The hills of Maketu

by Gloria Bevan

  Scott ran towards the vehicle, wrenched open the door, and the lads climbed out.

  `I told you to fix up the lights,' Bruce was saying angrily. What do you think I was doing in the garage all day yesterday?' came Gary's indignant tones.

  `Cut it out, you two, and get into the car! I'll pick up your bus tomorrow with the Land Rover.'

  To Trudy's surprise, Scott said no more as the two lads, shame faced and silent, climbed into the back seat. But soon they began a heated argument as to whose fault it was that their vehicle was no immobile.

  On reaching the house, the boys and Scott became involved in a discussion as to the best method and most suitable time to get the old car back to the station.

  Under cover of their talk, Trudy made to slip away with a brief goodnight. She knew she owed some thanks to Scott for bringing her back tonight, but a stubborn reluctance to admit that he'd been right after all held her silent. So she sped along the porch and had almost reached her room when Scott bounded up the steps after her, taking them two at a time.

  `Trudy!'

  If only he wouldn't utter her name in that heart-jerking way! But of course it was just a trick, a trick to outwit her in some new direction.

  What is it?' She paused, a hand on the doorknob, as she

  turned towards him.

  `This Paul bloke—'

  `You mean Paul Tremaine?' she said coolly. So that was it. More orders. More unsolicited advice.

  He nodded. 'Don't get me wrong about this, but the chap's got a reputation where he comes from – as far as women are concerned. Not too good a reputation either.'

  'I don't know what you mean.'

  'I think you do.'

  She shrugged lightly. 'I never listen to gossip.'

  The bushy black eyebrows lifted. 'Nor I! This isn't gossip.' She opened the door, switched on the light.

  'Thanks for the advice, but I can manage my own affairs!' 'You just watch it.'

  He wheeled away, and Trudy closed the door with a purposeful bang.

  It was only when she glanced in the mirror that she was aware of the bright flares beneath the faint tan of her cheeks.

  At breakfast the following morning, Trudy was surprised to see Scott stride into the room, wearing tweed sports jacket and knife-edged grey slacks. He looked fresh and alert – but of course, nothing would keep him from his night's sleep, least of all, such a trivial matter as a difference of opinion with herself.

  'Sorry to be late,' he grinned disarmingly. 'Got to zoom down south and pick up some new rams. Don't bother with breakfast for me today. I'm in a devil of a rush. Coffee and toast will be fine.'

  He drank a cup of coffee, threw down his napkin, pushed back his chair. 'Well, I'm off. Don't forget that good advice I handed out to you, will you?'

  What—' Trudy tried to think of some crushing retort but failed, 'was that? I don't remember.'

  But he only threw her a quizzical look as he reached for an overnight bag. 'See you tomorrow, folks.'

  As she watched the de Soto making its way over the narrow track towards the main road, it seemed to Trudy as if Scott had taken something with him, something vital and alive. But that was ridiculous! Just because he happened to be a dominant personality. Dominance! Was that vitality? Of course not!

  She made herself concentrate on plans for the day. Now that the rush of shearing was over, she could interest herself once more in the matter of renovating the lounge room.

  Swiftly she dealt with the day-to-day household chores. Then, attired in a lime coloured smock that was a relic of her florist work in London, she collected dusters, brushes, paint, and made her way up to the lounge room. She was polishing the wide picture windows to a diamond sparkle when Fergus entered the room.

  He eyed the paint tins with interest. 'What's this? Paint? I used this on the other house – made a helluva difference, brightened it up no end. How many paintbrushes have you got there?'

  Trudy threw him a smiling glance. 'How many do you think?'

  `I get the idea! Well, I'm with you all the way, lass. Hold on a minute and I'll give the walls a rub-down.'

  A short while later, Trudy, mounted on a step-ladder, with broad strokes applied the pale grey paint, while Fergus began to sandpaper the blistered paintwork on window ledges and skirting-boards.

  `What a difference!' Trudy stepped down and gazed at the transformation of an end wall. 'Now if only we didn't have to bother with lunch—'

  We don't, you know. The boys are away in the paddocks by the creek until tonight, and a cuppa will be fine for me. You go and jack it up, lass, and I'll carry on here.'

  During the afternoon, Trudy only broke off once from her task. And that was when she answered the phone to Paul's velvety tones that were almost a caress.

  `Look,' he urged, 'how about coming for a spin?'

  `Oh, Paul, I'm sorry!' She was relieved that he made no reference to the dance last night, or the fact that she had left him, to return to Elsmore with Scott Ballantyne. She rubbed a spot of paint from her hand with a turpentine-soaked rag. But I'm right in the middle of something.'

  `Drop it!'

  But I can't! I'm painting, and if you don't mind, I'll have to get back.'

  `You certainly are a tiger for punishment.' A shade of annoyance tinged his tone. 'How about tomorrow, then?' And,

  as she hesitated, 'Okay, okay, I'll ring and see how things are going!

  Trudy hurried back to the lounge room where the silvery paint was already drying over the faded wallpaper.

  `It's perfect,' she said to Fergus a little later, staring around the room at the windowsills, door and skirtings, cool and fresh in a grey undercoating. 'I only wish,' she added thoughtfully, `that I could hang the curtains. But they'll have to wait until the woodwork gets its final coat tomorrow. Oh, and there's the ceiling—' She eyed the dingy plaster, discoloured with smoke and age.

  `Leave that to me,' Fergus said.

  `If only we had a low coffee table—' Trudy was thinking aloud.

  `But we have! I came across it out in the shed the other day – a mahogany piecrust affair that Mum picked up one day when we were in town.'

  `You don't mind, then,' Trudy asked diffidently, 'if we do away with this one? It's so – so massive.'

  `Good grief, no! Turf it out in the shed, lass. I'm all for, doing up the place, now that we've made a start. How about some cushions?'

  Trudy nodded. 'I'll get some next time I go to town. I wonder,' she added thoughtfully, 'would there be any flower vases packed away, do you think?'

  `Better come and see for yourself, lass.'

  Together they made their way to the outbuilding and searched through the crates and boxes. Trudy fell with delight on a small case, previously unnoticed, that she found to be filled with carefully packed crystal and china and at the same time Fergus unearthed from a dark corner a coffee table and a gracefully curved rosewood china cabinet.

  It was the following day when as she kneeled beside the gleaming cabinet, intent on the task of arranging the ornaments on the shelves, that she glanced up to see Diana and Scott watching her from the open doorway.

  Slowly Trudy got to her feet, uneasily conscious of her paint-stained smock, untidy hair, carelessly caught back with a black chiffon scarf.

  Well!' Scott's glance roved around the room, coming to rest on the crystal vase held in Trudy's hand. 'Good lord, I

  remember that! Gave it to Mum for her birthday when I was a kid. Set me back six months' pocket money.' He was striding around the room, putting out a finger to touch the wet paint on a windowsill. 'Some transformation, eh, Di?'

  `Yes.' Diana, eye-catching in emerald green suit with black accessories, forced a smile, but her voice shook 'with suppressed emotion. 'Quite the little homemaker, aren't you.'

  As Trudy took in the implication of the sneering words, all the pleasure she had felt in the restoration of the shabby room died away and a sick feeling of hopelessness took its place.

  What was the us
e of trying? Whatever she did here was misconstrued. And to think that Diana was actually implying that Trudy was scheming to replace her in Scott's affections! She was almost afraid to look in Scott's direction. But mercifully, apparently he hadn't caught the implication of the mocking words.

  `If that's not the old coffee table from home!' he was saying delightedly. 'I'd forgotten all about it.'

  `Hello, where did you two spring from?' Fergus, entering the room at that moment, eased the discomfiting situation.

  `Picked up Diana in Auckland this morning,' Scott said. He consulted the watch encircling his tanned wrist. 'Made good time on the way here—' The telephone bell shrilled and he turned away. 'Excuse me, I'll take it.'

  Ignoring the other girl, Trudy began to collect brushes and dusters. She could hear Scott's deep tones as he spoke in the hall. In a few moments he was back.

  `You'd never guess who that was! Sharon - Sharon Hall, Wilf's fiancée. Seems she's just arrived in Auckland by plane. She'll stay there tonight and get the plane north in the morning. We can pick her up at the airport. So,' he turned, grinning, to Trudy, 'you'll have some company in the house.'

  Well, well,' Fergus murmured, 'funny to think we haven't even met Wilf's girl yet ... but if she's his choice, she'll suit us.'

  Trudy picked up an oily rag. She said: 'I'll get her room ready. The one off the porch, next to mine?' she inquired of Scott.

  `Oh no,' Diana broke in quickly, 'that would be most unsuitable! The end room would be much better, don't you think?' she appealed sweetly to the tall man at her side

  But Scott merely shrugged impatiently. 'It's up to you, Trudy.'

  `I'll fix up the one next to mine,' Trudy said promptly, ignoring the other girl's malicious look. Diana wasn't mistress here — yet. She had no right to give orders concerning the arrangements at Elsmore.

  `The Auckland plane doesn't get in until after midday tomorrow,' Fergus was saying. 'I'll slap another coat on the woodwork in the morning. We'll make it in time, you'll see!'

  Scott turned towards the door. 'Come on, Di, I'll take you home.'

  Trudy heard their laughing voices as they went down the hall, and in a few moments she caught sight of the big car as it moved across the driveway, Diana's smiling profile turned towards Scott.

  All at once Trudy felt tired and dispirited. She took a last look around her.

  It was indeed a startling transformation. But who really cared? Scott had barely mentioned the room's altered appearance. He appeared to be more interested in the coffee table and ornaments than in the hours of work involved in the renovation. But of course — a sharp pain pierced her heart — when Diana came here, it would be her home. The make-do efforts would be stripped away to make room for intensive modem alterations in the hands of painters and carpenters. No wonder the other girl had been silent, except for that one jeering remark. Diana and Scott, arriving back — together. Well, why not?

  `Here, give me those.' Fergus relieved her of the brushes, rags, turpentine. 'Time you knocked it off, lass. You've been going like a house on fire all morning. Just in time, too. I'll give the place the last touches while you're away at the airport tomorrow.'

  'At the airport?' Trudy stared at him. 'Do you want me to go in too?'

  The kindly eyes were laughing. Who else, my dear? Sharon 'll want some female company around, and she'll be tickled to death to find you there. She hasn't heard, yet, about your being in residence here. Anyway,' he wiped a brush clean, 'isn't it about time for your car to be ready?'

  Trudy made a rapid calculation. 'That's right. And while

  I'm in town I could pick up a few cushions to brighten things up.'

  `Not to mention my pipe tobacco. I'm just about out of supplies.'

  `It's a deal!'

  Seated in the car on the following day, Trudy stole a glance at the strong, clear-cut profile of the man at her side — a firmly set jaw, crisp black hair, a look of tanned and vigorous masculinity.

  It's just the sun, she told herself. This strong northern sunshine that gives all the men that bronzed, vital look. I'd probably be just as deeply tanned myself were I staying through the summer. If I were .

  They swept towards the line of tall macrocarpas and Trudy, leaning forward, put a hand on the door handle. 'I'll open the gate.'

  The quick, sideways look from those startlingly blue eyes was alight with devilry. 'You know, you're catching on fast! I can't hear you making that offer a month ago.' He braked to a stop on the dusty track.

  `Me neither,' she said shortly. Just because she now understood the custom of the country in regard to the opening of boundary gates, there was no reason for him to make such a —such a thing of it. 'I'm not quite blind!'

  What was the matter with her? She had never been in the habit of making rude remarks. Could it be the undeniable attraction of this man that she was resisting?

  `Aren't you?' They bumped over the winding track and at the foot of the hill, once again Trudy got out of the car in order to swing open the great five-barred gate.

  `You know,' he said quietly, as she seated herself and slammed the car door shut, 'I got the feeling that you are —about some things.'

  Trudy stared ahead at the low clouds massed over a moist grey sky; the misty rain over the distant peaks.

  `What — things?'

  `That Paul Tremaine character for instance . . .' He swung into the metal road in the wake of a long silver milk tanker. `Must get past this bloke or we'll collect his dust all the way to the main road ... Seen him again?'

  No. But,' Trudy burst out indignantly, 'only because I've been too busy for the last two days to see anyone. And anyway, I don't see—'

  `All right, all right!' He flashed a quick smile in her direction. 'I was only trying to help. Put it down to—'

  She swung around angrily. 'To what?'

  His low laugh was disturbing.

  'I'll answer that another time.'

  And then, to her horror, she was assailed once again by that ridiculous trembling. To make matters worse, an unexpected jolt as the de Soto skirted the milk tanker on the narrow road threw her against Scott's tweed-clad shoulder. She righted herself with a self-conscious laugh.

  As the powerful car took the sharp hidden bends and narrow cuttings encrusted with red and green ferns, Trudy fell silent. It seemed that conversation with Scott, if it involved the slightest hint of a personal nature, inevitably plunged her into these absurdly embarrassing situations. So instead, she played a game with herself as to how well she remembered the winding route.

  'Round the next bend,' she said aloud, 'that's the turn-off to the garage at the crossroads, isn't it?'

  'Right first time!' He swung around the curve. 'Looks as though they're open for business, too! Want me to pull in and pass on the word that you're bringing old Bill's favourite toy back tonight?'

  Trudy shook her head. 'No. I'd rather be quite certain first. I don't want to risk any more misunderstandings.' Or broken promises, she added silently.

  So she merely lifted a hand in greeting as they sped past, and the short, stocky brown man standing in the open doorway stared after the car, an expression of delighted recognition replacing the puzzled look on the weather-beaten face. He waved energetically in return.

  'Just as well he doesn't know the reason for the delay,' Scott observed, as the small figure dwindled in the distance. 'Or old Bill either! That's one thing he wouldn't forgive in a hurry - any damage to his precious Min. He'll have to be told, for all that. Can't keep anything quiet in these parts. I'd like,' he said with relish, 'to see his face when he hears about it.'

  'Don't worry, I'll tell him,' Trudy said coldly, 'when he

  comes back from Australia.' And she made a mental vow that Scott Ballantyne would most certainly not be anywhere within earshot when she made her confession to the owner of the small car.

  As they took the main bitumen highway, cutting through the red clay banks, Trudy mused that they seemed to be climbing steeply toward
s the grey, cotton wool clouds massed on the skyline above. Around her, the steeply rising hills were clothed with sombre native bush, studded with the lighter green fronds of tall tree-ferns. Cabbage trees, slim and tall, topped with clustered green fans, cut their stark pattern against a leaden sky, while around the edges of the highway clustered tall ferns and the gaunt black seedpods of the flax.

  Emerging at the top of the hills Scott turned off the main road and took an almost perpendicular concrete driveway leading to the mountain restaurant perched on the summit and overlooking the range beneath.

  Trudy, braced against a high wind, as she preceded Scott up the steps into the room, caught her breath at the vista spread out far below.

  From a window table, her gaze went over the top of the tall forest trees, down over the bush-clad hills, towards the flat grasslands with their grazing cattle and sheep, and beyond, to the misty blue of the Pacific.

  A cup of tea, sandwiches, a cigarette, and they were once again on their way. As they passed through the door, Scott paused beside the Visitors' Book. Want to sign it?'

  But Trudy shook her head. 'Oh, I won't bother.' After all, she would soon be leaving the north forever. There would be nothing to bring her back.

  As they took the smooth downward descent, the clouds dispersed and sunshine broke through, flooding the landscape with life and colour. Trudy's spirits rose. She forgot Diana, even forgot, for a brief space, her enmity with Scott, as they hurtled down to flat land, passing the odd farmhouse, where cream cans stood on the stand at the gate.

  Now they were passing through the scattered northern townships . . . Hikurangi, with its rocky outcrops, its township that was nothing more than a dairy factory and a handful of scattered stores.