by Gloria Bevan
Tracy pulled herself together. ‘Not really ... come on, let’s go and meet the others.’
They had reached the balcony when Cliff came to join them. ‘You and Kim go on ahead,’ Tracy suggested smilingly. She stood watching as Cliff tap-tapped his way down the steps while Kim moved at his side.
‘Hello, Tracy!’ She swung around to And Stephen standing beside her and something in the way he was looking at her moved her with a poignancy she could scarcely bear.
‘Suits you!’ His grave appraising glance took in the slim figure in dark chiffon, the breeze ruffling the diaphanous material around her ankles; the pale composed face beneath the severely upswept hair style. ‘Black, Tracy? For an engagement party?’
For a moment her guard was down and still confused by something in his glance she heard herself say the words that sprang unbidden to her lips. ‘It’s not my engagement party!’ Appalled, she wondered the next moment what had made her say such a thing, and to him, of all men!
‘No.’ To Tracy the silence seemed to last for ever. Then, distractingly close, heartbreakingly good-looking, he was taking her arm. ‘Shall we go?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Faint lights pricked the dark landscape around them as Stephen guided the car along fem-fringed roads and up the winding slope of a bush-clad hill. Soon they were turning down a narrow track. For a moment the arc of the headlights picked out a faded notice board half hidden amongst the trees pointing the way to a dine and dance restaurant ahead. Then all at once they were swinging in at the wide entrance, sweeping through spacious grounds where coloured lights glimmered amongst greenery and landscape windows locked out over a setting of native bush.
The party waited while Cliff click-clacked his crutches up the curved entrance steps, then together they made their way inside the softly lighted room, and a waiter guided them to a candlelit table. The breeze drifting in through wide open windows was spiced with the clean sharp tang of the bush, soft background music echoed around them. If only everything had been different, Tracy mused, toying with the attractively served fruit cocktail. Tonight she had no appetite at all; no heart for gaiety either, not with Stephen’s dark face directly opposite. What if he was wearing his closed, aloof look again, the one he reserved especially for her? What if he was in love with someone else? It made no difference. Telling herself a dozen times each day that she hated him made no difference either. The shame-making truth was that she loved him, in all his moods. That was what love could do. Who was it who had once said: ‘I offer you love, not happiness’? Happiness! She had forgotten there was such a thing, yet only a few short days since ...
‘You’re very quiet tonight, Tracy!’ Cliff smiled at her across the table. ‘Don’t look so sad. It’s a celebration! Happy talk. Remember?’
‘Did I look sad?’ With an effort she rallied herself.
‘Blame it on that Maori music,’ she nodded towards the group of Maori guitarists, ‘it always seems to have that plaintive sound.’
Fortunately the others in the party were in a mood to enjoy themselves and her own lack of appetite went unnoticed—or at least so she hoped. With Stephen you could never tell. He had that uncanny knack of seeming to read her thoughts.
A swaying group of Tahitian dancers were spotlighted in changing lighting effects and Tracy applauded with the rest at the table, but tonight for her everything had a dreamlike quality. Even the toasts drunk to the newly engaged couple had no reality. Vaguely she was aware of Cliff’s light tones as the guitarist group broke into a soft waltz-time melody that flooded the room. ‘Aren’t you and Steve going to dance, Tracy?’
As she hesitated, not knowing how to reply, Kim sent her a laughing glance. ‘If you’re holding back because of Cliff and me, don’t give it another thought! We love to see other folk enjoying themselves. Isn’t that right, Cliff?’
‘In that case,’ Bill touched Lucie lightly on her arm, ‘care to have this one with me?’ The two rose and made their way towards the small parquet area in the centre of the spacious room. Tracy watched as they moved with the grace of long experience amidst the other couples on the dance floor.
‘Shall we?’ She was aware of Stephen’s gaze. You could scarcely term his expression inviting, but then he was being forced into this, just as she was. After Kim’s pointed reminder what else could he do? Rising to his feet, he came to stand at her side. ‘How about it, Tracy?’
If only, she thought distractedly, he wouldn’t say her name ... like that. It brought it all back, the pain, the ecstasy, the bitter knowledge that she was leaving here so soon, while he and Alison... Remembrance of Alison steeled her to smile up at him as together they made their way towards the cleared space amid the scattered tables.
Fortunately she had taken lessons in ballroom dancing. What she had never learned was how to combat the sweetness and sting of being held in his arms, her chin tucked close to his white shirt-front. She was scarcely aware of movement—all she could think of was that she was near him for the last time. Damn it, why did that Maori group have to swing into a haunting melody that plucked at the heart? Oh, damn everything!
It finished at last. Couples dispersed in various directions and Stephen, unspeaking still, escorted her back to their table. It had meant nothing to him, of course, a mere duty dance that he would have no need to repeat.
As the evening wore on she was relieved to find that various cabaret entertainers filled in the time. Someone, probably Bill, informed the management of the dine and dance restaurant of the special occasion dinner and an announcement was made over the microphone by a genial compere. As if by magic, a suitably iced cake was produced from the kitchen and duly presented to the newly engaged couple. Glasses clinked all around them and everyone in the room joined in the chorus of congratulations and good wishes.
It was some time after midnight when the party returned to the car, parked in the shadowy grounds. Back in the house at last Tracy was about to make her escape to the privacy of her room when Bill’s voice made her pause.
‘Get your mail today?’
‘Why, no.’ She looked up at him. ‘Was there something?’
‘One for you. I put it on the mantel in the dining room. Thought you’d have noticed it.’
‘Thank you, Bill.’ As she moved through to the other room she caught sight of a blue aerogramme. It was probably from someone back in England, and somehow tonight England seemed very far away. It wasn’t until she was undressed and ready for bed that she remembered the flimsy sheet of paper crushed in her evening bag. Taking it out, a little shock of apprehension ran through her as she recognized Alison’s scrawling handwriting. Swiftly she scanned the words.
Reef Hotel, Suva.
‘Tracy dear,
‘Just a hurried note to let you know I’m still in the islands. Fiji at the moment, but not for long. What do you know? I ran into a guy here the other day who I knew in Auckland and he told me he’d met up with the Cranes and a girl who sounded awfully like you, when he was on the way to some wine conference thing in Tauranga. I was surprised, thought you’d have taken off ages ago on some sightseeing tours. Can’t see what you find to keep you at the winery all this time.
‘Anyway, I might be seeing you yet as I’m heading back to Auckland at the end of the week. (Don’t let Steve know I let you in on this little secret, will you? He’s funny about these things.)
‘Hope you’re enjoying yourself over there.
‘Love,
‘Ally.’
Long before she had finished reading this letter, she knew what the end would be. Hadn’t this been on the cards all the time, only, idiot that she was, she hadn’t been able to tear herself away, knowing that once she left the vineyards it would be for ever. Now she had no choice. The letter was dated three days earlier. Why, Alison could arrive here tomorrow—tomorrow! To be here when that happened, to be forced to witness the happiness of the other two—no, that she couldn’t, wouldn’t endure. Plans began to form in her mind. She already h
ad her plane booking for London. Maybe it could be altered to an earlier date and with a bit of luck—luck!’, tears pricked her eyelids—she’d be on the plane tomorrow, be hundreds of miles away when a radiant Alison returned to the valley vineyard—and Steve.
After a sleepless night it was a relief to get up. Swiftly she dressed in a dark blue pants suit, automatically picked up her make-up and did things to her face. A peep between the curtains at the high window showed her that Stephen was up early too. She caught a glimpse of him and Bill as the two men strolled towards the far vines. In the house, however, all was silent and she knew that the chances were no one else was yet awake.
In the shadowy lounge room the curtains were still drawn. Carefully closing the door behind her, she went towards the telephone, dialled the air travel centre and lowered her voice as someone answered. The official was polite and blessedly helpful. Yes, as it happened there was a spare seat available. A cancellation at the last moment, but it was on today’s ten o’clock flight, not much time.
‘That’s time enough for me.’ Tracy thanked the airport official.
‘So long as you don’t mind a stopover for a few hours at Fiji,’ he told her. ‘You can connect there with the night flight to London.’
And that was all right with her too. She thanked the man and hurried away. It was Sunday morning. The others in the house would probably lie in for some hours yet and if she failed to make an appearance no one would be at all surprised. When they discovered her absence it would be too late. Feverishly she plucked garments from hangers, began stowing frocks, shorts, swim-suits haphazardly into her travel bags, with trembling hands. Let them think what they liked. Only one thing mattered now and that was for her to make her escape before she was trapped here. She would be leaving in ten days’ time anyway. What was ten days? And who would care whether she went or stayed? Tears blurred her vision and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. To everyone at the vineyard she was nothing more than Alison’s cousin, that was all she had ever meant to them—even Steve. But she mustn’t think of him, that way danger lay. Better to get it all over with quickly. Something fell from a pocket of the cotton shift she was folding and she bent to the floor to pick it up, crushing the dried twig between her fingers. At once the scent of tea-tree, sharp and evocative, assailed her. A twig from manuka branches broken off for a picnic fire. Now it held for her all the essence of a lost happiness.
Don’t think, Tracy ... don’t dream. Concentrate on the present, that’s all that matters now. Wait! She must get away from the house unseen. She would have to order a taxi. At the thought she hurried once more to the telephone and dialled the number of a city taxi rank. She gave the address of the vineyard, adding: ‘Could you pick me up in half an hour, please, and take me to the city airport terminal? Would you meet me at the entrance to the Valley Vineyards? You understand? Not the house but at the gates on the roadway. It’s a long drive up to the house. If I’m not there, just wait, please. I won’t be long!’
In spite of her fumbling haste soon everything was in readiness. Now all she had to worry about was making her escape from the house unseen. Her travel bags were heavier than she had expected them to be, but she could manage them, if she could take her time. And once beneath the shade of the overhanging trees lining the long drive she would be out of sight from those in the house. It wasn’t as if she would be likely to meet anyone at this early hour on a Sunday morning. Meanwhile, she zipped up her bags, then glanced around her in search of a ballpoint pen. She supposed she should leave some message for Lucie, but in this state of mind she couldn’t think straight and anyway, what could she say? ‘I’ve fallen in love with Stephen’? No, let her think what she liked, anything, anything but the truth. She’d drop Lucie a note from one of the stopovers on the route; maybe by that time she would be more in control of herself. The minutes now seemed to drag, but at last a glance at her wrist watch told her it was time for her to meet the taxi. What if the driver made a mistake and called here at the house? The thought made her hurry into the shadowed hall. As she glanced through a slit between the drawn curtains in the lounge she caught a glimpse of Bill in his white coat. He was accompanied by Stephen and the two men strolled along the pathway beneath. She held her breath as they neared the house, but they went off, to disappear down the steps leading to the wine cellars below.
Bracing herself, she picked up her bags and went swiftly down the steps, hurrying along the winding path until a bend hid her from view of those in the house above. A short pause while she recovered her breath, then she was off again, almost running between the avenue of tall trees, drops of dew brushing her face as she hastened on, a small figure with a tense white face.
She was almost in sight of the entrance gates when a black car with a taxi sign drew up at the opening. The next minute a man got out of the vehicle and came hurrying towards her. ‘Miss Cadell? I’ll take those.’ With relief she surrendered the bags, thankful that he asked no questions. No doubt in his line of business he was accustomed to meeting people in strange and desperate situations. She was grateful that he made little attempt at conversation. Perhaps, she thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the small overhead mirror, he realized that she wasn’t in the mood for small talk, or indeed capable of it, not with that drawn tense face, pale beneath the tan.
She was early in arriving at the city air terminal, but before long other passengers came to join her as they waited for transportation to Mangere airport. In the bus on the way to the Auckland International Airport, the young man seated at her side attempted to engage her interest, but almost at once he abandoned any further attempts to get through to the strange lovely girl with the curiously blank expression, who seemed scarcely aware of his presence.
In the luxurious comfort of the great jet, she was fortunate in being assigned a window seat at the side of two middle-aged business men who were apparently deep in their own concerns and left her to her thoughts. She stared with unseeing eyes out over the endless expanse of the south Pacific. Stephen. What would his reaction be when he found her gone? None at all, probably. With Alison’s arrival so imminent what would it matter to him that the other girl’s cousin had taken it into her silly head to vanish without explanation? Angrily she jerked her thoughts back to the present. Why must she always think of him? Somehow, somehow, she must forget him!
She was scarcely aware of the passing of time until all at once groups of scattered islands loomed up over the horizon and soon the giant jet was swooping down towards Vita Levu. All around her passengers were gathering together magazines and travel bags. Women were making last-minute repairs to hair and complexion, but Tracy sat still and silent as the great plane touched down at Nandi International Airport. A sudden surge of warm air met her as she stepped down from the airport steps at the colourful airport with its tall and stately Fijians in their native skirt-like stilus, sari-clad Indians and white-shorted British officials. But to Tracy it all seemed slightly unreal, as though she were taking part in a play. Merging into the stream of passengers moving into the transit lounge, idly she eyed the groups gathered at the duty-free stores with their display of luxury goods from a dozen different cultures. Then she stood still. The tall girl standing at the crowded counter, green sunglasses pushed up on her flaming hair... Holding up a string of pearls, the girl turned, laughing and looking up into the face of a stout middle-aged man at her side. Then over his balding head her glance met Tracy’s look of wide-eyed astonishment. Even in her own turmoil of spirit she was vaguely aware of an odd expression that flashed across the lovely face ... alarm? The next moment it was gone, replaced by the blank look of a stranger. It couldn’t be, but it was... Alison! The other girl’s initial expression was no doubt caused by the shock of seeing her here.
‘Alison!’ She was pushing her way through the milling throng. At length she reached the counter of the duty-free store, leaning forward to touch Alison’s bare arm.
‘Alison! I knew it was you!’
Once again that odd guarded expression crossed the lovely face, to change swiftly to a look of bored interest. ‘Oh, it’s you, Tracy!’
Now that she had captured Alison’s attention she didn’t quite know what to say to her, especially as the other girl was eyeing her so warily, almost as though she hadn’t wished to recognise her here. ‘Listen! I’ve got to speak to you! Have you got lime? I take it ... that you’re on the way back to New Zealand?’ No one would ever know what it cost her to get the words out.
‘New Zealand! That’s a laugh!’ For the first time Tracy realized that the stout man in the impeccably tailored suit intended to accompany Alison on her flight, ‘We’re going a lot further than that! Isn’t that so, honey? It’s Los Angeles for us, then New York, and right round the States. I want to show Alison here some of my own country before we settle down for good in old Arizona. Ain’t that so, honey?’
In bewilderment Tracy gazed up into the florid, smiling face.
‘I’m sorry,’ Alison had turned away and was pushing her way through the crowd at the counter. ‘I haven’t got a moment. I’M write ... later.’
‘Take it easy, honey! We’re not in that much of a rush!’ A plump hand with a large winking ring halted Alison’s impetuous progress. ‘You take your time. Say,’ his smile broadened to include Tracy, ‘you forgot to introduce me to your friend here—’
‘I’m her cousin,’ Alison said urgently, ‘that’s why—’
‘Cousin, eh! Well now, what do you know? You two girls sit right down at the table over there and catch up with the family news while I do some shopping for my best girl here. Alison, she’s so surprised to see you she hasn’t even told you about me. Bentley’s the name. Alison,’ he winked confidentially behind horn-rimmed spectacles, ‘she calls me Will.’