The hills of Maketu

by Gloria Bevan

  As he came nearer, she caught a glimpse of blue eyes blazing in a deeply tanned face. Well, if he intended to argue with

  her, she wouldn't wait! She was late enough already. And besides— Peering ahead, she spied, close to the fem-covered bank, an opening in the moving mass. If she made a rush for it, she'd be able to dodge through and be over the hill and away, out of reach of this man who was obviously bent on taking her to task.

  Turning on the ignition, she engaged the car in gear. Now! She pressed hard on the accelerator and the car shot forward, scattering sheep in a mad panic around her. Quick now! Hug the bank! Another few yards and she'd be on a clear path. She swung the steering wheel sharply to the left, and was immediately conscious of a blow to her head as the car lurched violently and came to a stop with two wheels resting in a muddy ditch.

  `Didn't you hear me calling you?'

  Trudy sat, dazed and trembling, staring up at the man who had dismounted and wrenched open the car door – a tall, lean man with dark hair and the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that seemed to burn in the bronzed skin. Eyes that were anything but friendly.

  `Why the heck didn't you do as I told you?' he blazed.

  `What you told me?' Trudy cried indignantly. This was the last straw. Bad enough to find herself in this predicament, without this stranger taking her to task.

  `I couldn't hear you! And anyway,' the helplessness of her position lent an edge to her voice, 'I'm not used to being shouted at!'

  But it seemed that sarcasm was wasted on this rangy New Zealander with the tanned skin and angry eyes.

  `You should have got down into low – taken it gently,' he admonished.

  `It's not my fault!' Trudy flared, close to tears and furious with this shepherd who seemed determined to censure her. `It's yours! If you hadn't driven your silly sheep over the hill and hidden the road.. .. How was I supposed to know there was a ditch at the side?'

  `That,' he pointed out, 'was what I was trying to tell you!'

  `Oh!' Gritting her teeth, Trudy jerked at the starter, then hurriedly switched off the ignition as the wheels merely ploughed deeper into the soft earth.

  `If you'd only g-give me a hand to g-get out of this mess,'

  to her chagrin Trudy heard her voice quiver, `instead of ordering me around—'

  Suddenly he grinned, a smile that crinkled the lean, brown face, a smile that did nothing to ease Trudy's discomfiture. But of course! I was just waiting for you to ask me!' In a fluid movement he sprang on the chestnut horse and pulled on a rein. 'Don't go away!' he threw over his shoulder. Then he went weaving through the milling mob and in a flurry of hoofs, vanished over the brow of the hill.

  Left alone, Trudy pulled furiously on the starter once more. The car rocked, then settled back in the hollow.

  She tried to stop her lips from trembling. Oh, it was too bad! To be trapped here, dependent on this unfriendly stranger for help.

  Although - she rallied her sinking spirits - the least he could do was to make amends, seeing that it was entirely his fault that the accident had occurred. He should have noticed her approach. Obviously he was employed as a shepherd and must be familiar with the locality. And then to lay the blame for the incident on her! Oh, he was maddening! She hated him. Hated his derisive grin, his I-know-everything air.

  Nevertheless, she had to admit to a feeling of relief at the appearance of the Land Rover over the brow of the hill. As the shepherd got out of the vehicle and attached a rope to the little car, Trudy was struck by his dark good looks - a strong face with chiselled features, a firm mouth and a deeply cleft chin. But what did it matter what he looked like? The thing was that the rope was tautening. And the Land Rover was pulling the car up, up, up, until it stood once more in the centre of the narrow track.

  Trudy stepped out and as she surveyed the crumpled dent in the bonnet of Old Bill's cherished 'Min', the horrifying thought pierced her that she had damaged a borrowed car, a car, moreover, that she was using without the owner's knowledge! Why, oh, why did this have to happen?

  The tall young man in faded drill shirt and shorts came to stand beside her. Following her gaze, he bent forward and brushing aside the clay and dust, inspected the deep dent.

  `You've certainly made a mess of it,' he remarked curtly. `Job for the panel-beater, by the look of it!'

  Trudy bit back the angry rejoinder that rose to her lips. If it

  hadn't been for you—

  `Thanks, anyway,' she muttered.

  `Don't thank me! Thank your lucky stars that there was someone around to give you a hand. You'd have had a devil of a way to walk to get help around here.'

  Vaguely Trudy was aware that the man spoke with a surprisingly cultured inflection. But the main part of her mind was engaged with a matter of far greater importance.

  `How long - will it take - to fix?' To her dismay, she heard the words emerge in a frightened squeak.

  He shrugged a faded khaki shoulder. 'Your guess is as good as mine! Maybe a couple of weeks maybe more! Depends on how much Dusty feels like coming to work in the garage. Could be he's away at the fishing competitions at the Ninety-Mile, or down at Russell doing a spot of big game fishing. Depends on your luck,' he finished laconically, 'and the state of the weather!'

  `A couple of weeks?' Trudy blinked away the tears that pricked her eyelids. 'Well, I've got to be on my way.' She seated herself once more behind the steering wheel.

  All at once the delays and disappointments of the long day crystallized into a feeling of anger directed against this man, this annoying stranger who was the cause of all her trouble, and who appeared to regard the matter so lightly.

  `And the next time I meet you on a public road—' She tried to steady the stupid tremor in her voice, 'I hope you'll give me a fair share of the track.'

  `Public road?' Her glance dropped before that mocking blue gaze. He leaned an elbow on the sill. 'As a matter of interest,' he inquired lazily, 'would you mind telling me just where you think you are?'

  Trudy was too hot and tired and upset to care any longer about being grateful to this man.

  `I'm on my way to Springdale Station,' she said shortly, `and I'm late already. Do you mind?'

  But he made no move. 'Springdale?' he echoed incredulously. At last, Trudy thought with satisfaction, she had succeeded in making some impression on him.

  `Let me get this straight. You thought that this farm track was the main road to Springdale?'

  It was her turn to stare in surprise. 'Well, isn't it?'

  `Lord, no! I can see I'll have to direct you. What you want is the first turning on the right, ten miles further along the main north road. Follow this path over the hill and you'll hit the highway, on the other side.'

  `Then this is—' stammered Trudy, 'private property?' His cool stare was unnerving. 'That's right.'

  Oh, he was no help at all! He wouldn't be! Obviously he took a perverse delight in her discomfiture. He was that sort of man. No doubt he was thoroughly enjoying his moment of triumph!

  A dreadful sense of mortification swept over her. She heard herself giving utterance to words that seemed to spring forth without her volition, triggered by nervousness and embarrassment.

  `You can tell your boss from me that he should have his ditches seen to! They're a positive danger-trap! And it would help if he'd put a signpost at the road corner!'

  Then, as the man made no comment but continued to regard her with that alert, disconcerting hard stare, she rushed on, her voice a little out of control.

  `All a mistake ... if only I'd had a map of the district with me ... wouldn't have happened ... must get on ... they're expecting me at Springdale ... I - have a job there. ...'

  `A job - at Springdale?' The amazed tones broke across Trudy's nervous flow of words. 'You?'

  She nodded wildly. 'Oh yes, it's all arranged. I'm going to take care of the gardens. And help with the driving—'

  She broke off, appalled. To think that she'd actually handed this hateful
creature the perfect opportunity to gloat over her! Of course he'd take advantage of it. He did.

  `Driving?'

  Well, let him curl his lips with that cynical twist. What did she care? Only this time she wouldn't, she wouldn't look away before that mocking stare. Her senses swam dizzily A sense of suffocation ... of helplessness ... engulfed her. She felt hypnotized, like a silly rabbit. A warning voice in her mind called: This is it! This is danger! Run - run - before it's too late! She was drowning in that lambent blue gaze. With an effort, she wrenched her own gaze away.

  Like a shock of cold water, the laconic voice reached her.

  Well, I can tell you this much. You wouldn't last a week

  on my sheep station!'

  The colour flamed beneath Trudy's creamy, transparent skin with its faint dusting of freckles. 'Just because I'm new here—'

  He threw her an enigmatic look. 'Even a new arrival usually has a few clues about closing gates after them on farm property. Take a look down there.'

  Bewildered, she followed his gaze down the winding track. Down . down . . . Oh no! That swinging gate at the foot of the hill! She hadn't thought to close it behind her and now she could see sheep scattering over the bush-clad slopes. And forming a straggling line as they meandered up the metal road.

  He strode towards the horse, grazing nearby, and threw the reins over the horse's head. 'I'll be lucky if I can muster them again before dark!'

  Trudy was conscious of an uneasy sense of guilt.

  `You can tell your boss,' she called after him as he wheeled away, 'that it isn't altogether your fault that you're late—!'

  But she might just as well have saved her breath, she told herself, starting the car, for he took not the slightest notice, or perhaps he didn't hear. She heard him calling to the dogs as horse and rider plunged down the incline.

  As she moved over the ridge, Trudy stared down at her shaking hand on the steering wheel. To think that she had allowed an unknown shepherd to get under her skin! It was ridiculous. Honesty compelled her to admit that what had happened had been mainly of her own doing. But all the same, she argued hotly to herself, he needn't have been so – so generally hateful.

  Forget him, she scolded herself. He's nothing to you. Nothing. It must be the recent blow to her head that was causing her to tremble so.

  As she followed the winding track, Trudy resolved to banish from her mind such unpleasant matters as the rangy New Zealander whose cultured tones were at variance with his rough attire, and the disfiguring dent in the Morris Minor. She'd concentrate instead on her destination, now only a few miles distant.

  At the foot of the hill she braked to a stop, and once through the wide gate was careful to tug the wire loop securely over the rough timber of the gate post.

  At last she turned a bend in the road and glanced up at the newly painted signpost. Springdale!

  Excitement mounted in her as she took the long driveway edged with wide herbaceous borders that at length brought her in sight of the grey stone house overlooking an expanse of farmland. From familiar photographs she recognized the gabled roof, the creeper-hung porch, the sweeping lawns and terraced gardens.

  There was even someone sitting on the verandah — a woman wearing a scarlet frock and reading a newspaper. No doubt it was Aunt Geraldine, awaiting Trudy's appearance and wondering what could have happened to delay the English girl's arrival on the afternoon bus.

  Passing through the wide entrance gates, Trudy swept up the curving pathway towards the front entrance. She ran lightly up the stone steps, then paused abruptly as the woman rose to her feet and moved towards her. But this wasn't Aunt Geraldine! Even from remembered snapshots, Trudy could see no resemblance between the thin, sparse figure and Aunt Geraldine's buxom form and commanding presence.

  But of course! Trudy drew a breath of relief. The stranger would be the housekeeper, whom Aunt Geraldine had mentioned from time to time.

  `Good afternoon,' Trudy smiled pleasantly. 'I — I've come to see Mrs. Allen. I — think she's expecting me.'

  A surprised, sympathetic gleam sprang into the faded blue eyes behind rimless glasses. 'Mrs. Allen? I'm so sorry — didn't you know?'

  The girl gazed back at her in bewilderment. 'Know ?'

  `Come in, my dear, and sit down — No, not there. The sun's still hot, even at this hour of the day. There, in the shade.'

  Her heart pounding alarmingly, Trudy seated herself in a low wicker chair. Her startled glance flew upwards. 'She's — all right, isn't she? There's — nothing wrong?'

  'My dear, she passed away — quite suddenly. A month ago, it happened. I remember the date because it was just a few days later that we took over the property. It was all arranged almost overnight. You see, Mrs. Allen had no immediate family, and Springdale was willed to a nephew who had no interest in the land. In fact, he was on the point of leaving for overseas to complete his engineering studies. He was

  anxious to get the property off his hands before he sailed.

  When Ted - that's my husband - saw the place advertised, he decided that it was just what we'd been searching for. We wanted it for Paul, you see. Oh, I know what folks say,' she ran on in a low, intense tone, 'that we're wasting our money and time, that he'll never make a go of it. That it will turn out just like all the other ventures we financed for him—' She broke off in confusion.

  As the anxious voice faded away, Trudy tried to take in what the other woman had said. But only one fact registered in her mind. Poor Aunt Geraldine was dead. She had intimated that her health wasn't good, but Trudy hadn't dreamed that the older woman's life was threatened, or of course she would never have made the long journey out from England.

  Now that strangers had taken over Springdale, there was no position awaiting her. Oh, she should have guessed that something was wrong when she found no one waiting to meet her at Maketu. She should have contacted the station by telephone, found out the position, instead of impetuously driving up here alone.

  She became aware of the other woman's voice.

  `Have you come far, to see Mrs. Allen ?'

  Trudy had an absurd impulse towards hysteria. She wanted to cry: Only from another hemisphere! But instead she found herself explaining all about the long-standing friendship between her widowed mother and the previous owner of the station, her mother's death, the position so kindly offered her by Aunt Geraldine.

  At the mention of garden employment, the other woman sighed regretfully.

  `The gardens . . . oh dear, Ted has no time to bother with flower gardens, or the patience to cope with them! We only moved in here last week and the first thing to be done, according to him, is to get rid of these flower plots and bulldoze the terraces - put the whole place in lawn. It's bad enough,' she went on, 'having to look after all these—' She gestured towards the numerous shelves running across the porch, stacked with a profusion of house plants and tropical greenery. 'Either I'll have to give them all away or take to getting interested in house plants myself!' She sprang to her feet. 'But you must be thirsty - that long, dusty drive in the

  heat! I'll go and make a cuppa!'

  Trudy scarcely heard her. She stared unseeingly out at the vista of rolling hills that melted into an amethyst haze on the horizon.

  What on earth was she to do now? Return to Auckland and endeavour to obtain a position in florist work? No doubt she could find employment in the city. But she would so much rather remain in this remote, hitherto unknown world.

  As she stared down at the newspaper lying opened on the low table, a thought struck her. Maybe there might be some other employment offering in the locality. She had no idea whether or not work was available in this part of the country. Well, there was only one way to find out! Eagerly she scanned the columns until her eye alighted on the heading she sought. There was only one insertion.

  FARM HELPER WANTED

  Wanted, capable woman for

  domestic help on sheep station.

  Good wages. Apply Ballantyne, El
smore Station.

  Elsmore. She had noticed the signpost along the route she had travelled today. It wasn't too far away. They needed someone to help. And she certainly needed employment. Maybe she could even arrange matters today, which would solve her problem of where to spend the night. At any rate, she'd give it a try!

  She glanced up as the older woman set down a wooden tray, laden with cups of steaming tea.

  `You'll get used to drinking cuppas at all hours of the day and night, if you come to live up this way,' she smiled.

  And indeed, it seemed to Trudy that never had tea tasted more fragrant and refreshing than it did at that moment, served with the light, substantial scones, lavishly spread with yellow farm butter, that were a meal in themselves.

  Presently Trudy sprang to her feet. 'I wonder if you'll excuse me if I run along now? There's something I must get fixed up before dark.'

  'Of course, my dear. Just you please yourself! Only,' the pale eyes regarded Trudy with kindly concern, 'what are your

  plans? I mean to say, there isn't a hotel within fifty miles of here. You're very welcome to spend the night with us.'

  `Thank you,' Trudy smiled back with an assurance she was far from feeling, `but I'll be quite all right.'

  The thin, grey-haired woman continued to look anxious. Promise that you'll come back here if you get stuck,' she urged. `It's no bother, you know ... this huge barn of a house, and only a small family living in it. There's oodles of room, and we'd love to have you.'

  `We surely would!'

  An expression of pride flooded the peaked face, and left no doubt in the girl's mind that the thickly set young man of medium height with the squarish face and neatly trimmed brown beard, who had come to stand in the open doorway, was the son of the household. What had the mother said? Something about having purchased the farm property for his benefit.

  `This is my son Paul,' she was saying. `Miss—' `Western - Trudy Western.'

  `I - don't - believe - it!' Openly he appraised the slim girl who had turned back to face him. A tiny flicker of excitement moved in the liquid, dark eyes. `Nothing like this ever happens to me! And to think that it should come my way up here, in this God-forsaken neck of the woods!'