by Gloria Bevan
Waipu, that's the old Scottish settlement,' Scott re-
marked as they sped through the small town with its roadside statue of a lion atop a tall column, its pale green stone Hall of Memories, the Scottish names on the letterboxes at the gates of houses bordering the highway.
Then they were skirting the raupo swamps, the mangrove-choked tidal river, until once again they glimpsed on either side of the road cattle grazing in cultivated farmlands. They passed the saleyards and went on through the clean, colourful suburban streets with their picturesque, red-roofed houses. Trudy, gazing from the open window, saw the now familiar garage come into view. 'That car,' she said excitedly. 'Look, there it is, right in the front of the garage, waiting for us! You'd never know anything had happened to it, would you?'
Scott followed her glance. 'Made a job of it, by the look of things. Better tell them we'll pick it up later.' He consulted his wrist watch. 'We've got a couple of hours to spare. We could have a look around.'
`Oh, I'd like that!' Trudy spoke eagerly. Paul—' she stopped, confused. Scott was regarding her with that piercing stare, that stern mouth, so she had perforce to go on. 'Took me around - a little,' she faltered. Unnerved by his forbidding expression, she added: 'You see, we went to a matinee, so we didn't see very much—'
But he only said:
Well, we can't do it all in the time we've got, but I'd like to show you the boat harbour.' He shot a glance towards her bag. 'Bring your camera?'
`Oh yes, I've a new colour film.'
`Good for you!'
They were cruising along the wide, pleasant streets where the multi-coloured, attractive houses faced the pavement and lush green lawns were dotted with trees and flowering shrubs. And always, splashing the scene with colour in shades ranging from white to apricot, salmon and crimson, flared the paper-like blossoms of the hibiscus, among their thick, leafy greenery.
They drove through the town where the modern stores displayed in their wide glass windows merchandise from the four corners of the globe. Then they turned towards the sheltered inlet a short distance from the shopping centre, where, below the network of masts and spars, pleasure boats and fishing trawlers, launches and catamarans jostled one another in the
placid waters of the harbour.
Deeply tanned boat-owners, clad only in the abbreviated shorts popular in the country, were painting and scraping their craft, and Trudy glimpsed amongst the gently rocking boats the twin outriggers of deep-sea fishing launches and the tall masts of an ocean-going pleasure yacht.
`They only need to head out to sea,' Scott gestured towards the stretch of sparkling blue water, 'and they'll be out in the Bay of Islands, one of the finest game fishing grounds in the world.'
`How about you?' Trudy inquired. 'Have you ever gone in for it?'
`Oh yes, when I get the time. A party of us jack up a trip and we head off for the Bay, every once in a while.'
Together they strolled over the emerald grass bordering the sheltered boat harbour, so close to the busy town.
Afterwards they drove back to the shopping centre. While Scott pulled into a parking lot, Trudy found the furnishing store where she had shopped on her previous visit to Whangarei. Without preamble, she purchased half a dozen brightly coloured scatter cushions.
`You weren't long,' Scott commented in some surprise, as she emerged from the wide glass doorway, a few minutes later.
Trudy threw an armful of small coloured circles on to the back seat of the car. 'Oh, I knew what I wanted! I got the curtain material for the lounge at this store, so these were easy to match.'
Did you know? You know, you've gone to a heck of a lot of trouble.' He eyed her reflectively, the bushy black eyebrows raised. 'Why'd you do it all, Trudy?'
`Why?' She cast about in her mind for an answer. Exactly why had she worked so hard to improve the dull surroundings at Elsmore? Wasn't it because, deep down, she'd wanted to impress the man at her side with her capabilities?
She shrugged lightly. 'Oh, I rather like painting walls —and I had the time to spare.'
`It's a great effort,' the man returned warmly. 'Fergus is delighted about it.'
Fergus. She hadn't done it for him. But why should she care what Scott said? Nevertheless, a cold wind seemed to blow around her heart. She forced a smile. 'Where next?'
He put the car into gear. 'I want to take you up old Parahaki.'
Trudy glanced up at the towering bush-clad mountain rising so near to the centre of the busy town.
`Don't you think I've seen enough hills around Maketu?'
`This one's special. You'll see.' And indeed, as they took the winding bush-fringed track heading towards the tall white monument on the summit, Trudy mentally agreed that the view was well worth seeing.
Stepping out at the top of the mountain, they gazed down to the matchbox houses laid out in rows far below; beyond to the indented coastline of the harbour, and over towards the oil refinery, on Marsden Point, where the high clear flame burned its colour in the blue.
Afterwards they took the winding downhill track and running out through the outlying suburbs, paused beside a great waterfall, as it tumbled down a hill in a plume of white spray.
`The beaches are just a few miles farther on,' Scott told her. 'There are dozens of inlets and sandy coves all along the coast. But I guess we'd better zoom up to the airport at Onerahi. I telephoned just before we took off and got the latest news — seems the plane's on time. I've got to pick up a tractor part at a garage on the way.'
`And Fergus's pipe tobacco,' Trudy reminded him.
Trudy found that the distance from the town to the airport at Onerahi proved to be only a few miles. She and Scott hadn't long to wait at the airport before a D.C.3 circled down towards them.
As the passengers descended from the aircraft, Trudy caught sight of the small, exquisitely attired, blonde girl who was chatting animatedly to a pleasant-faced, sandy-haired young man. They parted and the blonde girl turned and made her way towards Scott. The next moment Trudy found herself gazing into the smiling face of Scott's brother's fiancée.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LITTLE, gay, fun-loving . . . the thoughts ran swiftly through Trudy's mind as the other two strolled towards her. Not pretty exactly - a triangular-shaped face, fine blonde hair cut short as a boy's, ruffled now in the high wind of the airport. But the slightly turned-up, freckled nose gave her a look of endearing impudence, and the slight figure strengthened the impression of childishness.
As they came nearer, Trudy could see the flecked grey eyes laughing up into Scott's face, and caught the light, clear voice with its hint of Australian accent.
`I feel as though I've known you for ages - all those photos Wilf has of you and your dad. You know, you're rather like Wilf to look at.' She wrinkled the small nose as she turned ingenuously towards him. 'You've both got that sort of stern look. Wilf's only got one big fault—' the light voice ran on, `I do hope that it isn't a family failing!'
Trudy strained her ears to Catch the man's low-key response. `Only one? That's not too bad.'
The high, tinkling laugh rang out merrily, `You're simply avoiding the issue! Oh—' She broke off, startled, on catching sight of Trudy, waiting in the front seat of the dust-stained car.
`Scott! I'll never forgive you for this!' The laughing gaze moved from Scott's bronzed features to Trudy, who on the pretext of closing a side window had turned her face aside. `Why ever didn't you invite me to the wedding?'
`I guess,' the man drawled, amusement flickering in his eyes, 'because I'm not hitched up yet. Miss Western—' Trudy managed a shaky smile, `Sharon Hall. Trudy,' he added, opening the rear door for the small, blonde figure, `happens to be housekeeping for us up at Elsmore.'
The wide lips with their translucent lipstick parted in astonishment. `Did you say - housekeeping?' She stared up at Scott incredulously.
`Come on, hop in!'
She stepped into the car, laughingly staring at Trudy while
the man stowed the
expensive cream travel bags in the boot. `You're not really?'
`I am — really,' Trudy assured her.
`Oh, I'm awfully sorry!' Again that endearing pixieish smile. `I'm always saying the wrong thing! Of course I knew that Scott and his dad had a housekeeper, but I — well, I always think of housekeepers, especially in the outback, as sort of motherly-looking — fiftyish, on the plump side. You know?' Her candid gaze swept Trudy's dark, silky hair and smooth skin, the clear, green-blue eyes with their dark winged brows. 'All I can say is,' she drawled as the man took his place behind the steering wheel, 'that you're in luck — definitely!'
`I rather think so myself!' Scott put the car in gear and took a wide circle, then moved towards the highway. 'Comfortable in there?'
`Comfortable?' I can scarcely move for comfort!' She tossed an armful of scatter cushions out of the way. 'How old did you think I was?'
Trudy laughed and leaning back, gazed into the animated little face so deeply tanned by the Australian sun.
`Did you have a good plane trip from Sydney?'
`Oh, it was fabulous! You see, there was this top-dressing pilot. He was rather nice.' She twisted her engagement ring with its great square-cut sapphire. 'Not as nice as Wilf, though. No one comes up to him — ever. Only,' the light voice was suddenly wistful, 'I wish I could get him to believe that. You see,' she confided, 'he's so absurdly, stupidly jealous. And about nothing! I mean, it's not as though I've given him the slightest cause — real cause, I mean — to feel like that. But he's utterly unreasonable. I can't even look at anyone else! Maybe, though,' she glanced towards the small overhead mirror and smoothed back a strand of shining gold hair brushing her eyes, `it just goes to show how much he cares!'
`Could be.' Scott accelerated as he swept up a steeply sloping grade. 'How is old Wilf, anyway? Heard from him lately?'
`Goodness, yes! Every mail from the Antarctic. The whole party is so disgustingly healthy that he says all he has to do most of the time is write to me. It's funny, you know, the only one of the eleven who's had any health problems is Wilf himself. He's had some trouble to do with his chest, but it's clearing up now, he says.
`Can you imagine, Scott, anything so deadly boring as being stuck in the deep freeze for a year, with only men to talk to? But he's painting, of course. You know Wilf. He wouldn't move without his paints. And he's sent back some fabulous colour slides from Scott Base. Ugh,' she shivered delicately, `they make me feel shivery just to look ,at them! You never saw such chilly-looking scenery – so much snow and ice! And how those little snowmobiles can get along the surface among the ice hummocks, I just don't know. But the penguins are cute,' the gay voice rattled on, 'just like little old men wearing dinner jackets. I've brought my projector, so we'll have a picture show one night soon.'
`Good for you!' Scott turned into the main highway to Whangarei. 'You know, you might find yourself rather bored in Maketu, after living in Sydney. There's not much doing in the social line. But there are riding hacks to spare, if you're interested.'
'Oh, I'd love that!' Sharon said with enthusiasm. 'I've always wanted to ride. But somehow I've never had a go at it. Jodhpurs look so dashing, I always think, and with a black jacket and one of those velvet crash helmets, wouldn't it make a super picture to send over to Will!'
`Better learn to ride before you order the jodhpurs,' Scott advised dryly. But the other girl's interest was aroused. She leaned forward eagerly towards Trudy. Do you ride, Miss Western— Oh,' she broke off, pouting, 'I can't keep calling you that all the time.'
`Trudy, then?'
`That's better. Well, do you?'
Trudy was conscious of Scott's silence. No doubt he was waiting to hear her boast of her meagre prowess on horseback. `I've had a try,' she said at last. 'I like it.'
`And if you don't catch on to the idea,' Scott put in easily, `you can always use the Land Rover or this old crate. You'll need some transport if you're going to be mobile, up in the hills.'
`Thanks a lot, Scott.' She peered out of the window as the car braked to a stop outside the garage on the wide suburban street. 'Trouble?'
`No,' Trudy said. 'It's just that I've arranged to pick up a car and deliver it on the way back.'
`Oh, is that all?' The other girl relaxed on the seat.
Scott drove the small blue car on to the roadway, and Trudy took her place behind the wheel. 'See you at the crossroads, Sharon.'
She waited until the de Soto had turned in the street, then put the Morris Minor into gear and followed. As she moved along the smooth highway, she reflected that she was going to enjoy Sharon's company at Elsmore — although what the other girl could find to amuse her in the country life, Trudy couldn't imagine.
Unless she did take to riding as a pastime. Trudy made a mental note to take the other girl over the hills on the following day. She had promised to get in touch with Terry Page as soon as she was free, and no doubt he was impatiently awaiting her help in connection with the arrangement of his musical compositions. It would be an outing for Sharon as well.
She swept up the road that led past the raupo swamps where wild ducks glided on the water, and took the steep slope of the mountain ahead.
On reaching the lonely garage at the crossroads, she saw that Scott had already pulled up. She drove the blue car over the concrete yard, and to her relief, the owner emerged as she drove in. He was wiping grease from his stained hands with a rag, and at the sight of Trudy, trim and neat in pale blue sweater and white skirt, his face lit up.
`Brought her back, eh ?'
`Yes. It was awfully good of you to lend it to me.'
`Do more than that for a pretty face!'
At his appreciative glance, Trudy was tempted to remain silent concerning the slight accident, but honesty drove her to admit the damage.
`I had to run her in to the panel-beaters in Whangarei,' she swallowed nervously. 'It was just a little bump — on the bonnet — but I know how the owner feels about the car. That's why,' she finished wretchedly, 'I've been so long bringing it back.'
`You don't say!' He stared at the car with interest, running a grease-stained hand over the shining blue bonnet. He said, squinting along the bonnet: 'Can't see a thing . . . but old Bill, he's got eyes like a hawk . . . a speck of dust on the old bus and he'd spot it.'
`I'd better tell him about it,' Trudy said nervously. 'Would
you ask him, please, to give me a ring at Elsmore as soon as he comes home and I'll explain about it?'
'Fair enough.' The wrinkled face broke into a grin. 'Guess it'll be okay with old Bill — not to worry, you put that little matter right out of your mind. Old Bill, he'd be only too glad to help a lady out of a spot of bother.'
Well, thank you anyway.' Trudy, seating herself in the car beside Scott, was only too well aware of the man's mocking, sideways glance.
'Going to get in touch with you, is he ?'
'Who?' Trudy asked distantly, though she was well aware of who the man was referring to.
'Old Bill.'
Who's he ?' Sharon broke in with interest. 'Someone you both know?'
'Actually, I've never met him,' Trudy said, and added to herself, 'And I hope I never do!'
Sharon was staring at the metal road snaking over the empty hills. What a long way from anywhere, Scott ... there isn't even one house in sight. . . . Yes, there is! That oldish place up there on the ridge. That shelter belt of blue-gums around it reminds me of home. Who lives there, Trudy?'
Trudy followed her gaze. 'A young chap named Terry Page. I've promised to go over there one day soon — maybe tomorrow. I'll take you with me if you like. Terry runs the local dance band — The Revellers, they call themselves.'
'Sounds like fun. Does he sing?'
'A little.'
'Dance?'
'Not now. Seems he had a tractor accident some months ago and he's still got one leg in plaster. He can't drive a car and doesn't get out much, so of course he gets bored and sick of his own company. I think you'll
like him, though.'
But Sharon was gazing ahead as they followed the winding, uphill road. 'Scott, can't you even see Elsinore from here?'
The big car swept around a bend, sped up a slope and the next moment the sprawling weatherboard house was outlined against the skyline. 'You can now!'
'But, Trudy,' Sharon said in dismay, 'you can't mean we have to ride all that way, just to see this Terry Page man?' Trudy smiled at the other girl's concerned expression. 'It
doesn't seem far on horseback. Try it with me and see how you get on.'
Sharon hesitated for a moment, then a bright smile illuminated the freckled, heart-shaped face. 'Okay, you're on!'
But when at lunch time on the following day there was still no sound of movement from Sharon's room, Trudy knocked on the bedroom door.
`Hi!' Sharon glanced up with a welcoming smile She was sitting propped up by pillows as she lacquered her nails a deep shade of bronze. 'Forgot to warn you that I'm no use at all until after midday. Hope I didn't put you out?'
`Of course not.' Trudy moved across the room that she had made fresh and attractive in the little time at her disposal. On the bureau, beside a bowl of scented jasmine and the last remaining roses of the season, was a framed photograph. Trudy regarded the strong, clear-cut features with interest. There was no doubt that the other girl's fiance bore a strong resemblance to the younger brother.
`He looks nice,' Trudy commented.
`Believe me, he is.' Sharon blew on her gleaming fingernails. `I miss him a lot. But the time's going ... only another four months left. Oh,' she glanced across at Trudy, 'weren't we going some place today?'
`Well,' Trudy hesitated, 'we should be leaving for Terry's place right after lunch. But now—'
`I know I'm late. But listen, don't let me put your plans out. You go on over and I'll zip over later by car. I know the place – Scott pointed it out to me yesterday.'
Trudy said slowly, 'If you're sure you'll be all right—'