by Gloria Bevan
Don't you want to know the words ?' he persisted inexorably. The Power of Love, they call it.'
`No . . . yes . . . of course .. .' She hated herself for the confusion that was overwhelming her, numbing her senses, causing her to answer like an idiot.
He was leaning forward into the circle of light. And she could glimpse the quizzical, taunting expression in his eyes.
`Why did you not, when first we met—
Set about undoing our affection—'
It must surely be the timbre of his voice - it must be, Trudy
told herself wildly, that lent the words that impression of deep feeling. He was acting. He wouldn't put such expression into the Maori words unless - unless— She heard the low tones as from a distance.
`Before love had fastened firmly
And become a consuming desire, For now
It will not cease, this love of mine, This love of mine...'
`Trudy—!'
It was a sound that jerked her back to reality. The sound of a car door slamming, then another, and another . . . voices .. . The noises punctuated the intense stillness outside.
The spell was broken. Voices were coming nearer. A moment later Sharon's light voice echoed up the long hall 'We've come for coffee! Terry's here too, he's brought his guitar. He wants to see you, Trudy!'
On a wave of chatter and laughter, the group surged in at the open doorway. Most of the men and girls were strangers to Trudy. But the next moment Bruce and Gary strolled into the room, looking to Trudy strangely unfamiliar with their slicked-down hair and snowy Dacron shirts.
Bruce went out immediately, to return with a banjo, which he proceeded to play, Trudy thought, with gusto if not with skill.
It was a gay and friendly crowd - arguing cheerfully, singing, laughing. Cushions were tossed on to the floor. Someone switched on the record player. 'She plays the piano!' a voice said loudly. 'Come on, Trudy, give us Maketu!' As the chorus of voices assailed her, Trudy gathered her scattered senses together. 'Maybe, later on, if you still want me to.' She stole a swift glance around her, but Scott had disappeared.
It was odd - the thought came without volition - but when Scott left he seemed to take something with him, something of force and excitement. Or was it only their feeling of mutual antipathy that sparked in her this odd awareness of him? The moment Scott entered a room, all other men seemed dull -uninteresting. She wrenched her mind away. She must be crazy, thinking such thoughts. She must remember that she hated him, that there were things between them - scores which
must be settled. But not that way!
`I'll make coffee,' she said breathlessly, and fled from the room.
In the quiet of the kitchen, she pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. Scott. . . . What was the strange influence the man seemed to have on her? It was the music, she told herself. Always she'd been far too impressionable where melody was concerned. Music - and something about the potent magnetism of that deep voice, allied to the poignancy of the centuries-old chant. What was it called? The Power of Love. Love. She tried to drag herself back to sanity, but the haunting words echoed in her mind.
`Why did you not, when first we met, Set about undoing our affection—'
When first we met! She had detested Scott. And the feeling, she could have sworn, was mutual. She must be out of her senses to allow him to affect her like this - a man already betrothed, or so near as to make no odds. A man she hated .. . hated .. .
She must concentrate. Think about coffee. To allow herself to think along those other lines was to take a path that could lead only to unhappiness and despair.
She reached for a tray and began setting out beakers, cheese, biscuits.
Through the cloud of cigarette smoke in the lounge she could see that Terry was the centre of an admiring group. Seated on a low stool, he was plucking the strings of his guitar, and as he sent her a quick nod, she noticed that the light eyes were gleaming with some inner elation.
Throughout the evening she found herself wondering if already the injured man had received good news concerning his country-style ballad. But she was seated at the piano, rattling out the latest pop tunes, followed by the out-of-date lyrics whisked from the inner compartment of the old piano stool, and despite all her efforts, she found it impossible to speak with him in privacy.
At last, however, as guests began to drift towards the doorway, Terry came towards Trudy, seated in a low seat in the shadows, and under cover of the lighthearted chatter, she caught his low tone. 'I've been trying to get a word with you
all night, but—' he waved a thin white hand, 'with this mob I couldn't get near you.'
She glanced up eagerly. 'You've had good news?'
`Sure have! Wish me luck, Trudy! Why do you think I suggested coming over here tonight if not to pass the word on to you? I've been bursting to tell you. There was an entertainment promoter among the audience in Wellington where Vince was singing last week. And what do you think?'
Trudy smiled up into the tense young face, caught the almost feverish excitement shining in the pale eyes. 'He approves ?'
`Better than that! He liked Vince's voice. He liked it so much that - wait for it - he's signing him up for an Australian season. And once our effort gets known on the other side of the Tasman, we'll be in the big time. Guaranteed engagements all over the country - recording contracts ... maybe, who knows, fame in England - the States. Now all we have to do is to get good news of Silver Shears from the song publishing outfit in New York, and we'll be on our way - to the top!' A sweet smile transfigured the tense face. 'Admit it now. Wasn't I right, after all?'
Trudy hesitated. She would have liked to have shared his enthusiasm, but it was all too indefinite, so frail a foundation on which to base the hopes of a successful career. But she knew it was useless to endeavour to communicate her misgivings to Terry. Either he couldn't, or wouldn't, acknowledge the possibility of failure. All she could do was hope that his faith would be justified. At any rate, the next few weeks would see the matter settled, one way or the other.
At last she said slowly, 'Congratulations on Maketu, at any rate.'
`Maketu? Who said anything about Maketu?' Leaning close, he whispered mockingly in her ear.
`Love to me is just a crazy game—'
`Vince is convinced it's got a big future,' he confided, 'and he's going all out to promote it.'
`But that's wonderful! At least,' Trudy amended, it does look promising.'
`Promising? You're always so darn cautious!'
`Shouldn't I be?' But in spite of herself, she found herself caught up in his excitement. `I—' She stopped short, all at once aware of a tall figure who was standing close at hand.
'Scott, dark eyebrows drawn, his expression stern and forbidding, was taking in the little scene.
She knew that Terry too was conscious of that cold appraisal. 'Looks as though the others are waiting for me,' he said lamely, and picking up his guitar, he limped towards the group in the doorway.
Trudy watched from the window as the cars turned in the driveway, the lights sweeping the line of tall evergreens ahead. When the last vehicle had moved from sight, Sharon put a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. 'Great crowd, aren't they? I'm dead. See you in the morning, Scott. Coming, Trudy?'
`In a minute.' Trudy wanted to put the room to some semblance of order before retiring. It was a habit formed through years of flatting. It took only a few moments to replace cushions, wash coffee cups - but it made a lot of difference in the morning.
She was emptying the ashtrays when Scott strolled in. `Seen the matches anywhere?'
Over the tumult in her heart, she saw him glance nonchalantly around the room. He seemed to think nothing of making her - well, romantically aware of him, or trying to, and then acting as though nothing had happened. But of course, she reminded herself, it meant nothing more to him than a moment's diversion. Or, she wondered with a swiftly beating heart, had he followed her here for a purpose?
H
e was standing, leaning an arm on the mantel. `Trudy - I - er—'
She stared up at him in amazement. Scott, unsure of himself - at a loss for words! She simply couldn't believe it.
`I wanted - to have a word with you,' he said at last. 'It's about - young Page.'
`Terry?' She replaced the ashtray she was in the act of emptying into the open fireplace. What do you mean?' Whatever she had expected, it hadn't been this.
`I think,' he said carefully, 'you know what I mean.' His mouth took on a wry, contemptuous line. 'That little scene tonight sort of - well, opened my eyes.'
Hurt and bewildered, Trudy took in the implication of the man's words. Her eyes sparkled angrily. 'If you think that was a love scene,' she said coldly, `you must have more
imagination .than I credited you with. As a matter of fact—' She stopped short. The explanation that trembled on her lips wasn't hers to give. She had given Terry her promise that she'd keep his secret. He trusted her implicitly with his hopes and dreams. How could she betray that trust?
She became aware that Scott was waiting expectantly for her to continue. 'Look,' her low tones throbbed with indignation, 'I don't see what all this has to do with you.'
`Not with me, I grant you.' Her gaze dropped before that relentless stare. But with young Page! I guess it's time I put you in the picture. I wasn't going to let on about this, but now - well, you'd better get the facts straight.
`Seems he got carried away with a girl last year. It was all on his side, but he didn't seem to realize that, until it was too late. She lived around here - a local girl - and when she finally got it through to him that the affair was finished - broke off the engagement, gave him back his ring, he just couldn't take it. He was picked up some miles from here, driving a car, not knowing where he was bound for, not knowing anything at all.
`Oh, he got over it in time . . . spent three months in a sanatorium and shock treatment put him on the right road in the end. But the weakness is there - especially after the shock of that tractor smash-up. And now that the set-up's the same—' he sent her a piercing glance, 'you're not serious, I take it?'
She was so furious she was trembling all over, and the man's words, cool and infinitely hurtful, reached her through a mist of anger. 'I just wanted to give you the lowdown on the situation, warn you that young Page isn't as strong as he could be in some directions. Oh, I know you can't help your looks—'
It was unbelievable! Scott, actually admitting that he approved of her appearance, complimenting her!
`I mean,' he added, still in that low, controlled tone, 'your being so much like her.'
Trudy's spirits plunged. Oh, she might have known that he wasn't handing out compliments! At least, not to her.
He gave a crooked grin. 'One of those uncanny likenesses -unfortunately.' His contemptuous tone cut across her whirling thoughts. `If you're not serious, better not give him any ideas. According to Diana—'
Diana! So that was the source of his information. Some-
how she couldn't bear the thought of Scott and Diana discussing her and Terry, probably gaining amusement from her innocent friendship with the young composer.
`It wasn't — what you think,' she said at last, in a low tone. The bushy black eyebrows rose. 'Wasn't it?'
She turned away from that merciless blue stare. So he didn't believe her! Oh, she hated him! Hated him! Hated him! Always he put her in the wrong!
She raised her eyes to find he was staring back at her. They were like two fighters measuring, assessing each other. Fighters! Impossible to believe that once he had kissed her, this man with the cold, accusing eyes and the grim-lipped smile. This man who took it upon himself to censure her friends, to spoil any friendships she made. If it wasn't that they were enemies, almost she would think — to brush away the traitorous thought she tried to make her voice cutting, and hated herself for the slight quiver. 'You needn't concern yourself — or Diana either. There isn't the slightest need for anxiety.'
`No?' He merely continued to regard her in that mocking, contemptuous fashion.
Trudy turned away. 'Good night.'
`Good night, Trudy.' Did she imagine that faint ring of regret in the deep tones? Almost as though he were deeply disappointed in her?
Well, it served him right. Jumping to conclusions. Interfering in matters that were none of his concern!
CHAPTER NINE
VERY soon Trudy came to realize that Sharon, gay, extravagant, utterly absorbed in her own appearance, her own needs and wishes, had not the slightest interest in life as it was lived on a remote northern sheep-station. Within the space of but a few days the other girl was obviously bored and restless.
`But there's nothing to do,' she complained, trailing disconsolately after Trudy into the shining lemon and grey kitchen. Swinging herself up on the table, she swung a slim foot encased in a silver scuff.
Nothing to do! Trudy thought wryly of the garden, where as yet little had been accomplished in bringing order and neatness to overgrown plots and encroaching creepers, the endless household chores with which she never seemed to catch up. The cake tins were empty again. She must find time today to make a batch of cookies — something quick and easy. And perhaps a fruit cake. She turned to Sharon with a smile.
`How are you on cooking?' But even as the query left her lips, she knew what the answer would be.
`Cooking?' The flecked grey eyes stared back at her uncomprehendingly. 'You mean — meat, potatoes, all that jazz?'
`Sort of,' Trudy conceded. But actually I was thinking of a fruit cake.'
`Sorry!' The pixieish smile softened the instant refusal. `But I'd only waste your flour and stuff. Honestly, I've never even tried.' Her eyes took on a distant look. 'I know! I'll have a facial in town. Might even look around for a dance frock for the party tomorrow night. Do you think there'd be anything worth buying in Whangarei?'
Trudy's mind went to the other girl's wardrobe, crammed to overflowing with frocks of every shade and description.
`If you really need one, maybe.'
Sharon screwed up her small, freckled nose in a characteristic gesture. Who said anything about needing? I've got to have something to distract me, and I've promised to run Terry in to the hospital today, anyway. I'll give him a ring now and see if he's ready.'
As the hours went by, Trudy was conscious of a growing reluctance to attend the coming-of-age celebration that was to be held that evening for Diana.
Now that it was too late, she regretted having allowed herself to be persuaded into accompanying the singer who had been engaged for the evening's entertainment, laying herself open to Diana's cruel condescension and knife-edged remarks. Diana, who she sensed had for her an unreasoning and unprovoked hatred. Hatred! A dreadful thought, but true, nevertheless. She must have been crazy to have let herself in for this. But it was all Scott's fault, as usual.
She had almost completed her preparations for the night ahead when she heard a light tap on the door, and the next moment Sharon's golden head with its little-boy haircut appeared in the opening.
`Want any help with your hair?' she stopped short, eyeing Trudy's sophisticated chignon. 'I can see for myself! I didn't know you'd been out today! Wherever did you have your hair styled?'
Trudy laughed. 'Right here in Maketu!'
`And to think,' Sharon complained, 'that I went all the way to the salon in Whangarei today! I won't bother another time - not with you right here on the premises!' She moved towards the heavy old-fashioned wardrobe and studied her sequined reflection in the long, oval mirror.
`I've been hours - simply hours,' she ran on, 'making up my mind as to whether I'd wear this sparkly green frock or something more - you know - subdued. Isn't it difficult to decide, sometimes?'
Trudy, adding a tint of shadow that made her eyes appear tonight more blue than green, reflected wryly that at least she had no problems of that nature. In her case it was a simple choice of either the black frock or the flame red. And seeing that never again w
ould she wear the black lace— She edged from the memory of the last occasion on which she had worn the black frock, and brought her mind back to Sharon's light voice with its slight Australian accent.
She was twisting before the mirror, the myriad sea-green sequins of her frock flashing and shimmering. A mischievous smile lighted the small, tanned face she turned towards Trudy. 'I am rather cute, aren't I?'
Trudy, adjusting the coral ear-rings she had purchased on the journey through the tropics, took in the tiny glittering figure, and a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. 'Much too cute to be going to a party without your fiancé!' She slipped her feet into flame-coloured strapped sandals 'How he can be content to go off to the deep freeze for the season -and be perfectly happy about it—'
Sharon stood quite still. The laughing face sobered. 'He's not, you know.'
`What do you mean?'
The other girl dropped to the bed, lit a cigarette and inhaled swiftly.
`It wasn't like that at all - Wilf being happy about leaving me alone, I mean. It was all his fault,' she said in a low tense tone. 'That stupid, senseless jealousy of his!'
Trudy, however, had mislaid a light wrap and as she sorted through the dim interior of the wardrobe, was scarcely listening.
`Jealous? Of whom?'
`Everyone! Anyone!' Sharon cried passionately. 'He'd even create a scene about this if he knew that poor old Terry had given it to me—' Her hand, small as a child's, tugged at the necklace of greenstone, linked with marcasite, encircling the slim throat.
Trudy eyed the matched ovals of nephrite jade in surprise. Surely Terry could ill afford to purchase such expensive jewellery? Something niggled at the back of her mind, but before she could pin it down, the other girl swept on.
`Do you know, Wilf was insanely jealous of anyone who even looked at me! One night, just after our engagement party, we were waiting in a theatre queue, and he made such a thing about the way another man there was looking at me -looking at me - that the whole evening was ruined for both of us. Oh, I've heard of men like that,' she blew a cloud of smoke, `but I never really knew one. Not until I fell in love with Wilf. Love!' Her laughter had a brittle ring. 'That last row we had just about finished everything between us! It was at a party. And there was this man - this man.. ..' She crushed out her cigarette and glanced across at Trudy. 'There was nothing to it. Nothing! Just that we happened to dance together a few times! It's Wilf's own fault,' she broke off to say