“One left about two hours ago.”
“Where to?” His patience was about to snap.
“Queenstown.”
Jonathon looked blankly at him. Queenstown, that was okay, they were heading there tomorrow after all. But that could be too late.
“When’s the next one?” He checked his pockets, he had his wallet and iPhone on him, that was all he needed. There wasn’t anything urgently requiring his attention back at the ship — it would be easy to meet them in Queenstown. “Well?”
Mario was just staring at him. Did he not understand his urgency?
“In about twenty-two hours.”
“You’re kidding me.” Please be kidding me.
“No, sorry, there’s only one a day.”
“Well, how can I get to Queenstown?”
Mario just shrugged.
“Is there a taxi I can call?”
“Out here? Sorry, no. Look, I told you hours ago she was here, and it took you this long to get here?”
Jonathon held back the red mist that was threatening. He had to think clearly.
“Mario, can I borrow your car?” Mario shook his head, lips in a wry smile. “I’ll bring it back by six A.M., that’s when the ship leaves.”
“You don’t understand, we don’t have a car. We bike everywhere, much better for the environment.”
“Motorbike?” Jonathon had a fleeting image of him roaring over the mountains to get his girl.
“Push-bike.”
Poof went that image. He deflated.
“Is there any way I can get there?”
“Sure is.”
“How?”
Mario came from behind the counter, and walked over to the window. “See that boat out there? I’m reliably informed she’s leaving for Milford Sound at six in the morning, from where you can get a bus.” Mario’s words teased him from his red mist. But still, Jonathon could have throttled him, only cheerfully this time.
“I don’t suppose she gave any clue as to where she may stay?”
“No, sorry.” There was pity on Mario’s face. “Good luck, mate, I do hope you find her. If you do, you can have your honeymoon here for free!”
“Thanks, Mario.” He pushed the champagne over to him. “You and your wife may as well have that. I don’t want it.” He turned to walk back out the door. What was he going to do now?
Yet, the thought of a honeymoon with Pippa further softened his annoyance. He should be so lucky.
• • •
Pippa disconnected her phone as she walked down the high street in Queenstown, under siege from billboards and placards advertising bungee jumps, sky dives, and a multitude of other ways to part travelers and their money. If her heart were functioning properly, she would be a sucker for the adrenaline inducing experiences. Yet she had a sneaky feeling that even if she threw herself off a platform 134 metres above a river attached to an elastic band, her heart wouldn’t even notice.
The bus driver had dropped her off outside a pretty hostel, just five minutes’ walk away from the centre.
Jean-Pierre couldn’t disguise the surprise in his voice when he’d heard Pippa on the phone.
“’ow come you are calling me, you should be finishing off your service. What is wrong?”
“I’m not there, I’m not even on board.”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, Jean-Pierre, it’s a long story and I’m pretty wrung out. Can I come and see you?”
His voice softened. “Mais oui. Alors Peepa, I ’ope you are okay. It breaks my ’eart that you are calling me, mais I am truly ’appy to see you again. Now, ’ow will you get here?”
“I don’t know. I gather I can get a bus to Christchurch, and then make my way down to you.”
Jean-Pierre tutted. “Non. Peepa, you cannot do that, you sound too sad. It will take about ten ’ours. I talk to Darrel, and call you back soon.”
Pippa didn’t have to wait for long before her phone beeped at her.
“Peepa, we are in luck. Darrel ’as a business associate coming ’ere tomorrow, from Queenstown, and ’e is flying ’is own airplane. ’is only a small Cessna. Will you fly with heem?”
“Course I will, that’s great news. Where will I meet him?”
“Is easy to find the field, just ask anyone at your ’ostel for directions, is only a minute away from town. ’e leaves at nine A.M., and will be waiting for you.”
The respite that Pippa felt started leaking through her eyes, and she sniffed. “Jean-Pierre, thank you so much. Merci beaucoup, tu es tres gentil.” You are so kind. The tears slid down her face, stopping her from saying anything more.
“For my Peepa, nothing is too much. Now, to sleep with you, I shall see you about midday.”
Pippa went back to her hostel, having little energy for checking out the nightlife, which was blessedly quiet. She made a cup of chamomile tea and went out onto the balcony to take in the night sky. Even being in a town, the stars glittered overhead, the Milky Way shining like fairy dust. Fairy dust made your dreams come true, didn’t it? She sipped her tea. It would take a lot more than fairy dust to do that.
Little had she known when she’d woken up this morning with such anticipation, that she would be here, in exile, all her dreams shipwrecked. A noise came from inside the kitchen, and a shadow entered the balcony. Her hopes leapt irrationally — was it Jonathon? She froze, not daring to look around. A click sounded, the shadow was lighting up.
Not Jonathon. Her shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes against it all and allowed Jonathon to materialise, as from tomorrow, she promised herself anew, she would put him out of her mind. She ignored a scoffing sense of déjà vu in favour of another more exciting image unfolding in her mind. Jonathon setting out to find her, say she was on the vineyard, with Jean-Pierre, and they heard a car pull up and it was him. How thrilling would that be? She stopped herself from imagining them running toward each other, arms outstretched. Maybe that was taking it too far. At least she had a shining light inside to warm her as she made her way to bed. And if she could program her dreams, she was going to program Jonathon, in a DJ, with the jacket thrown over his shoulder, white open necked shirt molded to his chest. A smattering of hair peeping out the top, and shirtsleeves folded up to his perfectly formed biceps.
Come on, dreams, do your stuff. Give me a break from this misery.
• • •
The night air was cold as it buffeted his jacket, but Jonathon couldn’t care less. It kept him sharp, and he needed to be alert to figure out what to do. The stars above were lofty, impervious to the pain he was going through. Dammit, he had never let anything stop him from getting what he wanted. And he wanted Pippa. But how was he going to get her?
As the Xplorer dropped him back at the ship, there was a rowdy queue of Marcus’s PR team waiting to get on, ably assisted by Fiona. She raised an eyebrow when she spotted him coming off, on his own.
“Well?” She crossed names off the list on her clipboard as the team went onto the boat.
“Well what?” Jonathon grimaced, as if he didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Where’s Pippa?”
“Hell if I know. She was ashore up until a couple of hours ago, but now, apparently is headed for Queenstown.” He blew a long breath out, his gaze absentmindedly following the mist it made.
Fiona nodded slowly, chewing on the end of her pen. “So where would she go from there? Auckland? Could she be heading back to the UK?”
Jonathon looked past her, out into the darkness. “I don’t think so. Knowing Pippa, even if only for a short time, I think she would make the most of being on the other side of the world. I don’t think she’d go back quite so soon.” He folded his arms and tapped one finger against his chin. “But where else would she go?”
&n
bsp; “Queenstown is quite an obvious choice.” Fiona saw the last remaining passenger onto the boat and gave Phillip and Lee the thumbs up. “Perhaps too obvious.”
“Does she know anybody in New Zealand?”
“No. Well, except for Jean-Pierre.”
Jonathon’s brain snapped to attention. “Jean-Pierre?”
“Yeah.” Fiona’s eyes gleamed. “And Pippa told me he had offered her a job and everything!”
Hope rose in him like a spring gushing from the ground. Keep it easy, she may not be there. Try though he did, it refused to be quashed totally.
“Akoroa. Well, that’s where I’m headed as soon as we dock tomorrow.”
Fiona smiled at him — a wide, beaming smile. “Okay, let me see what I can do to get you there.”
Chapter Sixteen
As she flew over the Southern Alps, Pippa’s hopes dipped and refused to soar along with the small Cessna as it caught the wind currents. She had struggled to open her eyes that morning, feeling like she had gone ten emotional rounds during the night.
So much for programming your dreams.
Eddie, Darrel’s business associate, was brusque and keen not to chat — which was fortunate, as the noise in the tiny cabin inhibited conversation.
The almost palpable thought of Jonathon hung in the air and her insides turned over as the actuality of life without him slowly became real, stretching out in front of her, dreary and colourless.
The Southern Alps were awesome, but Pippa had to bow her head under the sudden sadness they evoked. She wouldn’t have the opportunity to explore them with Jonathon, to go hiking, kayaking, camping in the wild, to be on a snowcapped mountain in the morning, followed by a swim in the sea in the afternoon.
There would be no Jonathon striding out beside her, supporting her when the going got tough, making her laugh when she wanted to cry, and at the end of every day, getting into bed with her. His face wouldn’t be the first thing she saw when she woke.
Her sadness yawned wide within her.
It had all been so perfect. Two weeks on board, cooking — something else she loved — then one week off, providing her with the perfect opportunity to explore this largely unspoiled land. And all of it with Jonathon. Did it get any better than that?
Now she had nothing.
No, scratch that. She had a broken heart.
When the plane started circling, Pippa dragged her thoughts back and watched the ground looming, forcing herself to take an interest. So this was where Jean-Pierre had set up his restaurant. They started a slow descent, and soon she could make out the vineyards in sharper detail.
Eddie pointed to a patch of green and shouted, “That’s where we’re landing.” Pippa nodded, hearing the plane’s engines throttle down to prepare. It was a hair-raising drop, one that Pippa would normally have loved. But this time, she simply didn’t care. So what if they crashed, at least she wouldn’t have to battle with the thought that she’d just lost the only man she could ever love.
Walking down the steps, she had to work hard to maintain equanimity but the sight of Jean-Pierre walking toward her invited more tears. As he grew near, he held out his arms to encase her in a hug.
“Alors mon petit chou. N’inquiete pas, tu es ici maintenant. Calme-toi.” Folding her in his arms, he murmured French endearments to her. Don’t worry, you’re here now. Relax.
Listening to him, Pippa felt a seismic shift in her tummy, unclogging her emotions and the tears emerged. “Jean-Pierre, I’m such a fool.”
“Nonsense. I do not believe it. Come.” He gestured toward a waiting car. “You are tired.” He kissed the top of her head and turning her to face the car, walked with her.
• • •
“Mr. Eagleton!” Fiona’s voice, high pitched with excitement, leaked through the suite door that had nearly closed behind George Stevenson. They had just finished the contract details, preferring to close the deal now rather than waiting for Queenstown to iron out the last details.
Jonathon pulled the door open wide. “What have you got for me?”
“I’ve chartered you a plane from Milford Sound. That’s your quickest way. And I’ve booked a taxi in half an hour to pick you up and bring you to the field.” She stopped and looked closely at him. “What’s wrong?”
He stared at the floor, clenching his jaw. Flying long distance in a jet was just about manageable. Even the thought of flying in a small plane, on the other hand, induced nausea.
“You could hire a car and drive, but it would take at least eight hours.”
Eight hours? Not an option.
“Nothing’s wrong. Thank you.”
“Good luck.” Fiona smiled with such an assurance that he was going to win Pippa over, and headed off. Jonathon almost believed it himself, but Pippa was a stubborn woman and he sure as hell hadn’t a clue how she would react to seeing him again. He could almost taste the sweet relief but he pushed it to one side. She may not want to talk to him.
As he raced through the ship, the certainty that he would find her in Akoroa infused him. This felt so right, unlike yesterday where panic had been a not-too-distant companion. An overwhelming peace calmed him. He would find his girl, and then whatever happened would be purely down to him. If he messed it up, it was his fault, he couldn’t blame publicity, ex-boyfriends, misunderstandings about relationships with the boss, anything.
It was all down to him.
After the dithering of the last twenty-four hours, it felt great to have a rock solid purpose. He didn’t notice the trip into Milford Sound, purposefully refusing to think about the flight, thinking instead of Pippa and that last betrayed looked as she’d realised Marcus was on board. That look would forever haunt him. He had to convince her of his love.
When he saw the Cessna, he swallowed to get rid of the rush of saliva in his mouth. He was going to fly over the Southern Alps in that? His heart thumped, resembling an African drum, hollow and lonely.
He had to do it. It was only three hours out of his life. Everybody flew, he was just being stupid. He couldn’t take the chance of driving, she may have left Akorao by then.
This was for Pippa, for love, for the rest of his life.
• • •
Fred, the pilot, handed him a silver hip flask as he belted up. “Whisky — you look like you’ll need it.” His expression was wry as he flicked some buttons overhead and the engines roared in response.
Jonathon couldn’t reply, only nod in appreciation and take a swallow of the fire water. He handed it back to Fred who waved it away. “It’s for you, mate. I don’t drink.”
With that, the plane was on the move. Jonathon clutched onto his arms of his seat, myriad emotions skidding through him.
Pippa. Think of Pippa. Think of what you’re going to say to her.
An image of her, dancing with the Maoris, green eyes sparkling at him and topsy-turvy curls glowing in the firelight changed to her lying beside him in front of the fire, running her hand over his side. Was there a more perfect woman in the world than Pippa Renshaw?
As the plane made its way over the Alps, buffeted by the winds, Jonathon held on to the thought of Pippa loving him and their future life together. His stomach stopped roiling, his head stopped spinning, blood returned to his fingers and toes. What had he been thinking? He didn’t have a fear of flying — this was excitement, adrenaline twisting through him. His luck was in — the kind of luck that’s with someone when they’re doing the right thing, finally.
He and Pippa were meant to be.
• • •
Pippa lay on crisp white cotton sheets under a pretty patchwork quilt and big fluffy pillows in that place between sleeping and waking, relaxed as a rag doll. When she had seen it, her mood had lightened, and despite it being late morning, she’d decided to take a nap. How could she re
fuse that bed? Jean-Pierre had said his mother had sewn the quilt using an aerial image of the South Island as a pattern.
She swung her feet off the bed to encounter warm flagstones.
I’ve died and gone to Heaven. If only Jonathon were here.
The thought of him brought a renewed sharp ache to her chest. When would she be free of him? Padding over to the large sash window, her heart softened as the sea spread out before her.
The house that Jean-Pierre shared with Darrel was half an hour from the vineyards. Earlier on, they had come in through the back, and the sound of the waves had lulled her into a deep afternoon sleep — but she hadn’t known the house was right there on the beach. Could she go swimming? What the hell, it was just what she needed. The clock said four-thirty, so there was plenty of time before dinner at seven.
She grabbed her swimsuit and a towel and ran down the stairs, calling out for Jean-Pierre. When she didn’t get a reply, she scrabbled about in the hall until she found a pencil and phone pad, and hastily wrote a note for him.
The back door of the large kitchen opened onto the beach. She walked down the stony steps, stopping only to take in the long beach as it stretched far from her. The sea was more blue than green, with a light wind whipping up white tipped waves. She could feast her eyes on it for hours. The constant movement and charge of the deep was mesmerizing. It matched her grief. Unchanging, yet constantly in motion, commanding her attention at all times.
She dropped her towel and headed toward the water, her insides already shrinking away from the thought of the cold water. She waded in quickly, gasping at the cold, then plunged into a wave before swimming as fast as she could.
Her body was soon covered in goose pimples, but it felt so good. As she concentrated on swimming and not freezing to death, it forced all thoughts of Jonathon to the back of her mind. Warming up finally, she flipped over onto her back to float and watch the royal blue sky, with little fluffy clouds scudding over. Seawater kept washing over her face. She flipped into treading water, and it was then that she saw them.
Dolphins.
About ten of them, circling her. She forgot to breathe as she stared in awe. Wow. Dolphins here with her in the wild, letting her share their water, choosing to swim with her.
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