by Carl Hubrick
The indicator lights blinked and the car turned into a quiet lane of large houses, each one set well back off the road on an extensively landscaped section, or hidden up a tree lined drive. Apart from a few parked cars, there was not another vehicle to be seen.
Victoria’s uncle glanced up into the rear-view mirror. ‘And how do you find our traffic after Sydney, Vicky?’
‘What traffic?’ Victoria queried. She put up a hand as if to shade her eyes and pretended to peer into the distance. ‘I can’t find any traffic. Not anywhere.’
Les Wilson laughed. ‘Yes, you’re right. Still, despite the lack of traffic at times,’ he continued more seriously. ‘Christchurch can be a dangerous place to drive in. I must say that Sydney’s motorists have always impressed me with their good driving manners – a case of having to in such a big city, I suppose.’ He turned and looked over his shoulder at Victoria. ‘I’m quite happy to drive in Sydney any day of the week.’
‘I’m sure you are, Les,’ Jo Wilson cut in. ‘But you just keep your eyes on the road, and let’s get off the subject of traffic or you’ll be boring Vicky.’
‘No, that’s okay,’ Victoria said. ‘Daddy’s been giving me driving lessons, so I like talking about it.’ She sensed Tom’s sudden stir of interest beside her. ‘I’m quite good already. I can’t sit my licence just yet, but Daddy says I should be all set to go as soon as I’m old enough.’ She paused. ‘If I leave school at the end of this year and become a model,’ she said imposingly, ‘I’ll need my own car to get to each filming location.’
Her aunt smiled. ‘Yes, I suppose you would, dear, but don’t you have a few more years at school yet?’
Victoria was disappointed. Aunty Jo had not seemed impressed in the slightest. How many other members of the family were famous models? At least her aunt could have made some other comment instead of – don’t you have a few more years at school yet?
Tom was confused. He was finding it hard to keep up with the conversation and he couldn’t think of anything to say. And Vicky wasn’t helping any. Something about her had changed. He was not quite sure what. Sure, she had grown a bit since last year. Any boy would have noticed that. And she was still taller than him. But there was something else. She seemed aloof somehow, and he didn’t know what to say to her. They used to talk a lot. Now he couldn’t find a space to open his mouth. On top of that, the conversation was not one he wanted to join in with. He wanted to tell her about his last teacher, Mrs Sykes, but somehow he didn’t think this new Vicky would be interested. But he had enjoyed walking with her from the airport terminal building. She was so pretty and smelt so...so like flowers. He had seen quite a few young men look at her admiringly and it made him feel proud. But it did not help. He still couldn’t say anything. It was as if she were not quite Vicky at all – or Vicky living in another room somewhere, unable to really see or hear him.
*
The car turned into the Wilsons’ tree lined driveway. The two-storey brick home was as stately as ever, with one or two red leaves beginning to show on the ivy that clung in places to the lower storey. Red and white striped umbrellas marked where Victoria knew the swimming pool to be, at the side of the house.
The car rolled to a stop outside the front door and Victoria got out. Then, without warning, Rhodo was upon her - a blur of tan, dancing first this way then that with excitement.
Victoria laughed. ‘And good to see you too,’ she said.
The Ridgeback took the girl’s wrist lightly in her mouth.
‘That’s her way of saying “hello”,’ Tom explained. ‘She’s saying, “Look, I could bite you, but I won’t, because we’re friends”.’
Victoria fondled the big dog’s pendulous ears with her free hand. ‘Well, I’m sure glad we don’t all say “hello” in the same way. I don’t think I’d like putting people’s arms into my mouth all the time.’
The Ridgeback began pulling Victoria gently towards the front steps of the house.
‘Goodness Thomas!’ Tom’s mother called from the back of the car where she was busy supervising her husband unloading Victoria’s suitcase and travel bag. ‘Tell that dog to let Vicky go.’
‘Rhodo! Let her go,’ Tom called from the top of the steps. ‘Vicky can make it by herself.’
The big dog released the girl’s wrist and bounded up the steps towards Tom, only to catch the top step with her back legs and crash in a sprawl at her master’s feet. In an instant, she had scrambled up and was back on four legs again, grinning a canine grin.
‘Ouch!’ Victoria said. ‘I hope she didn’t hurt herself.’
Tom laughed. ‘No! Rhodo’s always banging into things or falling over. She’s just so big and clumsy. But she never gets hurt. She’s too strong for that.’
*
Mrs White, the Wilson’s housekeeper, had afternoon tea ready for them, with plenty of extra sandwiches for Vicky, for as she said, Vicky always felt hungry when she came off the plane. Mrs White had worked for the Wilsons for a long time now. She could remember when Vicky was only “knee high to a grasshopper”.
Victoria thanked her, sipped her tea and ate one dainty sandwich, explaining that she’d had sufficient to eat on the plane. She sat with her back straight and her knees and ankles locked together at an angle, as she had seen other women sit. It was uncomfortable, but she knew it was supposed to look good. If only they would stop calling her, Vicky. She would have to speak to Aunty Jo about it. She was sure her aunt would understand.
‘Well, my dear,’ said her aunt. ‘Mrs White and I have fixed up your room for you – the one you always have. Well, it is your room, isn’t it? You’re part of the family - Thomas’s big sister. He’s been so looking forward to having you here again.’
Tom smiled weakly over at Victoria. He sat sprawled in an armchair, the heel of one bare foot propped up on the toes of the other. Rhodo lay at his feet. Tom had been looking forward to his cousin coming. Vicky was good at swimming and tennis and – almost everything else. And if she ever got really mad, you had to watch out. But now it was almost as if Vicky were somebody else.
Victoria could see by the look on Tom’s face that he knew she’d grown up. She could see too that it hurt his feelings in some way. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him any more, it was just that they no longer had anything in common. Well, he would get over it, and one day he would understand.
* * * * *
‘Wow, Tom!’ Jason was surprised, although also rather pleased about the whole thing at the same time. Jason had come over later that afternoon, complete with togs and towel, for a swim in the Wilsons’ pool. ‘You didn’t say your cousin was so...you know...so...’ Jason was scratching for words. He used his hands to make an hourglass shape. ‘So...grown up,’ he finished lamely. ‘And such a good looker too.’
Tom stared down at his feet. ‘I didn’t know,’ he muttered, more to himself than his friend.
So, that was it. Why hadn’t he seen it as quickly as Jason had? It was starting to make sense. Last year Vicky had arrived full of chatter, gently pushing and bullying Tom like an older sister – and he’d enjoyed it. But this new adult was like a stranger. Tennis on the Wilsons’ tennis court had been the first thing on the agenda then – now it was a walk round the garden with her Aunty Jo. He could see his mother was pleased – she had found a new companion, but he had lost one.
‘Do you think she’ll mind Corina tagging along with her on holiday?’ Jason sounded doubtful. ‘My sister’s only nine.’
‘I dunno, do I?’ Tom was still exasperated by the change. He remembered those puberty lessons they’d had at school - about changing as you grew up. But with Vicky, it was more like metamorphosis. She resembled the chrysalis one of the kids had brought into class – one of Mrs Sykes’s goody-goodies. And even though Victoria hadn’t been a caterpillar before, she was sure like a butterfly now – all pretty and ready to fly away.
‘Anyway, they’re both girls still,’ Tom said at last. ‘And girls understand each other.�
� But he knew as he said it, he was probably wrong on both counts. And for a moment he wondered if he would ever be right about anything again.
* * * * *
‘Sofia?’
The dark-eyed woman seated on the ground outside the grey wood hut paused in the cleaning of her machine pistol and looked up. Around her, the mountain tussock moved with the morning breeze and warmed with the sun’s first rays.
‘Sofia!’ the man called Karl said. ‘Time for you to go.’ He held out his hand and helped the woman to her feet. ‘You remember what to do?’ he asked.
The woman smiled mockingly. ‘Karl! Karl!’ she said softly. ‘As if I would forget. Have we not been long enough together, in all parts of the world, for you to trust me yet? Do I not always remember my homework?’
She pushed the machine pistol at him and reached down to swing a pack onto her shoulders.
‘I know your good instructions off by heart,’ she said. ‘The main elements of our mission are surprise, speed and silence. We book in. We watch. We wait. When it is time, we hit the target. Three of us only, because we wish to pass unnoticed. Three of us, so we may move swiftly. Three of us... because three is enough.’
The man nodded. ‘You are right, Sofia,’ he said quietly. ‘You always remember better than I what is to be done. I am as nothing without you.
But there can be no mistakes. Our intel informs us our target will be most vulnerable tonight. We have but the one chance.’
‘Have faith, Karl!’ Sofia said gently. ‘Have faith! Your plan is good. All will be well. Soon the whole world will know what we have done.’
The woman adjusted the straps on her pack and then held out her hands.
‘Thank you, Karl,’ she said, as he passed the weapon back.
His hand reached out and covered hers for moment where it cradled the machine pistol.
‘Sofia?’
‘I know,’ she said, her voice almost a whisper, ‘Have success.’
He nodded. ‘Yes! Be successful.’
The blue eyes watched the woman and her two male companions until they were little more than dots upon the pale gold hills. At last, one turned and waved or saluted, he could not tell which at the distance, before they disappeared over a ridge.
The man called Karl saluted in reply. ‘Have success,’ he said to the hills. ‘Have success.’
* * * * *
The flight attendant, flaxen haired and pretty, leaned over the senator seated by the window and raised the blind, letting in the bright morning sun. There were only a few passengers in the first class section of the Air New Zealand aircraft. The senator had a row to himself.
The young woman smiled. ‘Senator?’ Her perfume wafted over him, bringing him fully awake. ‘Only a few more minutes until we arrive at Christchurch International Airport. Your car is standing by and will meet you at the aircraft as soon as we land.’
Senator Lloyd Honeywell nodded. ‘Thank you, Jenny,’ he said. ‘Everything seems to be very well organised.’
The senator was travelling alone to Christchurch. His American staff and secret service agents would meet him the following day in Wellington, the capital, where he was scheduled to hold talks with the New Zealand prime minister. He wanted his visit to Christchurch to be informal - a break from his normal timetable of duties - his treat to himself. A chance to visit the “jumping off” base for Operation Deep Freeze – the United States Antarctic Program, based at Christchurch International Airport. He had a keen interest in the science of it all.
‘Is there anything else you need before we land, Senator?’ The perfume was almost suffocating.
‘No. The service has been excellent – truly excellent. Thank you, Jenny.’
The shiny red lips smiled. ‘It’s been a pleasure to have you aboard, Senator, and an honour to meet The Peacemaker.’
The senator smiled at the use of his nickname.
‘Why thank you, m’dear,’ he murmured.
The young woman moved on, leaving her perfume behind.
The senator adjusted his seat to the upright position and looked out the window - nothing but ocean to see as yet. He was tired, but excited. He had worked hard over the past few weeks preparing for this tour and organising his office to function in his absence. A night in Christchurch before the talks in Wellington would give him a chance to unwind. Heaven knows – he needed it.
All at once his attention was caught. Was that land upon the horizon or just cloud? He could not tell. But he was here at last - the South Pacific. He had seen pictures of New Zealand, of course, but in truth, he really had no idea what to expect.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Wilsons’ big four-wheel-drive ground its way up the last few metres of gravel road that led uphill from the main highway, and stopped amid a swirl of dust outside their mountain hut. At least, that was what the Wilsons called it. Most people would have described it as a holiday home, and a rather large one at that.
The house was about a two and three-quarter hours’ drive north from Christchurch, near the beginning of the Lewis Pass – the topmost pass that winds its way from the east coast to the west across the mountain range that is the backbone of the South Island of New Zealand – the Southern Alps. The home stood among the last in a string of brave outposts at the entrance to the Pass – close to where the Lewis River joins the Boyle and from thereon takes its name.
Apart from the narrow highway that led across the pass, there were now no other roads, just gravelled byways – no paths, just rough tracks for the hardy tramper.
The hut was exactly as Victoria had remembered - a dark-stained wooden dwelling set back deep into the bush, the green painted corrugated iron roof steeply pitched to shed the winter snows.
Behind the house stood hill upon hill clad in bush. Above and beyond the hills, ranged tussock and scrub covered heights. And taller and more distant still, touching the clouds, soared the far-off peaks of the forever snow-capped Southern Alps.
For a while, the seven occupants of the vehicle sat without speaking, enraptured by the grandeur of their setting - Victoria in the front, between her aunt and uncle, Tom, Jason and Corina in the back, squeezed in with the dog.
Then, Rhodo, suddenly awake to the fact that they had reached their destination, whined to be let out and the peace was broken. The Ridgeback was soon making herself familiar with the new smells of her occasional territory along with the ones she remembered from her last visit.
Victoria watched the animal for a time and wondered at the world of smells that for Rhodo seemed far more important even than sight. Another universe, Victoria thought, another dimension; tracking some invisible trail – invisible to humans at any rate – knowing what had happened minutes, hours, even days before. Did the dog get a mental picture of who or what had been there or was it something else? In another moment, Rhodo, on some ghostly trail, had disappeared behind the house.
All at once, Victoria realised she was glad to be here, glad to be back among the mountains and rivers that were a part of her. The tramping and the fishing were things she had enjoyed as a child. She knew now that she had not out grown them after all – knew she could enjoy them once again as much as she had ever done in the past. It was her second home – her home for the summer holidays.
‘Oh dear!’ Les Wilson pretended to stifle a yawn and glanced across at his wife. ‘Handling all those hills and bends makes one tired – a test of even the best of drivers.’ There was a roguish sparkle in his eye as he spoke.
‘Not too tired to unpack the car though, are you, dear?’
He shook his head and gave a laugh. ‘I guess not. Not if you say so. However, I must lodge a protest. We men do all the hard work of driving and then the women give the orders. There should be a law against it.’
‘Why do the men always drive?’ Victoria enquired. ‘I mean, it’s just struck me. Whenever you see a man and woman together in a car, it’s nearly always the man who’s driving.’
Her uncle shrugged.
Les Wilson put his hands up in submission. ‘I’m not saying a word until I see my lawyer.’
‘Actually Victoria,’ her aunt continued in a confidential tone. ‘Statistics show that women have far fewer accidents than men, so I don’t know where males get these silly notions.’
Jo Wilson turned and smiled at the three in the back. ‘Right! Everyone set to unload?’
Tom and Jason nodded. Corina answered with a shy, ‘Yes, Mrs Wilson.’
‘Just Aunty Jo will do dear,’ Tom’s mother replied gently.
*
The interior of the Wilsons’ holiday home was warm and welcoming, and to Victoria it seemed she had hardly been away at all. The main family room was a large lounge of wood-panelled walls and dark blue carpet. A big log-burner stood in the centre, its tall back flue going up through the church-like beamed ceiling. On the grey stone hearth, a cane basket was stacked high with firewood. In the mountains, even the summer nights can be cool at times.
Plump brown leather couches and armchairs furnished the room, and there were long shelves chock-full of books and games.
A hallway off the lounge led to her aunt and uncle’s bedroom at one end, and two cosy bunkrooms, one for boys and one for girls, at the other. Usually Victoria had the girls’ bunkroom to herself, but this time she would have to share it with Corina.
*
Corina glanced shyly up at Victoria as they dropped their packs and surveyed their room. The nine-year-old had the same big blue eyes as her brother. Straw-coloured hair, tied back tightly, framed her thin white face. She was of a slender build, but wiry, just like her older sibling.
Victoria felt sorry for her – thrust in with almost complete strangers. Tom had told her that Corina had never met the rest of the Wilsons until that morning. Victoria suspected that Aunty Jo had been somewhat put out when she discovered they had an extra McKenzie coming on vacation with them. However, being a kind-hearted person, she had not let her feelings show too much, and quickly set about making the child feel welcome.