by Gloria Bevan
Borrowed a car? Panel-beating? Naughty, naughty!'
It might be an idea,' she ignored the teasing note in the man's voice, `to take it into town tomorrow—'
`Good, good, good!'
`Just a moment—' Trudy appealed to the elderly man, who was strolling past her. F-Fergus—' she stumbled a little over the unfamiliar name, 'would it suit you if I took the Morris into Whangarei this afternoon ... I mean, I could take the time off my week-end leave—'
`Of course. You go right ahead.'
She turned back to the instrument. 'Okay, then.'
`The name,' he reminded her, 'is Paul. Pick you up at one tomorrow, then. 'Bye.'
Trudy turned away with a feeling of relief. It would be a load lifted from her mind to have the car once more in good repair. A relief, too, to be away from Elsmore for a time. In many ways the situation was ideal. The work, so far, was not onerous. She was given a free hand to do as she pleased. Fergus couldn't be kinder, more thoughtful. And yet— How maddening to have to admit that Scott - an unknown man, a perfect stranger - possessed some strange power to annoy her, to rouse her to anger.
Was it his self-opinionated nature? His high-handed manner? Or because, intentionally or not, he persisted in forcing her into painful and embarrassing situations? What-
ever the reason, she found herself disturbingly aware of him. But Scott wouldn't continue to have things all his own way. One day in the near future, it would be her turn to make the decision.
Meantime, it would be a pleasant change to visit the northern township eighty miles distant. A change, too, to be in the relaxing company of someone who apparently admired her appearance, enjoyed her company without reserve or carping criticism.
Trudy intended to inform Scott at lunch time of her plan to visit Whangarei, but he was busy with a water race in a distant paddock and hadn't returned to the house when the time came for her to leave.
Not that it mattered, she reflected, watching from the window as the sports car flashed up the hill and drew up with a screech of brakes at the entrance to the Elsmore property. Fergus would no doubt tell Scott of her reason for taking the trip to Whangarei. That is, if the younger man happened to be at all interested in her movements, which she very much doubted.
She was out on the porch before the dark young man with the squarish face and brown trimmed beard could press a finger on the doorbell.
`You're punctual.' He had good teeth, she noticed, as a smile flashed beneath the moustache. 'And very attractive. Funny,' he remarked, as they went together towards the garages, 'how a girl can wear a perfectly simple plain grey suit and a white sweater and look — well, like that.'
`Thank you.' The liquid dark eyes were fixed on her with such frank appreciation that Trudy, a shade embarrassed, turned aside, the dark hair swirling smoothly on her shoulders.
`This is the car.' She swung the doors wide and revealed a small vehicle. 'I'm afraid I gave it a bit of a knock.'
The man ran a casual glance over the dented bonnet. 'Not to worry. When it comes back from the panel-beaters, you'll never guess you pranged it.'
`You think so?' Trudy glanced up, a warm feeling around her heart.
She had been prepared to dislike this man, but it just went to show that one couldn't trust first impressions. The roadside incident had been unnerving, of course, but not inten-
tionally so. It was apparent that Paul knew little of country living. To him the episode on the roadway had been nothing more than an impulse; a manner of greeting.
And how reassuring was his attitude towards the damaged car. A matter of small importance, after all. Yet Scott Ballantyne's reaction to her account of the accident had done nothing to lighten her deep sense of guilt. On the contrary. But of course, it would never occur to Scott to spare anyone's feelings. He — she wrenched her thoughts away. Why must she persist in dwelling on that hateful man!
She backed the car out of the garage. 'How about if I follow you,' she suggested, 'seeing that you know the way? But don't forget that Min's rather elderly. Don't get too far ahead and lose me, will you?'
The liquid dark eyes reproached her. 'When I've only just found you again?'
He turned towards the sports car, the dark, thickset figure in scarlet jacket, corduroys and high fashion shoes looking somehow out of place against the backdrop of rolling hills.
But when it came to driving, Trudy had to admit that she found Paul to be as good as his word. At a speed which she suspected he had never previously driven the powerful car, he led the way, and she followed close behind.
The route, which had seemed endless on the day of her arrival, now appeared much shorter. Before she realized it, Trudy found herself approaching the lonely crossroads where the kindly garage proprietor had loaned her the car.
What if he caught sight of the disfiguring dents? She thought with alarm. If he did, she'd just have to stop and explain matters. Slowing speed, she glanced at the closed doorway. On such a day — blue skies, a warm breeze — no doubt the owner had succumbed to the temptation of the beach.
Following the car ahead, she moved into the shade of the tree ferns and cabbage trees overhanging the highway snaking into the steep hills ahead. From the bush-fringed banks, toatoas waved their feathery banners in the wind. At intervals, the furry, inert body of an opossum, caught in the lethal glare of the night traffic, lay sprawled on the bitumen, and as she moved deeper into the bush, with its damp, pungent smell, she caught the sound of waterfalls trickling down from the fern-covered banks above.
Up and up, higher and higher, until at last, reaching the summit, she pulled off the road and drew up at the side of the red car, on a grassy clearing. Coming to stand beside Paul, she gazed across the heavily bush-clad slopes towards the myriad bays and inlets of the indented coastline of the harbour entrance far below.
Top of the Brenderwyns,' the man was saying, gesturing to the signpost that read: Summit. oft.
`And what a view!' Trudy breathed, her gaze fixed on the jagged peak of a mountain that cut sharply down to the blue haze of the Pacific. 'That violety-blue mountain running down to the sea—'
`That's old Manaia.'
Her eyes swept the bush-clad hills below. 'But I can't see any sign of Whangarei township.'
`You will - soon.'
`Biggest town in the north,' the man murmured. 'Booming too, since they built the oil refinery at Marsden Point a year or two ago. Nowadays ships from the Persian Gulf - all over the globe - come sailing into the harbour down there. Look,' his arm slipped around her shoulders as he gestured towards the coastline, 'you can see the flame of the refinery from here.' Trudy, following his gaze, caught the flicker of the bright, high flame, wavering in the clear air below.
Presently they were taking the smooth highway that curved between bush-clad slopes, until at last they were on flat country, passing the miles of swamplands, choked with mangroves, and further on, the cultivated green farmlands with their grazing cattle and sheep. Before long, the isolated farmhouses gave way to the outlying suburbs of the thriving northern township and soon they were passing through the wide streets and modem shopping centres of the new housing areas, to move on among streets of multi-coloured houses with their green lawns, trees and flower gardens, set against the backdrop of a great wooded mountain. The man pulled up beside a busy service station and repair garage. The attendant, a young man in greasy, stained overalls, inspected the blue car, then turned towards Trudy.
`A small job, but the trouble is at the moment we're flat out on a repair job ... a milk tanker . . . a matter of urgency. Would the end of the week be okay?'
Trudy made a swift mental calculation. Surely old Bill wouldn't return within three days. Yes, she'd pick the car up on Friday.
Seated beside Paul in the low sports car, she felt now that she could relax and enjoy her surroundings.
As they moved through the colourful, busy town, Trudy glanced around her, taking in the modern office blocks that jostled buildings of an
earlier era, the deeply tanned appearance of the casually attired shoppers, the white monument that rose from the bush-clad slopes of the mountain so close to the centre of the town. Paul followed her gaze. 'You can walk up the track to the top,' he informed her lightly. 'But it's easier to drive. I'll take you up one day. But first, lunch. This isn't a bad place.'
Flags burned their colours in the blue above the white Settlers Hotel, with its stone pillars and Colonial architecture. But Paul parked outside a coffee lounge on the opposite side of the street. Trudy accompanied him into the shadowy interior, where shaded red lights lent an intimate atmosphere to the room, with its black ceiling and modern decor.
Trudy chose a salad from the stacks of continental cakes, savouries and light lunches arranged along the counter, and seated herself beside Paul at the small circular black table.
`Tell me, does it all seem very strange to you, coming from so far away?'
She shook her head. Not really. This coffee lounge doesn't seem much different from ones on the other side of the world.'
`And me? Do I seem — strange?' He leaned across the table towards her. I won't, you know, not for long.'
Trudy pretended not to read the message in the great dark eyes, as she busied herself with the coffee cups.
He seemed pleasant, but — she sipped the hot, strong liquid — what did she really know of any of them, these folk with whom she found her life entangled?
`Now tell me,' Paul was saying, 'what you'd like to do today. A look-see around the place ... or there's a great film on down the street. Dr. Zhivago . . . it's up to you?'
Trudy considered. 'I'd like to do a little shopping,' she said thoughtfully. 'Some curtain material for the lounge — the drapes are simply falling to pieces. Oh, and I need some paint too.'
The thick, dark eyebrows rose. 'Paint? Curtains? Hey, what are you up there at Elsmore - housekeeper, or interior decorator?'
Trudy laughed. 'Both at the moment. Oh, not that I have to do anything in that line really. But seeing I have time to spare, and everything needs fixing up rather desperately—' As the man regarded her in some surprise, she added with a smile: 'I may as well admit that I get a great kick out of that sort of thing. And it won't be much bother really, not once I can locate a sewing machine.'
What is this? A sort of treasure hunt?'
`Sort of. It seems that the mother died when Fergus and Scott had just moved into the place, and all the household furnishings are still stowed away in the shed. I've been through a few boxes and crates so far, but only a few, so—'
Well, best of luck. Now, about today—'
In the end they settled on a mutual arrangement. First of all, the shopping, then the film, which Trudy sensed the man was most anxious to take in, and later, a drive around the town.
The stores were modern and well stocked. At a decorating shop, Trudy purchased pale grey wallpaper and paint, with matching enamel for touching up the sun-bleached windowsills. In the material shops, with their seemingly endless display of goods from world markets, she had difficulty in making a choice of curtaining material, but at last she decided on a softly falling silk in muted shades of blues and greens.
Paul was waiting at the wide glass doors when she emerged from the store.
`Just a moment—' Trudy thrust the parcels into his arms. `Could you wait while I get just one more thing? The music shop - there it is right opposite. I'd love to get something new.'
The man nodded smilingly. 'I'll stow these in the car. Meet you at the theatre farther down the street.'
She hurried into the store, but in a quick glance through the sheet music, she didn't see anything she really fancied. When choosing sheet music one needed time to browse. She was just going out of the door when a young man entered, leaning on a stick. He stared at her in delighted surprise.
`Miss 'Western!'
Trudy glanced up at him, thinking once again how thin
and stooped was the boyish figure. 'I'm sorry,' she said quickly, `but there's someone waiting—'
`That's okay.' He stood politely aside. 'Could you come over to the farm, though? Why not tomorrow? Look,' the young voice entreated, 'it's only about five miles along the main road. Maybe Scott would lend you a car. I'd come over to Elsmore like a shot if it weren't for this cursed leg.'
A pang of pity swept Trudy. It surely wouldn't take her long to go by horseback that distance and back.
`But I can ride,' she flashed a bright smile. 'Didn't you know? I'll come over tomorrow.'
`See you, then!'
She hurried out of the store, and moving down the street, where she caught sight of Paul waiting in a queue among the throng of Maoris and pakehas who crowded the theatre lobby. Together she and Paul moved into the darkened theatre, blinking after the brilliance of the light outdoors. But soon their eyes became accustomed to the dim light, as the newsreel unfolded before them, followed by the gripping intensity of the main film.
It was with a shock of surprise that Trudy came back to the present as the film ended and they emerged into the late afternoon sunlight.
`Enjoy it?' Paul took her arm as they strolled into the street. `I'm still in the snows of Russia.' She glanced up at the clock in the main street. 'That can't be the time!'
`It's an extra long film - three hours - though it didn't seem like it.' ·
`But it can't be!' Panic rushed along her nerves. should be back at the house. They'll wonder what's happened to me ..
The man eyed her in astonishment. 'You mean you can't stay to take a look around, take in dinner, a spot of night life?'
`Stay? I'm late already!' Fergus had been so good to her, allowing her time off for her own affairs, and this was the way in which she repaid his kindness!
At her expression of concern, Paul turned away. Wait here. I'll fetch the car.'
Trudy stood on the street corner, the crowd milling around her - workers from city offices, late shoppers, a sprinkling of boys and girls in the uniform of the local High School, laugh-
ing, well-dressed Maori families strolling towards their parked cars. All appeared to be tanned, relaxed, happy.
But Trudy scarcely noticed the moving throng. If only she'd given more thought to the time! If only the supporting film hadn't been so long, the feature film of unusual length.
`Thought I'd run across you here!' Trudy's heart gave a great leap. That lazy drawl! She found herself looking up into the alert, smiling features of Scott Ballantyne.
`Dad told me,' he said, 'that you'd zoomed off to the garage here. I thought I'd better see that you got safely back.' He took her arm. 'The old bus is parked in the next street. Come on, let's go.'
But Trudy jerked her arm free. There he was again, taking it for granted she would do his bidding! Evidently he didn't regard her capable of finding her own way back to the station. But for once his masterful tactics would meet with failure. For once she would take the initiative, instead of meekly allowing herself to be ordered about by this man. He'd find that there was one girl at least of his acquaintance who wasn't in the least affected by his arrogant manner and rugged good looks. On the contrary.
`Thanks all the same, but I can't.' For some reason her heart was beating fast. 'I mean — I've already made arrangements about getting back.'
He threw her one of those penetrating glances she had learned to dread. 'Only one bus a week up to Maketu, Miss Western, and it took off just ten minutes ago.'
`Not the bus,' she said breathlessly. 'A — a friend offered me a ride back.' Her eyes searched the moving traffic in the busy street. 'Here he comes now.'
The man's surprised glance moved from Trudy's face to the red sports car, now halted at the intersection by the traffic lights.
Well, she had attained her moment of triumph, she thought swiftly. For the first time in their short acquaintance, Scott seemed at a loss. There was a dark, angry look about his face, a set line to his jaw. All the pleasure and laughter wiped away in an instant. Almost she could imagine a keen
disappointment as well as scorn, in his grim look. But of course, that was ridiculous. It was probably anger — annoyance that a silly English girl had the temerity to make her own plans without
consulting him.
'I get it,' he said quietly. 'Well, see you later.'
He turned on his heel, the swift, long strides taking him swiftly through the throng of homeward bound workers in the busy street, leaving Trudy staring after him.
But her triumph was short-lived. She was remembering that odd expression that had crossed Scott's face, and with a sick feeling of helplessness she recognized the reason. Of course he would recognize the sports car as the vehicle that had startled the horses on the roadway yesterday.
And you couldn't blame him altogether, could you, if she'd gone down even further in the man's estimation. If he regarded her a liar — and a cheat.
If only she'd been honest yesterday, explained her slight acquaintance with Paul Tremaine. But she had denied all knowledge of him, and now . . . She sighed. It was too late to mend matters, and it was a matter of indifference to her what Scott thought of her. Only if he'd made the long journey specially on her account ...
`Hop in!' The sports car pulled up at the kerb beside her and Trudy climbed inside.
Want me to put my foot down?' The dark, bearded face sent her a laughing glance, and Trudy thrust her feelings aside.
`Not until we're out in the wilds, anyway.' She considered. `Not at all, on second thoughts. I do want to get back to Elsmore some time.'
She gazed appreciatively around as they moved out into the suburban areas and on through the level flat country. The powerful vehicle took the mountainous ascent with ease. And before long they reached the crossroads, turning into the metalled road that led into the sheep-dotted hills.
'One thing about living in a hole like Maketu,' the man observed as the car hurtled along the empty track, 'you don't have much traffic to contend with. Only one car in sight.' He peered through the dust of the windscreen. 'And that's gone hell for leather over the bend. A big de Soto.'