The hills of Maketu

by Gloria Bevan

  `Of course I will. And don't bother with lunch for me. I'll get something from the fridge later. To tell you the truth,' the little-girl smile flashed out mischievously, 'I'd a whole lot rather wait until I get the right gear and looked the part!'

  Scott appeared unconcerned on learning that his guest wouldn't be appearing at the luncheon table. 'I take it, then,' he observed to Trudy, 'that you won't be going over to Page's place today?'

  `Oh, but I am!' said Trudy. 'I promised. And besides—' At something in the man's disapproving expression, her voice faltered. But she forced herself to go on. 'Don't – worry about

  catching Patsy for me. I can get her myself now that you've put a halter on her.'

  `I'll get her for you,' he said shortly, 'seeing that you're so set on going there!'

  She nodded, too angry to trust herself to speak.

  When the man led the pony towards the boundary fence, Trudy was waiting. Clad in neat dark blue stretch slacks and fine navy sweater, she leaped lightly up from his proffered hand and into the saddle. 'Thank you.'

  Without a backward glance, she urged her mount to a canter as she took the dusty, narrow track. Gradually, as she went on, her sense of annoyance with Scott fell away. There was something infinitely exhilarating about moving swiftly through the vast grazing paddocks. Scott had moved the steers into a hilly paddock beside the fence, and at her approach, moved by sudden panic, they fled before her in a frightened black mass. To think that only a few weeks ago she had been terrified of these great harmless creatures with their curious eyes and silky black coats!

  The sure-footed little pony cantered on up the metal road, stones flying behind her hooves, and as she moved on towards the empty horizon, Trudy wondered how she could ever again be content in the crowded world outside. A world of cramped dwellings huddled together, where city spires flung their jagged outline against the sky, and stars and sunsets alike were obliterated by the smog.

  But she'd get used to it again, of course she would. Once back in London, all this would recede like a dream.

  Through the stream now. Patsy chose her steps carefully as she splashed through the limed water among the stones. She leaped up the ferny bank and moved into the stillness, the damp coolness and sunsplashed greenery of the bush track. Even without a goal in view, the ride would be worth coming here, Trudy thought, emerging into the bright sunlight and taking the uphill slope ahead.

  She was flushed and breathless when at last she reached the old farmhouse. Dismounting from the sweating mare, she tied her mount to a fencepost, and seeing Terry's mother in the drive, called out cheerfully, 'Hello, Mrs. Page! How's the treatment going? Is it doing Terry any good, do you think?'

  The peaked, despondent face brightened, as the older woman strolled with Trudy up the painted steps. 'Oh, I do hope so! But it's too early yet to tell. Come inside and I'll tell him you're here. He's so wrapped up in his music these days that he simply doesn't seem to realize anything else exists.'

  She led the way up the long hall and into the sunny lounge, gesturing with a smile towards the figure seated on a low stool, pencil and notebook in hand. 'I told you,' she whispered, as her son glanced up with a start of surprise.

  `Hi there! I was hoping you'd show up today.' As the thin, nervous woman left the room, Terry rose with some difficulty to his feet. 'Just as well Mum's taking off for the day,' he grinned. 'Gives us a chance to really get going on the score, with no interruptions.'

  `You mean to say—' Trudy stared up into the narrow face, in astonishment, 'you haven't even told your mother why I ride over here to see you?'

  A nerve flickered in his temple. 'I don't want anyone to know - anyone at all - about our partnership.'

  Trudy threw him a laughing glance. 'You know what they'll think instead, don't you, if I'm always chasing over here?'

  He shrugged thin shoulders. 'Let them think what they like! I couldn't care less!' He swung towards her, a barefooted figure, in check shirt and denim hipsters. `Do you?'

  `Not particularly,' said Trudy. But the thought crossed her mind that were it another type of man with whom she had these frequent meetings - an older, more sophisticated man perhaps - she might view the situation differently. But as things were, she wanted only to be of help to the injured youth. And as it chanced that she had it in her power to assist him - well, why not?

  She crossed the sunlit room and threw the riding crop on the settee, then bent to pick up a music score notebook that was lying open at a page covered in sprawling writing. 'Is this it - Maketu, I mean?'

  `Just these—' he leaned over her shoulder, Is where I made the alterations. Follow?'

  She nodded. 'This is the number you played at the wool-shed dance the other night?'

  `That's right. Did you like it?'

  `Loved it! And so did everyone else in the place, judging by the reception it got. It must go over well in the city - it must!' She glanced up over her poised pencil. 'Are you sending it away soon to your friend - the night-club entertainer in Wellington?'

  `Am I? The minute you've fixed the arrangement! Vince is doing the circuit of dine-and-dance places - it's a great opportunity!'

  It was the work of but a few minutes for Trudy to complete the necessary alterations. Then she copied out the complete musical score in neatly arranged symbols. 'There! That should be plain enough!'

  `Gee, I can't thank you enough for this—'

  Trudy laughed. 'Thank me when it's a hit. Oh,' she looked up curiously at him, 'that other lyric you played at the dance -something about a game - was that your own composition too?'

  A smile of pure pleasure transformed the pale face.

  `Did you like it?' he queried eagerly. 'Honestly? Did you?' `It was great,' Trudy assured him. 'I can only remember the first line, though. Let's go through it again.'

  `Right!' Terry picked up the guitar from where it lay on the low table, and seating himself on the settee, bent over the strings, as once again the light tenor voice took up the melody:

  `Love, for me, is just a crazy game,

  The players always number two.

  If I'd known how high the stakes would be

  I never would have played with you.'

  He broke off. 'That's as far as I've got.'

  Trudy hummed the melody. 'You know,' the clear, blue-green eyes were raised thoughtfully, 'it's got something . . . who knows, it might even be star quality, or whatever it is that makes a song a hit.'

  `Do you reckon?' With a shock of surprise, Trudy noticed that the thin hand holding the notebook was trembling and a flicker of uneasiness sprang into her mind. There was an almost frightening intensity in the pale eyes behind the dark-rimmed glasses.

  `We'll pull it off together, you'll see! Fame - money - we'll have the lot when we hit the big time!'

  `We-ll, maybe.' Trudy groped for the right words for what she wanted to say, words that would put a brake on the young composer's mounting optimism, an optimism that could be sadly misplaced.

  `Don't forget that even if we made a go of Maketu - and by some miracle the other lyric as well - it doesn't mean a thing really, not in the entertainment game. Don't mind my saying this, will you—' her smile robbed the words of their sting, `but it could all just be a flash in the pan. What I'm trying to tell you,' she said diffidently, 'is that it's no use counting on the future - it doesn't pay to build up your hopes so much.'

  The thin lips were set in a stubborn line. 'Others have done it.' But a little of the wild excitement had died out of his expression.

  `Yes, but not very often. One in thousands, maybe.'

  At his suddenly downcast expression, she reached for the notebook. 'But it's fun all the same. Come on, give me the notes again... just the melody line will do for a start. What was it now? "Love for me—" '

  But it wasn't easy to produce the correct notes to fit the melody. Trudy was beset by all manner of technical difficulties, unknown to the young composer. But at last, when two hours had fled by unnoticed, the task
was completed.

  And just in time too, Trudy told herself, as a moment later Mrs. Page, looking as pale and tense as on Trudy's previous visit, entered the room together with a gay and refreshed Sharon.

  With a swift movement, Terry thrust the notebook out of sight in a leather satchel lying at his feet. But Sharon's glance was fixed on the low record player with its stack of recordings.

  Having made herself known to Terry, she curled herself on the soft fleecy sheepskin rug like a sleek and playful kitten, as she flipped eagerly through the pile of recordings.

  `But you've got all the latest hits,' she cried in a surprised tone, 'away up here, miles from anywhere!' She glanced up at the thin, stooped figure, with undisguised interest. `How come ?'

  `Oh, we keep in touch. This is the newest sound track I've got ... had it sent up from Auckland last week.' He set the

  record in place and the spinning disc revolved to the beat of the latest pop melody.

  `Lovely!' Sharon rose and moved around in time to the melody, the vivid shades of her frock swirling. 'It would be super to dance to—' She stopped abruptly. 'Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot.'

  'Why be sorry?' Terry grinned cheerfully. 'I can watch, can't I? Carry on!'

  'No, no,' Sharon resumed her former place on the white, fluffy rug, 'I'll just listen. Oh, here's something else!' Delightedly she heaped another disc on the mounting pile. 'We'll have this next. Then this - and this, and then - that is,' she hesitated, glancing towards Trudy, 'if you're not in a hurry to get back to the house ?'

  'Well,' Trudy pointed out with a smile, 'the men do expect their dinner at the usual time tonight, and there's no one else to attend to it.'

  Sharon stared up at her uncomprehendingly, and it was obvious to Trudy that in the other girl's scheme of things, such mundane matters as the preparation of meals had never been among her problems. 'Yes,' she said at last, 'I suppose that's right. But look, I've just arrived, and think how rude it would be to rush off right away. I've got the car - I'll get myself back later. How's that?'

  'Okay with me,' said Trudy. But I'm afraid I really must be going.'

  Terry accompanied her as far as the door. 'Sure you can manage to mount yourself ?' But it was clear that his thoughts remained with the small figure kneeling on the white sheepskin rug beside the record player. 'Thanks a lot, Trudy!'

  She made her way towards the pony, untethered it, and sprang lightly into the saddle. As she jogged down the narrow, dusty hill track, she was pricked by a faint disquiet. Terry was so confident - almost, he was over-confident. But if his promise of early success spluttered into failure, what then? How would he react to disillusionment, disappointment? Could he take it?

  She shook the thoughts away and gaining the flat grassy stretch below, cantered towards the bush track, and soon, pushing ahead through the dim, sun-spattered shade she forgot Terry and his problems.

  That evening Sharon set up her projector in the lounge and the others watched with interest as across the nylon screen flashed pictures of the base camp established at the foot of towering mountain peaks of Antarctica, and figures in parkas and snowboots, roped in pairs, plugged their way laboriously over steep slopes and gaping crevasses.

  `A man's life,' Scott commented, as the last slide flickered into darkness. Trudy switched on the soft glow of the standard lamp and turned to serve coffee, bubbling merrily in a percolator on a low table. She fancied she caught a note of envy in Scott's tones. But what man wouldn't envy a brother a year's interlude in that fantastic and unknown white continent?

  Fergus said: 'Thank you, my dear. Those were worth seeing. Wilf hasn't changed a bit.' He knocked out his pipe. 'How did you enjoy your visit today to young Page's place?'

  Sharon glanced up from the metal cabinet where she was replacing the colour slides. 'Oh, it was fun! He had all the latest records — away up here in the wilds! I couldn't believe it! Now I can't wait to hear him play. I told him he must bring the group over here one night. He told me he has to go in to Whangarei Hospital every day this week and next, first to get the plaster cast removed from his leg and then for physiotherapy treatment. So I told him I'd run him in.' She flashed her quick smile. 'It will be something to do.'

  `Good for you.' Fergus rose, stretching. Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got to be up early for a hunt tomorrow — over this direction, I believe.' He appealed to his son, 'You did the arranging. That's right, Scott?'

  Scott nodded carelessly. 'Hunt breakfast over here, same as usual.' He turned towards Sharon. `If you girls would care to take the track up the hill, through the bush at the back of the house, about eleven, say, you'll get a good view of the meet.'

  `If I'm up by then!'

  `How about you, Trudy?'

  She didn't reply directly.

  `Did you say,' she asked carefully, 'that the hunt breakfast is to be held here? Here?' And he waited anxiously for the man's reply.

  Scott exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. 'That's right. Oh,

  sorry—' he sent her the quick smile that lighted the lean face, `I forgot to warn you about that! But there's nothing to get you in a flap!' He waved the cigarette carelessly in the air. `All you have to do is slap a couple of cloths over the trestle tables out on the grass under the trees - Fergus'll give you a line on things. Main idea is to have swags of food and lashings of hot tea ready when the crowd shows up at the end of the Meet. It helps if you have the cups put out on the table.'

  'H-how many cups?' Trudy inquired faintly.

  `Make it sixty, lass,' Fergus put in. 'That allows for the non-riders as well. Always quite a few of them in the party.'

  `Cakes and sandwiches and stuff,' Scott said easily, 'that's all you need.'

  All! Trudy's heart sank. A challenge was a challenge, and she'd attempt almost any task rather than admit to Scott that she couldn't measure up to the standard of his previous housekeeper. But this was too much! If only she'd known about the breakfast earlier, she could have baked food in advance, keeping it in the refrigerator until the day of the meet. But -tomorrow!

  What on earth am I going to do?' she wailed to Sharon later that evening, as the other girl, wearing filmy pale blue nylon pyjamas, came to her room.

  `About what?' Sharon put up a hand to stifle a yawn.

  `Oh, you know, catering for those hordes of hungry riders and their friends tomorrow. I can't possibly have. it all ready in time,' Trudy cried desperately. 'I just can't!'

  `Then why bother?' Sharon said carelessly. Why don't you just tell Scott that you can't manage it and he'll just have to make other arrangements?'

  No! I don't want to do that!'

  Well,' Sharon went on matter-of-factly, 'I don't see what else you can do. Unless—' she stopped short. 'Hi, why don't I zip into Whangarei tomorrow and buy the eats?' She warmed to the subject. 'You can ring the order through first thing in the morning.'

  Trudy regarded her, hope dawning in her eyes. 'But it's an hour's drive in to town and another hour back.'

  `What of it?' Sharon patted the layered blonde hair that she could see reflected in the mirror. 'I don't mind getting it, so long as you don't ask me to bake the stuff!'

  `Oh, would you?' Already Trudy's mind was running ahead, planning, considering. There was a plentiful supply of bread in the deep-freeze cabinet. Sandwiches would be no problem, and as for savouries, she could whip up that frozen pastry, make appetizing fillings from the variety of tinned foods on the kitchen shelves - asparagus, oyster, salmon. Scones she could rattle up nowadays at the drop of a hat, she reflected confidently. And with a couple of date loaves—

  The important thing would be to get an early start. But now that she had mentally organized her programme of work, she felt confident of having everything in readiness by late afternoon, with Sharon's help.

  Long before the other girl was awake, Trudy was dressed and busy in the kitchen, slicing great mounds of bread, rolling out the ready-mixed frozen pastry in readiness for cutting out the small circles.

&nbs
p; But when eleven o'clock came, in spite of the hours of activity looming ahead, she couldn't resist making her way up the bush track to the crest of the hill, as Scott had suggested.

  She told herself that she hadn't yet explored this part of the grounds, that a glimpse of hounds and riders moving over these high green hills would be a new experience.

  But nothing could disguise the leap of her heart as Scott, astride his great chestnut, came galloping over a rise and put his mount to the high barbed fence set at an angle on the steep slope ahead.

  Shandy cleared the jump with ease, and presently a second rider took the barbed wire fence and cantered up beside Scott. As Trudy's gaze moved to the man's companion, she felt an inexplicable drooping of her spirits. What was the matter with her? Time after time she allowed herself to totally overlook the fact that Diana - that Diana and Scott— No wonder he was smiling and chatting happily. Diana, flushed and animated, appeared at her best in riding gear. There was no doubt that the snowy stock and black coat complemented her vivid colouring.

  At that moment, catching sight of the girl watching from the hilltop, both riders lifted a hand in greeting, and Trudy, crushing down the queer little pang of sadness, waved gaily in return. The next moment a cluster of riders galloped up, cleared the fence. Then all were riding away, soon to vanish

  over a nearby rise.

  `Hi there!' She swung around in surprise, to see Paul's dark, bearded face. He appeared flushed and out of breath, but there was no mistaking the look of admiration in his eyes as he took in the slim figure in lemon pullover and dark brown slacks, the dark hair confined beneath a fluttering chiffon scarf.

  What a pity,' Trudy raised clear eyes. 'You're just too late.'

  `Think so?' he disclaimed lightly. 'I'm not interested in horses — not that variety, anyway. I'd rather look at you any day! But the boys down at the station said you were up here, so I took off after you. The thing is,' he went on, as side by side, they took the narrow winding track through the native bush, `that there's a dance on tonight ... some place called Onera. Thought you might like to come?'