by Gloria Bevan
Towards morning she must have dozed, for when she opened her eyes sunrise, in glorious streaks of rose, apricot and gold, flooded the eastern sky. Stiff in every limb, drenched, more cold than she had ever felt in her life, she lifted her head from the soaking ferns. Blessedly the rain had ceased, though drops of moisture on the bush all around her still remained from the night’s deluge.
‘You awake, Tracy?’
‘Heaven knows how I slept, but I must have, near morning...?’
‘Me, too. Thank the lord it’s over.’ He got to his feet, his slacks and shin clinging damply, exposing the thinness of his shoulder blades. A racking cough shook him. ‘Sorry,’ he gasped when he could speak, ‘not used to this exploring lark! Thing is,’ he went on after a moment, ‘do we stay here and wait until someone comes along to collect us? The car’s up on the road, so they’ll guess what’s happened. Or do we make our own way back, if we can?’
She glanced up into his face, thinking how deathly pale he looked. Then another fit of coughing shook him. ‘Maybe we’d better keep moving,’ Tracy suggested. ‘If only the sun would hurry up and get some warmth into it, but that won’t be for a while vet.’ She bent to wring the rainwater from her soaked skirt. Chilled, shivering, they made their way through the dripping undergrowth until Glenn paused, shaken by an almost constant cough. ‘It’s nothing. An old complaint that comes back on me sometimes—not often, though.’
‘Only when you’re nearly drowned and worn out with exposure?’
‘That’s about it.’ He gave a twisted grin.
‘Wait! Did you hear something?’ They strained their ears, listening. There was no mistaking the sound of voices and it was clear that rescuers, though not in sight, were not far distant.
‘Hello!’ Tracy called in her clear young voice. ‘We’re here! This way!’
‘Hi!’ Glenn’s attempt to shout ended in another burst of distressing coughing.
A minute went by, then to her vast relief she caught the unmistakable sound of someone crashing through the undergrowth. The unseen voices were louder now, closer at hand.
‘This way!’ Tracy called again, wishing there were some way in which she could identify their position. She glanced swiftly around her, but could see no particular landmark, so she went on calling. At length two figures appeared, plunging through the tea-tree and making their way towards them.
‘Hi there!’ Tracy’s pleasure in being discovered was tempered with dismay as she recognized one of her rescuers. Stephen! Stupid of her to mind who it was who had found them, yet she hated him to find her in this dishevelled state of mud-smeared hair and drenched clothing. She hated him even more the next moment, for there it was again, that insufferably indulgent look. "Wouldn’t you know he’d be gazing at her in that way, just as though she’d got lost in the bush on purpose!
Suddenly everyone was talking at once except Glenn, who was once more caught helplessly in the grip of a fit of coughing. The ranger, a sinewy-looking man with grizzled hair and an erect carriage, whipped a flask of brandy from his pack and held it towards the younger man.
‘This is what you need! You too.’ He handed a small glass to Tracy.
‘Yuck!’ She made a face. ‘I hate the stuff.’
‘Drink it!’ She raised her eyes to Stephen’s stern glance. A moment later she had to admit that the spirit warmed her through and through.
‘We thought we knew the track,’ she said, ‘but somewhere or other we went astray.’
‘Then the storm broke and the rain pelted down.’ Glenn gasped.
‘Here,’ the ranger threw a rug towards Glenn. He held another towards Tracy, but Stephen took it, throwing it around her shoulders. ‘Better put this round you, then it’s back to the house for a hot bath and a rest.’
The ranger went ahead with Glenn while Tracy and Stephen followed. The silly part of it all was, she mused, that the path branching off was the right one. It all seemed so easy now in the daylight that it was incredible to think she and Glenn had managed to lose themselves so close to the roadway. She tried to say as much to Stephen, but his warm clasp was putting everything else out of her mind, making the most ordinary conversation difficult. When they reached the original track he dropped back.
‘You go on ahead, Tracy, and I’ll keep an eye on you.’ The warmth that had stolen through her veins was fading and she was shivering once again. She said faintly: ‘How was Lucie? I hope she wasn’t too worried about me last night.’
‘She wasn’t too happy, what with the rain and the storm,’ came the deep tones behind her, ‘but I told her I’d make a search first thing in the morning and that brightened her up a bit.’
Tracy’s bare feet plodded on. ‘I don’t know how we could have made such a stupid blunder—’
‘Easier than you think!’ For once he forbore to lecture or ridicule her. ‘You’re not the first ones to wander off the track up in the Waitakeres, eh, Alan?’
‘You can say that again!’ The ranger glanced back over his shoulder. ‘You can be within half a mile of the main road and lose your sense of direction in a few minutes. It happens;
The journey seemed endless and although the sun’s rays had a slight warmth Tracy shivered and pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders as she climbed the steep, fern-encrusted slope. Slipping in the mud, she grasped at bushes on either side of the track to steady herself. She was determined not to miss her footing and land herself, a wet and muddy bundle, in Stephen’s arms. At length they reached the tree-covered summit and there was the curving road above, with cars waiting on the grass at the side of the highway. As the party emerged from the dripping bush Tracy waved a hand to Lucie and the expression of anxiety in the young-old face changed to one of delighted relief.
Nearing a small Morris car where a girl sat at the wheel,’ Tracy recognized Pam, whom she had met at the house in Avondale. Could it have been only yesterday? Through a fog of fatigue, Tracy took in the set, pale face. Why, Pam looked as if she were the one who had been out all night in the hills in an electrical storm!
Glenn too was approaching the small car, but a fit of coughing made speech impossible, and Pam turned an angry face towards Tracy. ‘You’ve done this to him. He’s never ever supposed to get chilled or wet, and now—’
‘But I had no idea—’
‘How could you? He wouldn’t tell you that he’s subject to bronchial trouble. He told me, though!’ the low tones were hoarse with emotion. ‘I wouldn’t have let it happen—’ She flung a glance of such contemptuous rage towards her that Tracy stared back in astonishment. Before she could make a reply Pam leaped from the car and went hurrying towards the distraught figure standing in the roadway.
Stephen, catching up with Tracy, raised inquiring dark brows. ‘What was all that in aid of?’
‘Nothing! Nothing! If I won’t be glad to get home! Home!’ She hoped he hadn’t noticed the slip or that if he had done so he would put it down to her state of fatigue.
‘Won’t be long now!’ Stephen said. ‘Here she is, Lucie, safe and sound.’
‘Oh, thank heaven you’re all right, child! All night I was worried sick about you out in that frightful storm. Steve kept telling me there was no need to get in a panic, that you’d be all right.’
He would, Tracy thought ungratefully. She sank down in the back of the car, huddled in the blanket. ‘Goodbye!’ She leaned from the window and waved back towards the ranger. ‘And thank you.’
‘That’s okay, miss. All part of the job!’
She caught a glimpse of Glenn’s drawn features as the other car shot past, to be lost almost at once around a curve of the winding road ahead. Then the ranger took off in his jeep in the opposite direction and Stephen headed back at speed for the western valley.
It was surprising, Tracy found, how quickly a steaming hot bath followed by a meal of sizzling bacon and eggs could make life seem so different. She rested throughout the morning, falling into a deep sleep that lasted until the sun was high in a
washed blue sky. In the sunlight the chill and misery of the long night faded and she ceased to blame herself for the incident. It often happened, the ranger had told her. No blame could be attached to Glenn or herself. She wondered if her companion had suffered any serious after-effects from damp and exposure. Glenn’s racking cough sounded as though it would take more than a meal and a rest to dispel. She decided to wait until the evening before she rang through to the Rorkes’ house to inquire as to his health.
When she got through to the telephone number, however, it was Pam who answered the call. Her cold, angry tone left no doubt that she was determined to foil any attempts by Tracy to speak to Glenn.
‘He can’t come to the phone,’ she said flatly. ‘He’s feeling far too sick.’
Tracy decided to ignore the other girl’s ill humour. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is it ... because of last night?’
‘What else could it be? What else could you expect?’ All at once the cold tones were red-hot with resentment. ‘Thanks to you, he’s ill! I hope you’re satisfied!’ The sound of a receiver being slammed back in its cradle echoed in Tracy’s ear.
Well! As she went on down the hall, Tracy’s brief flare of resentment died away. She remembered Pam’s warm championship of Glenn’s business acumen, her anxious glance towards herself almost as though she were afraid of Glenn’s shipboard acquaintance. Once again the thought came to her. She’s not sure how he feels about her, but she’s in love with him, so crazy about him that knowing the other two were lost in the hills all night had driven her into all manner of wild fancies. Then today, the sight of Glenn’s obvious distress had made her so frantic that she had lashed out at the one person she blamed for the man’s state of ill-health. She’s got some stupid idea, Tracy mused, that he’s wrapt in me. All that misery for nothing! If only I could get through to her that she’s got everything all wrong. But how could you make the other girl realize that, a girl who already regarded you as her enemy?
After so many let-downs regarding employment at the vineyards Tracy was determined to be at her desk at the office on the following morning. Now that the season’s picking was over, Stephen would no doubt be making an effort to catch up with the backlog of office work, and that was one place—where she felt confident of not making a mess of things as she seemed to have done so often, even if through no fault of her own, during her short stay.
A trim figure in a cool dark shift, hair caught severely back from her face, she was already sorting out a pile of receipt forms when Stephen came running down the steps and entered the dim coolness of the underground office.
‘You’ve made a start here? Good on you!’ As the hours flew by and they worked side by side at the big desk, she was conscious of a feeling of deep content. Was it because at last she felt confident in her work, her surroundings? Or just that Stephen, absorbed in the work in hand, treated her differently? The tensions between them fell away and instead there seemed born a sense of real companionship. The only thing was, she glanced towards the dark head bent over the outspread account books on the desk, it was slightly dampening to have to admit that although Stephen treated her differently in working hours, the difference seemed to consist m regarding her more in the line of office equipment.
She could be a robot typist really, or just something that efficiently worked the adding machine. Whatever the reason there was no doubt that down here in the big cool room, personal feelings were shelved and certainly the endless piles of paper work was gradually being diminished to neat orderly small lots; orders and correspondence now filed under their appropriate headings.
On two occasions during the week Tracy had endeavoured to contact Glenn by telephone to inquire as to his health. The first ring had brought Airs. Rorke. She at least seemed to bear no grudge towards Tracy for the night Glenn had spent in the open. He was having a week’s rest in bed, the older woman told her, under doctor’s orders. Maybe she’d better not bring him to the phone. Maybe next week. She would tell him Tracy had rung to inquire about him.
On the next occasion on which she rang the house, Tracy was unlucky enough to hear Pam’s voice at the other end of the line. Resisting a cowardly impulse to replace the receiver, she said; ‘Oh, Miss Rorke—Pam—I just wondered how Glenn is getting along?’
‘He’s getting better, thank you.’ Tracy guessed that others in the house were within earshot, for the voice at the other end of the line was carefully polite. ‘I’ll pass on your message to him. Who shall I say rang?’
‘I think you know who it is!’ This time it was Tracy’s turn to have the last word—not that she wanted to continue with this childish verbal warfare. How ridiculously Pam was behaving, blaming her for everything, even her wild imaginings! When Glenn was up and about again everything would be straightened out and surely that would put the other girl in a more pleasant mood.
It was a further week, however, before Glenn himself contacted Tracy. Stephen took the call and held the receiver towards her. ‘For you.’ His cool contained tone held no clue as to his thoughts. ‘It’s your friend Glenn Roberts.’
Hello! Are you all right now, Glenn?’ she asked, a note of urgency in her tones.
‘Of course I am! Just fed up with not seeing you all this time!’ With relief she realized that his racking cough had left him. ‘Doctors! They give the orders and boy, do the family around here see that they’re carried out! Stay in bed! Do this! Eat that! Don’t get up! Don’t go out! Am I glad to be my own boss again! Only good thing about it all is that it’s almost the weekend again. You did say you work up there in the vineyards?’
‘Oh yes, I do.’ She was conscious of Stephen who could hear everything she said in the lounge room close by. ‘I’m giving a hand with the office work, nine to four-thirty.’
‘Office work? I thought you said you had a driving job? Piloting Lucie around, wasn’t it?’
‘Oh yes, I do that too. Stephen ... lets me off for that.’
‘Stephen? Oh, I get it. The boss? Well, we won’t need to worry about him, seeing the weekend’s coming up. I’ve been thinking ... you haven’t seen Rotorua yet. Why don’t we take a day trip down there? It’s one of the top tourist attractions in the country, you’ve got to see it, and soon. What do you say?’
‘I don’t know.’ She was taken by surprise. ‘I’ll have to see ... Look, I’ll ring you back later. Okay?’
‘All right, but make it “yes”. Got to go, someone hen wants the phone. ‘Bye now.’
Tracy couldn’t understand why she felt this queer diffidence about asking Stephen for the weekend off duty. I Lucie didn’t require her services, she would be free. So why was she hesitating? Better find out right away, then she could keep her promise and let Glenn know the outcome.
‘That was Glenn,’ she said unnecessarily, returning to the lounge room where Stephen was reading a newspaper spread out before him and Lucie, crouched on the floor, studied a craft magazine.
‘How is he?’ Lucie inquired absently, still absorbed in her reading.
‘Oh, he’s all right. He was pretty sick after that chill he collected up in the Waitakeres, but he’s over it now. He wanted me to ask you—’ She jumped as a dark shape moved in the half light of the terrace. ‘Whatever’s that?’
Stephen glanced out to see the wrought iron railings, where a small furry animal was poised. ‘That’s just Blackie. He often appears about this time of the day. It’s a wonder you haven’t seen him before.’ Striding to the kitchen, he returned after a moment holding an apple which he threw out to the darkening terrace. ‘There you are, mate!’ Greedily the possum pounced on the fruit, sinking sharp teeth into the crisp apple, then as silently as he had come, vanished into the night.
‘You were saying?’ Stephen sent her his bright inquiring look that seemed to Tracy to convey so much more than his words. Or was she merely imagining a significance where none existed?
‘Oh, just that Glenn wants me to take a day trip with him to Rotorua at the weekend. That is,’ she adde
d hastily, if you don’t need me to help with the driving, Lucie?’
‘Oh no, dear.’ Lucie emerged from the coloured pages of a craft magazine to glance across at Tracy. ‘Steve will be here and he can take me anywhere I want to go. I can’t think of anything special on this weekend, anyway.’
‘I see.’ Tracy couldn’t understand why she wasn’t more pleased, excited at the prospect of a trip to the famous volcanic wonderland. She turned away. ‘I promised I’d ring him back.’
‘Tell him he’ll have to make it some other time!’ Stephen’s decisive tones brought her up with a jerk.
‘But why?’ She gazed towards him in perplexity.
‘It doesn’t happen to fit in with my plans—or yours.’
‘Mine?’
‘And Lucie’s.’ He grinned. ‘They’re putting on a winegrowers’ conference at Tauranga at the weekend ... it seems a good chance to take a run down the coast, round the cape too and see how Cliff’s getting along. Lucie’s longing to show you some of the country and the east coast beaches are her favourites.’
Lucie shot up into a sitting position, her magazine sliding to the door. ‘We’re going down to see Cliff? But that’s wonderful! All this time I’ve been wondering when we could take a trip down to the hospital, but you’ve been so busy with the picking. Now—’
‘Now things are different! We’ll take off from here early,’ Steve went on in his peremptory way, ‘go right round the cape, break the trip at Opoiiki on the way down. We’ll have a look at the gorge on the way back.’