by Carl Hubrick
‘Yes! That’s yours. Direct to Christchurch. Excited?’
Victoria shrugged. At almost fifteen, she thought it decidedly uncool to be too easily impressed.
‘A little,’ she answered. ‘But I would’ve liked to spend more time with you over the holidays.’
‘Yes, I know,’ her father replied gently. ‘But at least we had Christmas and New Year’s Day together. And what about the Wilsons? You want to see them again, don’t you?’
Victoria nodded. ‘Yes! It’ll be good to see Aunty Jo and Uncle Les.’
‘And Thomas?’
‘Yes, of course. He’s all right. But it’ll be a bit like babysitting, that’s all.’
‘But Thomas is thirteen now, isn’t he?’
Victoria shook her head. ‘No, he’s still twelve. He hasn’t even started high school yet. He won’t be thirteen until the end of February.’
Her father gave a laugh. ‘Well, that’s only weeks away.’
His daughter frowned. ‘Then there’s all that tramping and bushcraft stuff, and staying in that holiday house of theirs up in the hills, with no shops or anything.’
‘But you love all that,’ her father protested. ‘You’ve always loved it.’
‘Oh Daddy! That was when I was a child. I’m fifteen now. It won’t be long before I can leave school.’
‘Fourteen and a half,’ her father corrected. He shook his head and laughed. ‘I’ll never understand my daughter,’ he said. ‘Just when I thought I knew her, she grows up on me.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘What am I going to do without my little Vicky?’
‘Victoria!’ his daughter corrected.
‘Victoria,’ he agreed resignedly.’ Well, try to enjoy your holiday. See if you can cheer yourself up by helping Aunty Jo buy out all the dress shops in Christchurch.’
His daughter’s eyebrows arched sharply. ‘Daddy!’ she growled. ‘That’s a sexist remark.’ But she was smiling.
Victoria’s father grinned back at her. ‘That never worried your Aunty Jo.’
He held out his arms and she stepped into them, smelling his after-shave.
‘Well, I’m going to miss you,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget to email me and tell me everything that’s going on. And I’ll try and call you as often as I can.’
‘I will,’ Victoria promised. She smiled up at her father. ‘Are you going away with Julia in the holidays?’ she asked, her tone seemingly innocent. She thought of Julia. What did her father see in her? All teeth and hair and a smile like a cat that has swallowed a canary.
Her father hesitated. ‘Yes, I might, for a few days. I can’t leave the office for too long.’ He smiled. ‘You know, when the cat’s away...’
‘Are you going to marry Julia, Daddy?’ The question came bluntly.
There was a moment’s pause and her father’s look became more serious.
‘Would you like that, Victoria?’ he asked softly.
The girl shrugged. ‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ she answered. ‘I don’t want to sleep with her.’
‘Victoria!’ Her father was shocked and stepped back a pace.
‘Well, it’s not like she’s going to be my mother or anything,’ the girl explained. ‘I’ve got one of those and I don’t need another. But you do need a wife...’ Her voice dropped. ‘I understand Daddy – really I do.’
Ian Frobisher nodded. ‘Thank you, Victoria,’ he said quietly. ‘I believe you do.’ He paused. ‘But as for marriage...’ He shook his head. ‘That’s a big step and not one I’m sure I’m ready for again – not just yet.’ He smiled. ‘Besides, there’s you and me.’
His daughter glanced away. ‘Well, when you’re ready,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m not a little girl any more.’ She studied the straggle of passengers beginning to move towards the departure lounge.
Ian Frobisher felt awkward. His daughter was growing up fast. He was not quite sure he was ready for the change.
‘Vicky...’
‘Victoria!’ his daughter chided gently. She gave him a brief smile. ‘Perhaps I’d better get going,’ she said. ‘It looks like my flight’s almost ready to board.’
Ian Frobisher glanced at his watch. ‘Yes, it’s getting near the time.’ He hesitated. ‘And I don’t really think I can wait that much longer. I’ve got a client coming in at eleven and it will take me a while to drive back to town. Will you be all right?’
Victoria nodded. ‘Sure! You don’t need to see me off. Remember, I’m a big girl now.’
Her father studied her face for a moment, then bent and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
‘Well, give the Wilson’s my love,’ he said. ‘And you – you look after yourself. Remember, Vicky, I love you. Um...sorry! I know. Victoria!’
Victoria stood and watched her father until he had disappeared into the airport swarm.
‘No tears,’ she told herself. ‘No tears!’
* * * * *
United States Senator, Lloyd Honeywell, swivelled his desk chair round and gazed out his office window at the leaden sky of the Washington winter and dreamed of the blue skies of the South Pacific. He was young for a senator, only a few years past forty. He was tall - a little over six foot - and of medium build. His eyes were a light blue, almost grey. And he had a head of thick wavy blond hair.
The senator leaned back into the black leather, clasped his fingers together on top of his head, and let his imagination soar.
In his mind, his grey suit and sombre office disappeared and yellow sunlight bathed his body - while round him, smiling brown-skinned women, with flowers in their hair, moved their hips to exotic rhythms. Ah - the romantic South Pacific, home of Polynesia, with its friendly carefree people living the whole day long beneath the big bright tropical sun - paradise regained.
He had been to Hawaii, of course, the fiftieth state of the U.S.A. It was a gem in the Pacific, but it was not in the south. He had seen a dozen or more films set in the South Pacific. He loved them all. Now he wanted to go there for himself.
Senator Honeywell murmured the exotic names that floated past his innermost ear – Tahiti, Tonga, Samoa; Papeete, Pago Pago, Nuku’alofa... Oh, and the history - what great tales - what glorious adventures: Captain Bligh, Fletcher Christian, mutiny on the Bounty – just one of the great sagas of the South Pacific. And to think – now that the New Year had come – he would soon be on his way: the dream of a lifetime coming true.
Well, perhaps not coming true as he had so often fantasised it might. He was not making his landfall under the white sails of an island trader; he was arriving by plane. He was not pausing to dance in the firelight under a tropical moon; he was to be involved in government-to-government talks at the highest level. In fact, the senator was on his way to a little country at the bottom of the South Pacific – Aotearoa, ‘The Land of the Long White Cloud’ – New Zealand. Unfortunately, it was only for the shortest of visits. After that, it was on to Canberra, Australia, the main destination of his diplomatic tour.
Now, Australia he could reckon with. It was large, with several sizeable cities. It showed up easily on the map. The kangaroo and boomerang were things he knew about. Yes, Australia was a nation of some note.
But New Zealand? He shook his head. At the bottom of the South Pacific, somewhere underneath Australia, two skinny islands, one called North, the other, South: and the population of both, added together, barely equal to that of a medium sized city of the good old U S of A.
What else about it? Oh yeah - sheep! Millions of them! And? Well, lots of shepherds, he supposed - lots of brown-skinned shepherds sitting in the shade of coconut palms minding their flocks. The senator laughed out loud at his own ignorance. Well, soon he would see.
However, it was not just your everyday diplomatic visit he was on – no sir. What had begun as a gimmick in his early days as a politician had now become his mission – and that mission was the quest for peace – a just and lasting world peace. Strange as it might seem, little New Zeala
nd was an ally of the United States – a country to woo. Even a toy nation could be useful to his cause.
Senator Lloyd Honeywell prided himself on his undertaking. Perhaps he had not achieved anything of importance yet, but he believed in his destiny and had the utmost faith his political star would one day rise.
Some years before a mocking news reporter had dubbed him ‘The Peacemaker’, but as can sometimes happen, the intended ridicule had backfired and the name had stuck. Now many people even thought that Peacemaker was his real name – Lloyd Peacemaker. Well, why not? It could only help his ambition.
The vision of the South Pacific faded and he saw again the grey-faced buildings of Washington D.C. staring back at him through the window.
The senator sat up and swung his chair round to confront his desk. Before he could depart for the South Pacific, he had to earn his passage. He had a lot of paperwork to do for Uncle Sam.
CHAPTER THREE
Victoria Frobisher stood in the crush of people leaving the aircraft. A smiling female flight attendant stood in the open doorway – all yellow hair and oh-so-white teeth. Another perfumed doll, just like Julia, Victoria thought to herself.
‘I hope you enjoyed your flight with us, sir!’ the woman said to the man in front of Victoria. He was a Christchurch businessman, one of the two men Victoria had sat between during the flight. His grey suit jacket hung over one arm, his briefcase dangled from the other. He murmured an appropriate response and went out into the air-bridge that led to the passenger terminal building.
The flight attendant turned to Victoria, her face all powder and paint. She beamed her plastic smile again, showing off the perfect teeth.
‘I hope you enjoyed your flight, dear!’ she said in her sugary tones.
Dear? The woman was treating her like a child. Victoria wanted to say something outrageous in answer, but even if she’d had the nerve, she could not think of anything.
Instead, she nodded politely and answered. ‘Yes, thank you.’ And holding her head high followed the other passengers into the metal corridor of the air-bridge. Behind her, Victoria heard the flight attendant switch on again. ‘I hope you enjoyed your flight with us...’
Apart from the late Christmas presents for the Wilsons, there was nothing for Victoria to declare and the New Zealand customs officers, like their Australian counterparts, were quick and friendly in their inspection, treating her like the young woman she knew she was.
Travelling across the Tasman to Christchurch had been tedious and somewhat intimidating in the past, when she was young, but this time it was different. This time she was grown up, and, as her father would say, the world was her oyster. Now she found it easy to talk to the other passengers, and the flight attendant had not hesitated when Victoria had ordered a glass of white wine to go with her meal. She was from Sydney, on holiday, touring the South Island of New Zealand, Victoria had told the men sitting either side of her on the plane. What she neglected to tell them was that it was the school holidays and that she was going to stay with her aunt and uncle. Anyway, she thought in justification, if her father agreed, next year she would leave school and become a model, or a flight attendant, or perhaps a war photographer, or maybe even dedicate her life to gorillas as Dian Fossey had done.
Victoria’s luggage trolley squeaked its way out of Customs and onto the carpet of the airport’s Arrivals’ lounge. Her gaze took in the crowd of people awaiting family and friends – a crowd calling out welcomes that came one atop the other, so that not one could be distinguished: waving excitedly, so that not one wave stood apart. Not one – save Tom’s. He had found a spot right at the front where he knew she’d have to look.
‘Vicky! Vicky! Over here!’
Victoria gave her cousin a cursory acknowledgement, then aware of her audience, kept her eyes straight ahead and her thoughts on walking in the manner of a sophisticated young woman.
‘Vicky!’ Aunty Jo was in red with black accessories – an outfit that must have cost even Uncle Les a whole week’s pay. Her bright blue eyes and shiny brown hair were Tom all over again. She swept Victoria into her arms and kissed her – all soft and smelling of French perfume and make-up – then held her niece out at arm’s length.
‘My word Vicky, how you’ve grown. And so pretty. Isn’t she pretty, Les?’
Victoria’s uncle nodded and smiled. Les Wilson was tanned and fit looking, with hardly any grey in his thick dark hair. His attire was more casual than that of his wife - a pair of grey trousers and a short-sleeved white shirt. He was the same age as her father, almost to the day, but Victoria noted he looked much younger. The thought made her feel sad. Her father worked too hard. She would have to talk to him about it when she got home.
‘Vicky! Good to have you with us again,’ her uncle said. ‘The summer holidays just wouldn’t be the same without our favourite Australian niece.’
‘I’m your only Australian niece.’
Les Wilson grinned. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek.
‘Well, Thomas?’ his mother asked. ‘Aren’t you going to give your cousin a kiss?’
Tom squirmed visibly, and Victoria let him off with a laugh. But secretly she was pleased. She had no desire to be kissed by a twelve-year-old boy.
‘It’s all right, Aunty Jo, you know what boys are like.’
Tom was beginning to turn red.
‘He’s been quite beside himself with excitement all week,’ his mother was saying to her niece. ‘Planning all sorts of things for the two of you to do during the holidays.’
Tom’s face was now bright crimson.
*
Tom helped his father carry the luggage, while Victoria and her aunt led the way to the car. It was one of those blistering Christchurch summer days. Hot, dry air from The Nor’wester – the dominant wind of the Canterbury Plains – wafted up from the sun-baked car park. The blue of the sky was untouched by cloud and the brightness of the day made Victoria squint.
‘And how’s your father?’ Aunty Jo asked as they walked. ‘Still seeing that... um... friend of his – er – Julie?’ There was a slight hint of disapproval in her aunt’s tone.
‘Julia,’ Victoria corrected.
‘Yes! Well, I wasn’t far out.’ Her aunt paused briefly - then took up the challenge. ‘Is there any likelihood of my older brother asking Julia to become part of the family before too long?’
Victoria shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘And I don’t think he knows either.’
‘Hmm, I see.’ Aunty Jo did not believe in solo fathers, but then she did not believe in fathers with girlfriends either. In her eyes, her brother was fast becoming, if not the black sheep of the family, at least a very distinct shade of grey.
*
‘Memorial Avenue!’ Victoria reminisced as the car swept round the traffic roundabout at the airport exit. ‘It hasn’t changed much since last time. So much open space.’
‘Look!’ Tom tapped her arm a moment or so later. ‘The Spitfire!’
Victoria nodded and glanced over at the replica World War 2 fighter aircraft on its stand beside the roadway. It was banked over, frozen in the beginning of a turn that would seemingly fly it straight at them.
‘You haven’t forgotten our city then?’ Victoria’s uncle asked, looking up at her in the rear view mirror. ‘A bit small after Sydney, of course.’
‘I remember all the houses, with their gardens looking so colourful and neat,’ Victoria answered.
Her aunt smiled at her over her shoulder. ‘We’ll soon be coming to some of those houses and gardens you remember,’ she said. ‘Don’t drive so fast, Les. Vicky wants to see where she’s going.’
‘Yes, we pride ourselves on our gardens,’ Les Wilson said, slowing the big German-made car and pulling over into the left-hand lane. ‘Christchurch is not called The Garden City for nothing.’
The driver behind them expressed his disapproval of the manoeuvre with a sharp blast on his horn.
There was a
big sign back there saying Welcome to the Garden City,’ Tom said. ‘Haere Mai.’
Victoria nodded. ‘Yes, I saw it,’ she said, without looking at him.
‘And while we’re talking about flowers, Vicky,’ her aunt said. ‘Remind me to make sure we spend an afternoon at the Botanic Gardens. They’re absolutely lovely at the moment. I’m sure you’d enjoy them.’
‘And the Air Force Museum,’ Tom chipped in.
‘Oh yes, I’d definitely love to see the Gardens again,’ Victoria agreed.
Her uncle nodded. ‘Yes, we’re certainly a garden city at this time of year,’ he said. ‘Famous for it as well – and rightly so.’
‘We’re famous for the Air Force Museum too,’ Tom said, insisting on his topic. ‘It’s the best in New Zealand. There’s heaps to see.’
Victoria gazed out at the line of suburban homes and gardens that moved past her vision. Schools too, empty for the summer holidays, swept past the car window.
‘It’s good to be back in Christchurch,’ she said, almost to herself.
‘It’s good to have you back,’ Aunty Jo said. ‘We’ve missed you. You’re our Vicky too, you know.’
‘Speaking of missing you,’ her uncle said, with a wink into the mirror. ‘Rhodo will be excited when she sees you.’
Rhodo, like the others of her breed, was a big dog, the colour of lions, with the famous ridge down the centre of her back. The ridge was really a line of fur, which ran in reverse direction to the rest.
‘You know,’ her uncle went on. ‘I half believe she knows you’re coming.’
‘She does know,’ Tom blurted. ‘I told her this morning.’
Victoria laughed. ‘You told the dog?’
Tom gave a shy smile. ‘She really is very smart.’
Les Wilson grinned. ‘I have to go along with Tom there,’ he said. ‘She’s a lot smarter than some people I know.’
Jo Wilson gave a laugh. ‘That she is,’ she agreed. ‘Except when she’s in the lounge and that big tail wag of hers gets out of control.’
Victoria’s aunt had long ago learnt to put her precious ornaments up higher that the Ridgeback’s tail could reach.