by Gloria Bevan
`The boss?' A puzzled look crossed Bruce's thin, freckled features. 'Just taken off in the Land Rover. Why, are you looking for him?'
`Reckon he'll be looking for us if we don't make a quick getaway. He's got this thing about us taking Miss Western—'
`Crikey, so he has! Don't get me wrong,' the boyish face turned hesitantly towards Trudy. We'd take you like a shot—'
`Nothing we'd like better,' his friend put in warmly. 'We were chewing the rag over it just a while ago, weren't we, Bruce? Trying to get up the courage to ask you. It's just,' he swallowed nervously, a dull brick red creeping over the fair skin. 'Well, you see, we clean forgot ... the boss. ...'
`Oh!' Trudy realized at last the reason for the lad's obvious discomfiture.
So that was it. Once again it was Scott who was at the root of the trouble.
`You mean he's forbidden you to take me out with you,' she prompted gently. 'Doesn't he think I can trust you?'
Bruce's uncomfortable gaze was fixed on his black leather shoes, shining brilliantly with recent polish. 'Not us,' he muttered uneasily. 'It's the old bus. Not that she doesn't let us down the odd time,' he added hastily, but she's not all that bad. Trouble with the boss is, he's got no faith in her—' He glanced up, dark eyes hopeful. 'Maybe he only meant we weren't to take you on any long trips like say to the coast.'
`Maybe I'll make up my own mind about where I go, and who takes me,' Trudy flashed. Wasn't that just like Scott .. . interfering with her private life! Taking upon himself to say even where she could go in her free time. A determined light sprang into the greeny-blue eyes with their long black lashes.
`Look,' she willed all her charm into the smile she flashed towards Bruce, 'just give me a lift to Mclvor's place. And if the boss says anything about it later, I'll explain that it was
all my idea. What do you say?'
`Guess that's okay with us.' But the two young men still appeared doubtful.
It was high time, Trudy decided once again, that someone took the trouble to show Scott Ballantyne that attractive, compelling, good-looking though he was, he still didn't rule his small universe. The deep, decisive tones echoed in her mind. 'If Miss Western wants to go any place, I'll take her.' Oh no, you won't! Not this time, she vowed silently.
`It'll be okay, you'll see. Wait for me.' She hurried into her room and changed into a cream skirt with a narrow gold belt pulled over her head a chocolate-coloured, rough-textured linen blouse. Then she filled in the contours of her curving mouth with a coral lipstick and ran a comb through her shoulder-length hair.
Will I do?' She smiled at the two young men awaiting her in the dining room.
`I'll say!' Their appreciative glances were answer enough. `Only,' Bruce said awkwardly, 'guess we should have told you. I mean, the girls expect a plate at these do's—'
Trudy stared up at him with puzzled yes. 'A plate - whatever for?' She went into the kitchen, opened a cupboard: But if that's all you want, here you are.'
As she extended a china plate, to her surprise both lads were convulsed with uncontrollable laughter.
She stared from one to the other in bewilderment. 'I don't see—'
`Sorry,' Gary spluttered, 'that's just it! It's just a term - we should have interpreted for you. Meaning being, up in this part of the world, eats, contributions, goodies, something in the way of supper. Get it?'
`Oh!' Light broke over Trudy's face. 'Now I see. Well you've picked a bad time to ask for supplies, after this week. But there are those fancy meringue biscuits that got overlooked, luckily the chocolaty ones with the meringue topping. Would they do?'
`Sure, sure, just the thing!'
The three moved along the hall and had reached the foot of the steps when the telephone bell shrilled through the open windows above. Trudy made to return to the house, but Bruce laid a restraining hand on her arm.
`It'll only be some joker wanting the boss. Come on, let's go!'
Together they approached the vintage model car standing in the garage. The original blue paint was almost obliterated by the onslaught of rust and corrosion due to sea spray and salt winds. The interior upholstery hung in shreds. Above, twin surfboards raised their fins from the roof-rack. But rather to Trudy's surprise, the engine roared to life at the first pull of the starter, and after a series of backward leaps, the old car turned and lurched noisily over the driveway towards the row of macrocarpas.
`Muffler's fallen off again,' Gary bellowed in Trudy's ear. `Can't keep one on these metal roads!' The car stopped with a jerk while Bruce opened the dividing gate and shut it after the vehicle.
As she tried to find comfortable seating on the broken springs, Trudy abandoned all unnecessary conversation. She rolled down the dust-coated window and gazed out at the darkening landscape, where the afterglow of sunset flooded a dip in the western hill.
`How far is it to McIvor's place?' she shouted after they had travelled some distance along the road.
`No distance — ten miles or so. We go past the new hall' The hall?'
`Memorial Hall.' Gary turned his blunt profile towards her. `Don't tell me you haven't heard of our only civic building. Hall, Church, Colonial Museum — we've got the lot, all together up on the hill. Tell you what, we could make a stop and show you over tonight.'
But Trudy shook her head. 'Another time, perhaps.' Somehow she had no desire to view the Memorial Church where Scott would wed Diana, before bringing her home as mistress of Elsmore.
CHAPTER SIX
As the car swung through a wide farm gate and pulled up on the grass among a cluster of late model cars and trucks, Trudy caught the strains of dance music issuing from the open doors of the long corrugated iron shed nearby.
She was stepping from the vehicle when she heard a squeal of brakes as a sports car swung in at her side and Paul Tremaine leaped out and strode across to her.
`Nice timing!' he greeted her with a flash of white teeth and a warm glance from expressive dark eyes. 'I trailed you from the top of the hill.' He took her arm and guided her as she picked her way over the rough ground. 'Only got wind of this show tonight. Mum heard the news over the local grapevine, so I got on the phone right away to try and contact you. But according to old Ballantyne I was a few minutes too late. You'd already taken off for Mclvor's place.'
`Well, how do you like that?' a loud voice complained loudly as Bruce and Gary strolled up from behind. 'We take all the trouble of bringing her here—'
`And what does she do?'
`Drops us for the first handsome stranger she runs into -just like that!'
`No, I haven't.' Trudy flashed a smile over her shoulder. `Ask me for a dance later and you'll see!'
`We'll hold you to that! We're only learners! But if you can stand it, we can!'
As she reached the lighted doorway, Trudy took in Paul's high-fashion, fringed Western shirt of coffee-coloured suede, cowboy slacks and high-heeled boots. In comparison with the local men, in their cool and comfortable open-necked shirts and light slacks, he appeared to her slightly theatrical; overdressed for the simple country gathering.
Inside, she paused beside Paul and stood glancing around her at the floor, slippery from the grease of the fleeces, the scattered bales of hay that afforded seating along the building. Through the shifting patterns of the dancers, she caught glimpses of banks of ferns that softened the rough walls, while
in the corners, tree ferns from the bush erupted their foliage like green fountains.
Her glance moved to the far end of the shed where on a makeshift stage, heaps of saddlery were scattered on the floor, accentuating the Western-style atmosphere.
Terry, wearing a checked shirt and blue denims, a wide straw sombrero pulled low over his bandaged head, was bent over an electric guitar, his injured leg in its plaster cast extended stiffly before him. Seated at his side was a second guitarist, a good-looking Maori youth, and on the other side, a fresh-faced young man was energetically beating the drums.
At that moment
Terry glanced up and across the length of the shed, his eyes, behind the dark-rimmed glasses, flashed a welcome.
Then the music crashed to a close and Trudy found herself the centre of an animated group. Gary and Bruce had brought Jill McIvor, dark-eyed and friendly, to meet Trudy, and she was followed by a cluster of laughing, clear-eyed young girls who were responsible for the evening's entertainment.
Presently the band struck a chord, the group broke up and Trudy found herself in the moving rhythm of the dancers as Paul led her skilfully through the maze. From that moment she had barely time to catch her breath before she found herself claimed in swift succession by one partner after another.
`I thought you didn't know anyone around these parts,' Paul complained in a loud whisper as a tall stranger tapped him on the shoulder and whirled Trudy away from him 'I hope,' Paul said, when once again he succeeded in claiming her, 'that you won't forget me when it comes to having an escort home.'
Trudy only laughed, as once again they merged into the moving throng.
But a little later she found Paul once more at her side. 'At least you can give me this one. It's the supper dance.'
`Supper?' Trudy glanced around her. 'Do they serve it in here?'
`Do they what? Take a look behind you!'
Trudy, her feet still moving to the pulsing beat of the latest pop tune, turned to see the long trestle tables that were being carried in, tables laid with lace cloths and covered in such a variety of foods that she stared in surprise.
"
As the music ended, she strolled with Paul towards the tables. So much baking must have gone into the preparation of the delectable fluffy sponges, the freshly cut sandwiches, the savoury pies, and that white confection, decorated with pale, silvery-green circles. She appealed to the man at her side. `Whatever—?'
He laughed at her puzzled expression. 'That's the famous cake-cum-dessert-Pavlova, they call it. I believe you concoct it with sugar and oodles of egg whites. Quite an institution in this country!'
`But the fruit decoration? It is fruit, surely?'
`Ah-ha, you mean the kiwi fruit?'
`You're joking!'
`No, it's true. Used to be known as Chinese gooseberries up to a short while ago, then someone got the bright idea of exporting them to the American markets. Hence the change of name. Odd-looking affair – all brown and furry on the outside, creeps over everything in sight.'
`But those are the vines that are climbing all over an old shed at Elsmore,' Trudy said, in amazement. 'And I never knew!'
`Lots of things you don't know yet. Come on, let me introduce you to Pavlova.'
After the break in the programme for supper, Terry picked up his guitar and soon the beat of the latest pop tune drowned the buzz of chatter and laughter. Then abruptly the music changed. Terry's light, pleasant voice was joined by the rich baritone of the drummer. The second guitarist exchanged his instrument for a harmonica, and the rousing rhythm of an unfamiliar ballad swept the long shed.
`Got a lively nag,
Kiwi haircut too, Goin' to ride the trail, To Maketu—'
There was thunderous applause, and suddenly everyone was joining in the melody. Again and again, to the stamping of feet and clapping of hands, the ballad rang through the hall, to surge out of the wide open doorway and echo among the empty hills beyond.
But only Trudy, glancing towards the stage with shining
eyes, knew the significance of the triumphant 'thumbs up' sign that Terry sent her.
Later in the evening she waited until the conclusion of a dance, then threaded her way through the crowded hall until she reached the stage.
`That was great - the way Maketu went over,' she whispered to Terry. 'I think you've really got something there.'
`Thanks to you.' He leaned towards her. 'If you could fix up the alterations . . . then I'll get going on getting a mate of mine to sing it. He has the odd night club engagement in Wellington. And if he can just put it over in the city—'
Trudy nodded. 'I'll come over one day soon.'
At that moment the other two members of the band broke into a haunting rhythm. Trudy turned away, and found herself looking directly up into the eyes of Scott - tall, erect, infinitely attractive. Her heart plunged. For a fraction of a second his unfathomable look held hers, and then she was in his arms.
Lights flickering from the green branches twined among the rafters overhead threw dramatic shadows over the dancers. The unfamiliar scene, the remoteness, the stillness of the immense distances around them - all added up to an exciting magic. Or was it Terry's music that caught at her heart? Terry's light voice singing an unfamiliar lyric.
`Love to me is just a crazy game
Where players number two,
If I'd known how high the stakes would be,
I never would have played with you—'
The great paper butterflies caught in the greenery above swirled by in a trail of colour. Who would have dreamed that Scott could dance like this? Or, for that matter, that her heart could behave so strangely, wishing that this waltz would never end? For there was no denying that she was enjoying this dance with Scott more than she had enjoyed any other dance in all her life. She was filled with a deep sense of content, laced with a wild happiness.
Madness. Madness. She gathered her senses together and to keep her sanity, forced herself to reason, to remember that other girl.
`How's Diana?' she heard herself say.
It was impossible to read his expression, but his voice was entirely unperturbed.
`Diana? Oh, she's away - in town.'
It was no use. She could think of nothing but the sheer delight of the moment.
`I didn't know - that you were coming.'
But her heart said: I didn't know that to dance with you could be like this.
The music ended and a hand cupped under her elbow, he guided her through the throng.
`Didn't know myself,' his cool, matter-of-fact voice broke the spell, 'until I got back to the house tonight and found the boys had taken off in that old jalopy of theirs - with you.'
Trudy's heart dropped like a stone. He was as hard and implacable as ever. Someone had dared to disobey his orders, so he had come here to put the matter right. What insane notion had led her to believe that he might, he just might, have come here to dance - with her? He had the laugh on her, as always.
'I don't think you had any need to worry about me,' she said stiffly.
'Oh, I wasn't worrying about you.'
Trudy writhed inwardly.
It's just that when I give orders around the place, I like to see that they're carried out.'
She hadn't known she could feel so angry. 'Look, that's not fair!' Her voice was trembling, but she couldn't seem to control it. The boys didn't want to take me! They were worried about what you said. But I—' She broke off in some confusion.
`Yes, you—?' he prompted inexorably.
`I asked them to take me,' Trudy said wildly. After all, what was all this ridiculous argument about? She took a deep breath. 'I told them not to worry, that I'd explain everything to you.'
`Well, then—' unexpectedly, a smile lighted the dark face, `let's dance!'
Someone pushed roughly past Scott and Paul leaned towards her. 'My dance.'
`I think not.' Trudy found herself guided firmly away in Scott's arms. She was oblivious of Paul's astonished face,
oblivious of other couples, oblivious of everything save the compelling magic of Scott's nearness, a magic which she seemed powerless to resist.
Easier to let herself submit to it, to allow herself to drift on the tide of Terry's music. When at last the strains died away it seemed as though she had come back from a long distance. A long way from hurts and misunderstandings and enmity.
Scott's voice, as he released her, jerked her back to reality. `Come on, the old bus is outside.'
Trudy hesitated, searching among the groups for Paul. 'I promised—' she began.
The next moment
Paul appeared at her side, an expression of relief in his dark eyes. 'There you are, Trudy.'
`Sorry,' Scott's cool tones were anything but regretful, Trudy found herself thinking, 'but Miss Western's coming home with me.'
But—' Paul's bearded face had a sullen, angry look, and all at once Trudy was conscious of curious glances. She couldn't force a scene here. It wasn't worth it.
'Oh, all right, then,' she said shortly. And to Paul: 'Give me a ring tomorrow. 'Bye.'
He turned sulkily away, and Trudy went silently with Scott towards the car. But seated in the de Soto, instead of starting the engine, he sat waiting, his stern profile outlined against the dim light of the dashboard.
Trudy glanced at the vehicles moving around them. 'What's wrong? We're not hemmed in, are we?'
'No.'
`Then why don't we get going ?'
'We will - now.' He touched the engine switch and Trudy saw that, ahead of them, the old blue car was spluttering to life with a deafening burst of sound. Soon it reversed, bumped over the rough ground and turned into the roadway.
Trudy's soft lips set in a firm line. 'Gary and Bruce will be awfully annoyed at your following them all the way home ... they say the trouble with you is that you don't trust their old car.'
He threw her a sceptical look. 'They're not back yet,' he pointed out significantly.
Annoyed with herself for thinking, for hoping, that he might have come to the barn dance to see her, whereas, where-
as ... Trudy found herself hoping that the old car taking the silvered strip of winding roadway ahead would behave perfectly tonight, if only so that she could be proved right - for once.
As the powerful car took the winding slopes and the hills closed in around them, gradually the traffic dwindled away until there was but a single vehicle on the road ahead, the battered old blue car with the gleaming surfboards on top.
`There you are, you see,' Trudy said triumphantly, as the chimneys of Elsmore loomed against a dark skyline, 'I told you—' And at that moment, she heard to her horror, somewhere in the darkness ahead, the unmistakable sound of splintering glass. They swung around a bend and there, a few feet ahead of them, wedged in the deep ditch at the roadside, was the old blue car.