by Gloria Bevan
She wrenched her thoughts away and answered lightly, `Oh, I enjoyed it. It was quite an experience!'
`Got to be a first time,' the young man remarked cheerfully.
As Trudy glanced up into the tense, pale face, she felt a stab of compassion. How dreadful to be incapacitated, especially to one no doubt accustomed to an active outdoor life.
Behind the black-rimmed glasses, the pale eyes twinkled as though he had read her thoughts.
`Bit of a mess, aren't I? You should have met me before all this happened, Miss Western.'
She smiled. 'What was it? A riding accident?'
He shook his head with the unruly fair hair escaping from the white bandage. 'Nothing so dramatic. I took a tumble off the farm tractor. Or rather, it flipped on me. That's the worst of farming in the hills. There's always the chance of taking one chance too many on the slopes. Landed me in hospital for three months. But I'm well on the mend now - at least—'
a note of anxiety shadowed the friendly tones, 'that's what
they tell me. Well, that's enough about me. How about you?'
Trudy gave- him a brief account concerning the events of the previous day that had led to her employment in the home of Scott Ballantyne.
He regarded her with eager interest. 'Look here, seeing that you're new here—' the light grey eyes took on a latent sparkle, let you in on my special recording.'
`Oh, Terry, not again!' Mrs. Bartley groaned, as she entered the room with a laden tray.
`I'll take that,' Scott said, relieving her of the load. 'Where do you want it?'
`Out on the patio,' Diana called promptly. 'The wind's blowing the other way, luckily. Scott—'
They moved away, leaving Trudy alone with the young man.
`What were you saying about a recording?' she inquired.
`Oh, for heaven's sake, don't encourage him,' Mrs. Bartley called laughingly through the open ranch doors. 'Ever since Jerry won that talent quest he can think of nothing else but song-writing. I'm sure we're all sick and tired of it.'
`Talent quest?' Trudy's glance was bright with interest. Did you really?'
`Pure luck, actually.' But the thin young face was flooded with pride. 'You see,' his voice was eager, enthusiastic, 'they were holding this talent quest in town. And there's a Maori girl here – well,' he paused, 'not just an ordinary girl. She's –something special, really. She's pure Maori, Moana is. Awfully well educated, and as musical as they come. Studied music as a university subject, and sings like an angel.
`Well, there was this Maori chant thing – a sort of ancient lullaby. Moana had known the words since she was a kid. Her grandmother used to sing it to her, she said. But when she decided to use it for the talent quest, she wasn't too happy about the original tune . . . it didn't seem to fit, she said.
`She had the qualifications and I – well, I guess I just happened to hit on the rhythm she wanted to suit the words. I had an idea that the contest was in the bag, but I didn't dream that it would turn out to be such a hit. "Bright Star" really made her name, put her on the road to a big career. After the talent quest was over, Moana went on to England to study.
`We worked it out together, if you get me. I hit on the tune, and she supplied the words.'
`And the talent!' Diana, standing by the doorway, put it cruelly. She exhaled a stream of smoke from her cigarette. `And if you think you can make the miracle happen again, sonny boy, you're only kidding yourself!'
The pale, nervous face flushed. 'But I can! I can! You just wait!' He turned towards Trudy. 'I've got ideas for a dozen hits floating around in here—' he tapped the bandage over his forehead. 'All I need is someone to write down the music for me and I'll be away! You'll see!'
Diana's reddish-brown eyebrows rose tauntingly. 'What are you going to use for inspiration this time? Another tune lifted from the Maoris?'
`I'd like to hear that Maori lullaby,' Trudy said quickly, and was pleased to see the narrow face brighten.
`Our song!' Diana's thin lips twisted in a sneer. Well, may as well get the agony over.' She strolled out on to the terrace and moving to join Scott, began speaking in deliberately loud tones.
But as the lilting notes fell softly into the room, Trudy ceased to be aware of the other girl. She was enthralled by the cadence of the caressing Maori voice.
`Oh, my son, born on a winter's mom
The way is long and you are alone Your ancestors watch you from afar,
Will you be the next bright star? Oh, my son, born into war,
Grow swiftly, that you might wear Their mantle, if you dare.
Greet them without fear
You will be remembered there,
Kaka feathers in your spear,
Feather of an albatross in your hair, Land, sea and air—
Here in the hollow of my hand—Take them lest they disappear.'
The soft, expressive notes melted away.
The next bright star,' Trudy echoed softly. 'But it's enchanting.'
Tea's ready!' Mrs. Bartley called. Trudy, slowing her steps to those of the limping, barefooted figure, moved out towards the sunlit terrace.
But it wasn't until the tea things were cleared away, that Scott broached the subject Trudy had been dreading - the reason for her presence here today.
`Got some great news for you, folks,' he announced suddenly. He turned towards the girl at his side. 'Remember that little problem of yours, Di? About getting hold of a suitable pianist for your party? Well, you can put it right out of your mind. I've jacked the whole thing up.'
`You have ?' Diana's lovely face lit up with pleasure and surprise. 'But, Scott, that's fabulous! I just didn't think there was a hope - how on earth did you work the miracle? Who—'
`No trouble,' he drawled smilingly. 'You see, it just so happens that Miss Western happens to be a pianist - a darn good one too - and she's offered to help out.'
`Miss - Western?' The glance Diana flung at Trudy was incredulous - amused. Conscious of that contemptuous gaze, Trudy suddenly saw herself as she must appear to this sophisticated girl - a small girl, simply dressed, her hair tied back in a childish fashion that she imagined would keep it tidy in the wind. Tidy! To Diana she must appear years younger than her age, school girlish, naive. Worse, someone who was endeavouring to obtrude herself amongst the guests at a private gathering.
Why, oh, why did that detestable Scott Ballantyne have to phrase the words as if the suggestion was entirely her idea? Whereas the truth was—
She raised brilliant eyes to the other girl's scornful stare. `I expect you'll be making your own arrangements,' she offered quickly. 'It was only a suggestion. Really, I don't think—'
`Don't pay any attention to her, Di.' Scott's amused glance was fixed on Trudy's flushed unhappy face. 'Believe me, she's really qualified.'
I wish, Trudy thought uncomfortably, they wouldn't talk about me as if I weren't in the room.
But Diana had recovered herself and was obviously bent on making the best of the disconcerting situation into which
she had been forced by Scott's well-meant but misspent efforts.
`But of course,' the other girl's voice rang with simulated warmth, 'we'd be delighted if you'd oblige us with your services, Miss Western.' Somehow, Trudy thought unhappily, Diana contrived to make it sound as though she were a paid entertainer. 'How clever of you, Scott, to discover her!'
Flooded with embarrassment, Trudy glanced appealingly up at the man lounging against the wrought iron balcony.
`I don't really think – I can't—'
`Oh, but you must! You must!'
Her protests were drowned in a chorus of eager voices. Terry, his pale eyes alight with animation. 'But this is great news!'
Diana's mother, excited, happy, laying a friendly hand on her arm. 'My dear, you simply don't know what a relief this is to me. I've been so worried ... Draw up your chair and I'll explain about the programme we've mapped out. I thought we'd have the first song just before the supper dance—'
Only Scott was silent. Long legs dangling, he perched on the wrought iron railing of the patio, smoking and listening to the conversation with an amused quirk of his wide mouth.
He could afford to be silent, Trudy thought, scarcely aware of the older woman's excited chatter. Hadn't he engineered this whole embarrassing situation? If only she hadn't come here this afternoon!
It was all Scott's fault, she thought bitterly, with a glance at the other girl's set expression. For in spite of the bright conversation around her, Trudy was uneasily aware of a sense of tension in the atmosphere.
Diana showed no further interest in the matter of Trudy's musical ability. Clearly she was anything but enthusiastic at the prospect of including a strange girl in her party arrangements.
Anyone but such a self-opinionated creature as Scott Ballantyne would have realized that Diana would be definitely averse to including Trudy in the affair. But of course Scott had decided that Trudy would fill the bill as an accompanist. And that, most definitely, was that!
At last Scott rose to his feet. 'Well, folks, I guess it's time
we were moving.'
Trudy had made her farewells and was moving towards the door when she felt a light touch on her arm. 'Wait!'
She turned to see Terry beside her.
`Been trying to get a word with you—' he had a boy's shy grin, but couldn't manage to break it up. Look, how about doing a good deed') Cheering up the beat-up wreck. You know? Like, say—' He hesitated, the young face suddenly anxious.
Trudy smiled reassuringly. 'Like trying out some of those ballads you've dreamed up?'
He gave a crooked grin. 'How did you guess? I thought,' he went on eagerly, 'if it wasn't too much trouble, maybe you could make it over to the farm one day. It's just that I can't drive at the moment and—'
`Don't keep Miss Western all day, Perry!' Diana's sharp voice cut across the hesitant tones. 'She's late enough as it is. She'll have to rush to catch up when she gets back.'
A spiteful reminder of her lowly stature, Trudy thought ruefully. But true enough, nevertheless. She would have need to prepare a quickly cooked meal tonight.
She glanced up at the eager face – young, intense, vulnerable. `Give me a ring at Elsmore,' she suggested, 'and we'll get together on them.'
`Gee, that's great!' Looking back when she and Scott reached the sliprail where the horses were tethered, she could see the tall, stooped figure still watching from the terrace. She waved a hand in farewell and turned to find Scott waiting to help her mount.
With a short, muttered: 'I can manage, thanks,' she ignored the outstretched hand. Conscious of the man's look of hateful amusement, she scrambled up, and at last, with some difficulty, managed to seat herself in the saddle.
`Angry, Miss Western?' he inquired pleasantly.
`Oh!' Trudy made an impatient gesture. What was the use of trying to explain to a man like Scott that he had forced both Diana and herself into an intolerably embarrassing situation? That, far from feeling any gratitude in the matter, the other girl was furiously angry.
As the mare began the winding descent, Trudy clutched firmly at the pommel of the saddle, and soon was too intent on
the effort of keeping her balance on the steeply sloping path to spare time for unhappy reflections or for engaging in a verbal encounter with Scott, that she knew she hadn't much chance of winning.
In silence they emerged from the green gloom of the bush into the later afternoon sunshine and crossing the stream, turned into the metalled highway.
It was as she urged the black pony to catch up with the stallion, a few paces ahead, that Trudy became aware of the sound of loud and continuous hooting of a car horn somewhere close at hand.
The next moment the hooting became louder, and a red sports car threw up a shower of metal as, skirting the grassy verge, it swerved dangerously close to both horses, before hurtling back on to the highway and shooting away at high speed.
The startled pony shied violently and Trudy, flung sideways, instinctively grasped at the long black mane. After a moment she managed to pull herself back into the saddle.
As the dust ahead of her cleared, she saw the stallion rearing high in the air, front hoofs pawing the air. Again and again Shandy dropped to the ground, only to rear once more, ears flat to his head, the whites of his eyes showing.
Trudy held her breath, expecting the man to be flung to the metal roadway at any moment. But Scott seemed as if a part of the terrified animal, the muscles of his arms tensed with his firm grip on the reins. At last, after what seemed an age to Trudy, the horse quietened, and stood, nostrils quivering, trembling in every muscle, and drenched in sweat, Scott, whom she would have imagined would have lost his temper —to her surprise, was speaking gently and soothingly to the terrified stallion. But as he stared after the speeding car, now a speck on the winding highway, his lips tightened.
The crazy fool! What the hell did he have to do that for?' He sent Trudy a piercing glance from those startlingly blue eyes. 'Anyone you know?' She shook her head, and, bending forward, made a pretence of tightening the stirrup leather.
No need to tell Scott of her suspicion that the dangerous gesture had been deliberately staged to gain her attention.
For in that one lightning glimpse as the speeding car plunged by, she had caught a glimpse of a dark face, alight with devilry. The laughing, bearded face of Paul Tremaine.
CHAPTER FOUR
TRUDY stood gazing rather helplessly around the neglected garden. The thing was, where did she start tidying-up operations? Should she make a beginning by pruning back the overgrown shrubs, or clear away the long rank grass growing beneath the fruit trees?
In the end she wandered down to the foot of the orchard and discovered a few late russet apples still clinging to the branches. She went to the shed and filled a bucket with the tart fruit. Tonight she would make an apple pie for dinner —and pulp down the remainder for future use.
Meantime, that wild ginger wouldn't continue to have all its own way. Energetically she began to clear away the strong green shoots, pulling at the vigorous growth until her face was scarlet and small beads of perspiration stood on her damp forehead. But at length she had cleared a space in what must have originally been a flower garden. And if she wasn't mistaken — heat and discomfort were forgotten as she bent down to pull away the weeds from around a cactus-like plant that had somehow survived the encroaching growth.
`What have you got there, lass?' Picking up the bucket of apples, Fergus paused beside her.
Well, I'm not certain — yes, I am! It's something rather rare. The Cinderella plant.' She rose to her feet, pushing back the hair from her face with an earthy hand. 'In the gardening catalogue they call it Cereus. It only grows in warm climates and has huge buds — Look, there's a single bud on this plant! It should open in a day or two. It flowers in the darkness — it's a gorgeous thing — pale yellow flowers — and only lasts for a night!'
The elderly man stooped to examine the creamy-coloured bud. 'That so? Well, if I find you out here by yourself late one night soon, I'll know the reason why.'
`I'm not going to miss it,' Trudy said with a laugh. 'And that's for sure! Not when there's only going to be a single bloom on this plant.'
`Good grief, I almost forgot what I came to tell you,'
Fergus broke in, urgently. The phone! There's a call for you - I only hope he's still holding the line.'
For me?' As she hurried away, Trudy wondered who could be ringing her. 'He?'
It wasn't until she had reached the hall and breathlessly picked up the receiver that a shattering thought occurred to her. What if the caller were old Bill? Old Bill, arriving back unexpectedly from his holiday, to find his precious small car missing from the garage! She nerved herself to speak into the receiver.
`Hello?'
`That you, Miss Western?' The smooth male voice was gay and relaxed, and surprisingly youthful. Perhaps the owner of the little Morris wouldn't be too angry. Ma
ybe she could explain matters, pacify him.
`Paul here. Remember?'
`Oh!' The knowledge that her unknown caller wasn't after all an irate Bill lent her voice a note of warm friendliness.
'Thought you'd left the district - gone away for good,' came the rich deep voice. 'And then to come across you right there on the road today. Well, it nearly threw me.'
`And me!' Trudy was recalling the moment on the metalled highway, when a red sports car had brushed the startled horses and sent Shandy rearing violently.
Do you always,' she asked, an edge to her voice, 'play those sort of games on the highway?'
`Only when I'm so darned glad to see someone that I just have to give them a toot and a wave - but look here,' the pleasant tones deepened. 'I'm real sorry if I gave you a fright. I didn't think I was that close.'
`Close enough,' Trudy said with asperity. 'And you just about scared Shandy to death. If Scott hadn't been such a good rider—'
`Scott? You mean that tall bloke with you?' the voice was coolly amused. 'Oh, come off it, Miss Western. These local sheep-farmers are born in the saddle. Takes more than a spot of traffic to make them bail out. The thing is, I've found you again - what are you doing up there at Elsmore, anyway?'
`I'm housekeeping for the Ballantynes,' Trudy said with dignity.
`Lucky Ballantynes! Get any days off? Like, say, tomorrow afternoon? I'm heading out for Whangarei. This hole is dead so it'll send me up the wall if I don't get out of it for a spell. Not that Whangarei's my idea of the Big Smoke, but at least there's a spot of life around. And with you - well, what do you say?'
Trudy hesitated. After all, why not? She had planned on unpacking some of the cases in the shed this afternoon, but she really must have the car repaired as soon as possible, and this would prove an excellent opportunity to secure a ride back on the return journey.
I've got to take the car in one day,' she said thoughtfully.
- borrowed a car the day I arrived here and it's got to go to the garage for some panel beating. The local garage doesn't sound very reliable. It might be better to take it to Whangarei, even if it's farther away.'