’t that the grapes are finished,’ she turned to the cluster of women, ‘I’d be back picking with you next week!’
‘Good on you!’ they chorused. ‘Come again next season.’
But next season was a lifetime away and where would she be this time next year? Unconsciously her gaze went to Stephen, still standing among a group of wine-growers, a wavering flame illuminating the dark strong face.
‘Come on,’ Glenn took her arm, ‘they’re starting up the barbecue. The hangi too. Ever been to a hangi before, Tracy?’
She shook her head, then together they joined in the crowd around a barbecue where already smoke was rising from sizzling steaks and lamb chops. There were sausages in foil. Men were opening cans of beer. Corks popped and someone handed her a stemmed glass where the tiny bubbles were rising in the palest of pink champagne. ‘Try Stephen’s Valley Rose,’ Lucie whispered. ‘It’s the one that’s making his name famous around here. Here’s luck!’
Around her the air was filled with the pungent smell of smoke, laced with the clear fragrance of the bush. Wisps of steam rose from the hangi pits, flares cast their dramatic shadows over the scene. The Maori group took .up their instruments, plucked at their guitars and the haunting cadence of a native chant rose on the still air. Soon a chorus of voices drowned out the fluting notes of the cicadas.
Tracy watched as the men lifted flax baskets from the steaming earth ovens, throwing back snowy napkins to reveal the succulent food wrapped in leaves and steamed to delicate perfection. Glenn handed her a portion of steamed pork and green cabbage, golden kumeras, then lifted a forkful of his own helping to his lips. ‘Wow! This is really something!’
Throughout the remainder of the evening he remained at her side, dancing, talking excitedly and happily, obviously delighted at being with her once again. A nice boy, she thought indifferently, yet on the Oriana on the voyage she hadn’t regarded him in that light. She had been attracted to him, just a little. Blame it on a Pacific moon! Or could it be that her changed attitude had something to do with Stephen Crane’s forceful dark face that somehow made Glenn appear youthful, dull almost, by comparison?
At last the plaintive notes of a Maori chant of farewell throbbed through the clear night air and voices took up the melody. Everyone seemed familiar with the English translation of the lyric except Tracy.
‘Now is the hour
For me to say goodbye...’
As the last notes died away in the clear night air, Glenn caught her hand in a warm clasp. ‘I’ve got to see you again! Pick you up tomorrow and we’ll take in a drive. Okay?’
She hesitated. Would Lucie need her services tomorrow? But the other car wasn’t yet back from the panel-beaters and for some reason she couldn’t explain, even to herself, nothing would ever induce her to drive Alison’s yellow Mini. She smiled up at him. ‘That’ll be fun.’
‘Time to get going, Glenn!’ He was joined by Diane and Lawrence. ‘You can pick up your car at our place.’
Reluctantly he loosened his clasp. ‘Why did I let them bring me? See you tomorrow, Tracy!’ With a backward glance over a thin shoulder he went with the group that was converging towards the line of cars in the driveway.
Afterwards she helped Lucie to clear away the remains of the food while Stephen and Bill attended to the barbecue, throwing water on the embers, throwing earth in the hangi pits. All the time Tracy was conscious of a-strange feeling of let-down. She couldn’t understand what she had expected of the evening. Glenn had been more than pleased at finding her once again and everyone had been friendly—everyone but him. Why must her thoughts always come back to that disturbing man? Incomprehensible, moody, aloof. Useless to deny that for her the evening’s enjoyment had been ruined from the moment when Stephen’s sternly disapproving voice had ordered her to remove Alison’s pendant from her neck. All at once, like a fragment on a tape, the conversation overheard in the vineyard came back to mind.
‘She was crazy about him.’
‘And he?’
If only she knew the answer to it all!
CHAPTER FOUR
Tracy told herself she was thankful that today was the start of the week-end when for a time at least she could escape Stephen’s swiftly changing moods. Still smarting from his unpredictable reaction in connection with the wearing of a mere pendant, she would like to show him there were some men who had an idea of how a girl should be treated, instead of roughly ordering one around, not even taking the trouble to explain his
motives. She only hoped, she thought vindictively, that seeing her leave the house with Glenn might cause him to regret his high-handed behaviour of the previous night.
Unfortunately for her plans, however, Stephen was working in the distant vineyards, clearing away the undergrowth from between the russet-tinged vines, when Glenn arrived at the house. He was promptly on time, smooth blond hair brushed carefully over his forehead. He wore a tangerine shirt, dark brown corduroys encased his long legs, and he chatted brightly with Lucie, who appeared delighted to meet a young man who showed such a flattering interest in her rug-making activities. Soon he was escorting Tracy out to the gleaming late-model car waiting on the driveway below.
‘Anyone would think,’ she teased as he saw her seated, ‘that you were thinking of going in for furnishings instead of glassware and ornaments!’
An elbow resting on the ledge of the open window, he bent his tall height until their eyes were on a level. ‘And how do you know I’m not? A hand-worked rug might come in mighty useful one of these days. That is,’ he sent her a significant look, ‘if certain little plans of mine work out!’
Tracy laughed lightly, pretending not to catch the underlying meaning in his words. They swept along the narrow winding path leading to the road ahead and as they swung out of the vineyard entrance, Glenn said:
‘I thought I’d take you over to see the folks, the ones who are putting me up in Auckland. I stayed with them before I left to go overseas and they’ve been keen to meet you ever since they saw you that day on the wharf. What do you say?’