The hills of Maketu

by Gloria Bevan

  vehemently. 'He could easily learn to dance, but he won't! He just won't! And when I love it so, it's not fair of him. We could be so happy, but these awful scenes between us spoil everything!' Jumping to her feet, she went to the window, staring out at the darkening landscape.

  `That last time, after the party, Wilf lost his temper completely. We had a blazing row. He simply wouldn't believe that there was nothing - truly nothing - to get so steamed up about.

  `He'd just had an offer to go with a wintering-over party on a geological survey expedition to Scott Base. He was to be a replacement for another doctor who'd taken ill. The thing was that Wilf had to make up his mind that night whether or not he'd fly out to Antarctica immediately. I knew he'd decided not to go, but that row between us made him change his mind. So I didn't see him again. They flew him out to Scott Base the next day. That was eight months ago. And it's his own stupid fault,' she added pettishly, 'if he's lonely and half frozen and bored to death because apparently no one in his party ever gets anything wrong with them out there. It serves him right!' But the light voice held a betraying tremor and Trudy guessed that the other girl, petted since childhood, indulged, was nevertheless sincerely in love with Scott's brother.

  `But he writes to you?' Trudy ventured.

  `Goodness, yes! It's funny, you know, all the time he's been away his letters have been wonderful. He's always desperately sorry over these outbursts - when it's too late! Now he can't do enough to make up for everything. He admits to getting carried away where I'm concerned - and swears it won't happen again! Maybe now, when he's had a real lesson about it, it won't! At any rate, he's planning everything about our life together. The wedding, the sort of house he wants built ... lately he's even got around to talking about a family. But I guess,' she was gay once more, 'that's just Wilf! And the funny thing about it all is that I'd rather have him, with all his faults and maddening ways, than anyone else. I—'

  She broke off as a knock sounded on the door and Fergus called cheerfully. 'You girls prettied yourselves up yet?'

  Erect and distinguished-looking in a dinner suit, his shock of white hair brushed neatly back from his lined, tanned forehead, the older man accompanied the two girls along the

  porch, drenched now in the heavy, sweet perfume of flowering jasmine.

  `Boys are waiting in the car,' he said, then whistled softly as Sharon, moving into the circle of light, set a myriad sequins flashing in a soft glitter.

  `Reckon you'll knock 'em tonight, Sharon! Bet they've never seen anything like that up at Bartleys.' He appealed to the man moving down the long hall. 'What do you say, Scott?'

  He came striding towards them, tall, whipcord-lean, incredibly good-looking in the unaccustomed dark suit, vital-looking and alive in spite of a long day spent in transporting stock to a distant township.

  He paused, taking in the group under the soft glow spilling from the overhead wrought-iron lantern. 'Perfect.' But his gaze went past the glittering figure to the girl in a simple flame-coloured dress, who stood in the shadows; a girl whose dark hair, clean and shining, was upswept to reveal the smooth neck and shoulders with their faint tint of tan.

  `Come on,' he moved towards Trudy and cupped a hand beneath her elbow, 'let's go!'

  At the touch on her bare arm, a shiver of excitement ran along her nerves. There was something in his eyes — but she told herself not to be absurd. What man in his circumstances wouldn't appear happy — excited? Wasn't he about to announce his engagement to the girl he loved?

  In the car, they found Bruce and Gary, neatly dressed in snowy shirts and dark suits, each clutching a parcel clumsily wrapped in coloured paper liberally sprinkled with a pattern of large golden keys. As Fergus seated himself beside them, Sharon chattered gaily, her fair head turned back to face the admiring gaze of the two young men.

  Tonight Scott took the main route, and as they swung from the stony highway into a narrow metal side road, Trudy could glimpse in the distance the lights blazing from the hilltop residence above. Presently they swept up a wide concrete driveway and Scott parked the de Soto at the end of a long line of dust-coated vehicles.

  As they strolled across the patio, glowing with tubs of scarlet-flowering hibiscus, Trudy caught an echo of soft music from the great room beyond. At the entrance, against a background of bush ferns and tropical greenery, Diana stood with

  her parents, greeting the guests already thronging in at the wide, open doors.

  Diana, her red hair dressed high, her thin lips flashing a smile, caught sight of the party from Elsmore, and Trudy saw the other girl's gaze leap involuntarily to Scott.

  `You're late,' she said softly.

  `Blame the girls,' Scott replied easily. He introduced Sharon, and Diana welcomed her in effusively. The small dark eyes slid away from Trudy, waiting silently at Scott's side, and it was Mrs. Bartley who clasped Trudy's hand in a warm gesture.

  `If you only knew how much we appreciate your coming here tonight. The Irishman isn't here yet, but he's coming later. He promised.'

  Her words were drowned in a gale of laughter and greetings as a cluster of guests swept the party from Elsmore into the crowded room, and for a moment Trudy found herself alone.

  She glanced towards the table at her side, heaped high with wrapped gifts, and dotted with twenty-first birthday greeting cards. Trudy had debated with herself as to whether or not she should contribute a gift, but in the end, in view of Diana's marked attitude that Trudy was merely an entertainer at the gathering, she had decided against it.

  `Isn't she a lucky girl?'

  Trudy glanced up in surprise, wondering where she had heard those breathy tones before. Then, as she caught sight of the extremely stout little woman at her elbow, recognition flooded her — Mrs. Lynch, who had called at Elsmore shortly after Trudy's arrival at the house.

  `All these gorgeous gifts,' the other woman wheezed happily, as the small eyes, half hidden in folds of flesh, roved over the heaped table. 'Such a wonderful start for their married life! I mean to say, she'll have everything.' Intent on the signatures written inside the gift cards, eyeing the boxed gifts with avid curiosity, the stout figure drifted towards the other end of the long table.

  Everything! Trudy pushed away the odd, forlorn feeling that had suddenly assailed her. She began making her way through the chattering groups towards the makeshift stage at the end of the long room.

  As the opening bars of the first waltz drifted through the room, Trudy turned towards the gleaming piano and seating herself at the instrument, ran her hands tentatively over the keys.

  `Oh, Miss Western,' her hostess was smiling down at her, `this is Mr. Patrick O'Malley, who's been kind enough to offer to sing for us.'

  Trudy smiled up at a plump dark man with a smooth unlined face and bright dark eyes.

  The Irishman bowed. 'And just so that we can get acquainted, Miss Western, may I—?'

  As Trudy found herself swept into the maze of moving colour, she reflected how few of the couples moving on the dance floor were known to her - only the party from Elsmore, actually, besides Terry and her hosts.

  But at that moment, as if to remind her of her error, a dark bearded face moved into her line of vision, and Paul's glance, half defiant, half embarrassed, held her own.

  She nodded coolly, hoping he wouldn't ask her to dance. But she need not have concerned herself, she told herself later, seated at a small table over drinks, with the party from Elsmore. Whatever the reason, Paul did not approach her, and as she was whirled away by various partners, Trudy wondered why she wasn't enjoying the evening more.

  Could it be because - her heart began to thud heavily as a tall, familiar figure approached her. Of course Scott could scarcely do otherwise, in common courtesy, than ask her to dance. It wasn't a matter of whether he wished to dance with her or not. She tried to will herself to calmness, to thrust away the wild excitement that possessed her as she rose to her feet and they moved away together.

  It must be Terr
y's pulsating music, she told herself breathlessly, that could stir the heart like this, lift one to such heights of ecstasy. It must be the music. It must. Not Scott, so silent. Not herself, silent too, afraid to break the spell. It was his dancing, of course. She'd met a partner at last whose steps matched hers. As if - as if they two were one.

  As the notes died away, Scott_ tucked her arm companionably through his. 'Let's go and cool off, shall we?'

  Feeling as though she were in a dream, Trudy went with him through the wide open doors and out into the shadows of

  the terrace. Scott led her towards a secluded corner, where great branches of tree ferns threw their lacy shadows over the flagstones.

  He stooped over her, caught her hand. 'Your hands—'

  As he bent over her, Trudy was suddenly conscious of her skin, roughened with cooking and household chores, the nails short and broken from working in the garden.

  `Pianist's hands.' His voice was low and infinitely disturbing. 'It's a darn shame. If I'd known—' He shrugged wide shoulders. 'But it's too late now.' He shot her a curious glance. `Why'd you do it, Trudy?'

  She tried to gather her whirling senses. 'I - I—' She must keep herself in some control. For a crazy moment she was tempted to fling the words at him. 'Because you challenged me, that's why! Because you made me so furious—' But she only said at last in a low voice. 'It's a - job.'

  His eyes were narrowed and intent. 'But there are other jobs. Better bosses . . . Hmm?'

  If only he wasn't holding her hand, she thought desperately, she could answer coherently, collect her thoughts . . . But in this state of mind ...

  `Scott! Oh, there you are!' With a jolt she glanced up to see Diana. Although the other girl had addressed Scott, the angry dark eyes were blazing into hers.

  `You're wanted,' she said softly to Scott. Dad wants a word with you about the speeches. I think he wants you to lend a hand with them. Can do?'

  `Right. I'll go and have a word with him.' He strode away and Trudy shrank from the expression in Diana's face.

  `Not bad,' the sneering voice was barbed with venom. 'Not bad at all for such a short stay! But let me give you a word of advice, just for your own good.' Suddenly she abandoned all pretence of lightness and the high tones throbbed with emotion. 'Just keep away from Scott, will you? You know what I mean.'

  She turned sharply, a glimmer of white among the shadows, and was gone, leaving Trudy crushed and helpless.

  She should never have come here. All along she'd had a suspicion that something unpleasant would happen. If only she had some sort of transport, she'd leave now, this minute!

  `Oh, Miss Western—' the golden voice of the Irishman

  soothed her taut nerves. 'Seems we're on stage in a couple of moments.'

  `I'm coming,' Trudy said breathlessly. Somehow she managed to quieten her shaking hands, to walk steadily through the throng and across the makeshift stage. And once seated at the instrument, her subconscious mind took over and true to years of training, her fingers faithfully followed the printed score as the rich tones fell on the air.

  A thunder of applause rang through the room, as encore followed encore. But it wasn't until the announcement of the supper waltz that Trudy was free to leave her place at the piano.

  She stumbled through the dance with Gary, whom she hadn't the heart to refuse. And indeed, in her numbed state of mind, she was scarcely aware of the youth's mumbled apologies, his perspiring, agitated face, as his uncertain steps failed to synchronize with her own.

  Immediately the last plunk of guitar music had faded away, the guests crowded into a smaller room where long tables were covered with lace cloths and wine bottles sparkled amongst a tempting array of hot and cold foods. But despite the lavish variety, Trudy found it impossible to eat. She choked down a cup of black coffee, then, her wine glass filled, waited for the speeches to begin.

  They came when the tables were in disorder, the plates emptied. Various speakers rose to extol the character and achievements of the well-respected family and the charm and beauty of their only daughter, Diana. As the guests charged their glasses, Trudy stood waiting for that other expected announcement.

  But to her surprise the last speaker seated himself, and soon everyone left the tables and returned to the lounge room, where Terry's music sent feet tapping in time to the rhythm of the band.

  Across the room, Trudy caught sight of the stout wheezy woman, a comical expression of surprise lighting the round, overheated features, and she wondered how many of the guests gathered here tonight had waited to hear an announcement that hadn't eventuated.

  What had happened between Scott and Diana? she wondered. Probably a lovers' quarrel, a last-minute affair.

  Which would doubtless explain the naked fury in Diana's face a short while since, her unprovoked and vicious attack. No doubt Trudy, alone with Scott, would provide as good a target as any on which to vent the other girl's frustration.

  But Trudy had little time to dwell on the matter, for at that moment a flood of melody pulsed through the room and she found herself gazing into the light blue eyes of the short young man with the scrubbed, shining face and friendly grin.

  `Guess you don't know me.' Clasping her in an uncomfortably close grasp, he guided her heavily along the dance floor. 'Been away for a while, over in Aussie. Bill's the name. Bill Cleary.'

  The name rang a bell - a bell with a distinctly warning note, in Trudy's mind.

  `Not—' She glanced apprehensively across at the ruddy, cheerful face. He didn't appear to be a day over thirty, but still-- 'You wouldn't be old Bill?' she faltered, and missed a step. 'Sorry, I mean the man the local garage owner told me about, who has a little blue car.'

  `Right first time!' The round eyes twinkled as he steered her inexpertly out of the way of an imminent collision. 'Guess you thought I'd be a bit longer in the tooth?'

  `Yes! Yes, I did!' Trudy took a deep breath. At any moment now the tempo might change into a medley and she'd be forced to change partners. It was now or never.

  `I've been wanting to see you—' She paused, wondering how best to phrase her confession.

  `Make it Bill!'

  `Bill, then. You see, I happened to borrow your car one day when I was stuck for transport. The garage man - the garage man gave me permission. And I gave it a bump - quite a dent really.' She was running on wildly. The garage man said you were so particular about your car and I've - felt guilty about it - ever since.'

  `So that's what happened?' Old Bill' let out a great bellow of laughter, to the surprise of nearby couples. 'And to think I was going to have a piece of Ed up at the garage, for pranging it!'

  Trudy realized distractedly that her confession had served to clear matters up with the owner of the blue car, only to put her under a moral obligation to someone else - the loyal garage

  man.

  `Don't give it another thought.' Her partner spun her round with a flourish, breathing heavily with the exertion. 'Any time you get stuck again, just call on me. Any time!'

  The music changed tempo abruptly and as Bill reluctantly released his clasp, Trudy moved away to join in the moving chain circling the dance floor.

  At the same moment a tall, dark man, passing in the opposite direction, sent her a quizzical glance as he went by.

  Wouldn't you know, Trudy told herself exasperatedly, wouldn't you just know that Scott Ballantyne would be a witness to the little scene!

  When the dance came to an end, she found Patrick O'Malley waiting to escort her towards the piano, and at the conclusion of the undoubtedly popular items, he continued to monopolize her time until at last the function drew to a close with the announcement of the last dance of the evening.

  It was then that Trudy caught sight of a tall figure threading his way purposefully towards her from the opposite side of the room. Suddenly she was swept by panic. She mustn't allow herself to be beguiled into that heady excitement.

  `May I?'

  At the courteous Irish tones, s
he turned thankfully and immediately found herself swept into the maze of movement. From a corner of her eye she was aware of Scott pausing, then turning on his heel and approaching Diana — Diana, whom he was taking at second choice!

  To what dangerous territory were her thoughts leading her? Trudy forced herself to concentrate on her partner, and as the waltz music died away, her hostess hurried forward and whispered in Trudy's ear, 'Would you play Auld Lang Syne, please, just for the finish?'

  Trudy nodded and moved away, and as her fingers drew the old melody from the keys, hands were clasped and voices raised as everyone took up the well-known refrain.

  Trudy closed the lid of the piano and was about to leave the makeshift stage when Diana came running towards her. `Sorry,' her expression belied the assumed sweetness of her tone, 'I almost forgot — your cheque.'

  With a brief 'thank you' Trudy accepted the sealed envelope, then, aware of Patrick O'Malley bearing down on

  her with a resolute expression in his dark eyes, she hurriedly slipped away and joined the crowd moving towards the open doorway. For although she found the Irish tenor a pleasant companion, she had no wish to further the acquaintance.

  Outside, in the velvet darkness, she found the party from Elsmore already seated in the car.

  Fergus leaned forward as Scott turned the vehicle in the driveway. 'How did Diana like the piece of jewellery you gave her?' he inquired carelessly. And Trudy's heart flipped.