Always a Rainbow

by Gloria Bevan

  “Oh, it is! It still is!” Angela smiled her warm and friendly smile. “Trouble is that I decided to give myself a week’s holiday first of all. I mean, to find yourself in a city like Auckland and not be able to have a good look around the place because you’re flat out working for a living—No, I just couldn’t settle for that! And am I glad I took that week! It was fantastic! The beaches are gorgeous for swimming, lots of sand and surf, not too many people around—and so safe! I could take my choice of big white rollers pounding in on the sand or quiet bays around the harbour. Oh, there were endless things to see and do in Auckland. Ferry trips out to the islands of the gulf, tramps through native bush in hills quite near the city, shopping centres out in the suburbs that are really something! I could have gone on enjoying myself there for ages. But yesterday I woke up in the morning and said to myself, ‘Summer’s not for ever, my girl! You’d better forget this lotus-eater existence and get out and find some work for yourself before your money runs out.’ So here I am!”

  “Any particular reason why you’re heading north?”

  “Not really. Just that a girl at the youth hostel where I was putting up in town told me the scenery up at the Bay of Islands is something out of this world and it seems there are lots of tourist places around where you can pick up something to do—waitressing, motel-work, receptionist jobs at the tourist hotels. Anyway, I’m going to give it a go and if there’s nothing offering at the moment I can always move on somewhere else. See something of the country for as long as my funds hold out.”

  “There’s plenty of work offering in the summer evidently for anyone who wants it.” Martha’s tone was abstracted.

  “That’s what I gathered.”

  Martha didn’t appear to be listening. All at once she swung around to face Angela. “Look, you can have my job if you like! That is if you’ve no objection to working on a sheep and cattle station way up at the back of beyond. I wasn’t wrapped up in the idea of going there all along, and then this offer of Harvey’s came up, so I thought I’d better show up and explain things, seeing I’d offered to help them out.” Angela couldn’t understand Martha speaking in this jerky and confused manner, Martha who was always so coolly confident. “But it’s yours, the job, if you’re interested?”

  “But I am! Don’t you remember my telling you when we were at sea that working on a New Zealand sheep station was one of the things I was looking forward to doing out here?”

  “I remember.” There was an odd inflection in Martha’s tones, but the next moment Angela forgot the fleeting impression.

  “Well then, here’s your big chance! Why not take advantage of it? I’d planned to stop off at the next town. The man I spoke to over the phone said he’d meet me there at the bus stop. The arrangement was that—well, anyway I thought I’d go with him to his home and explain everything, then pick up another bus going north. I just wanted to tell him ... tell him...” Her voice faltered and she moistened dry lips.

  Angela couldn’t understand why the other girl appeared to be so embarrassed, almost guilt-ridden, over such a small matter as having changed her mind about a job on an outback station. Or why Martha seemed so anxious that someone else should fill the vacancy. Unless it was because she wished to ease her own conscience in the matter. Funny, one would never imagine Martha giving a second thought to letting anyone down, especially a strange man whom she had never met. It just went to show how mistaken you could be about folk whom you thought you knew. Aloud she murmured slowly, “You mean you promised to take this job and now you feel you’re letting the people there down by not turning up as arranged?”

  Martha appeared to grasp eagerly at the proffered explanation. “That’s it! That’s it exactly! You see, it was a promise ... well, sort of.” She glanced towards Angela, taking in the direct gaze of the clear hazel eyes, the long coppery-coloured hair lifting on her shoulders in the breeze blowing through the open window, the vulnerable young face. “You’d suit him fine, I would think.”

  “What sort of work does he want you to do on the station?” Angela queried.

  “It’ll be helping his wife in the house, I expect.”

  An apprehensive light sprang into her eyes. “Because if it’s cooking for the family it’s out—definitely! All those healthy country children with colossal appetites! It gives me the horrors just to think of it! I just couldn’t face it!”

  “Don’t worry,” said Martha, “it’s not cooking, at least I wouldn’t think so.” She sounded unusually vague. “I only spoke to the man on the station for a minute or so. The one I wanted to contact wasn’t available, but this other one said he’d put me in the picture about everything when I got there. When he first began talking to me he mentioned something about wanting someone to help with the shearing—”

  “Shearing?” Angela jerked herself upright. “I wouldn’t have a clue!”

  “I think he mistook me for some other girl,” Martha broke in hurriedly. “It was a bad connection and I couldn’t hear very well. No, what they’ll be wanting up there is a girl to lend a hand with the housework. Who knows,” she added with a smile, “it might turn out to be a kind of holiday.”

  Angela said thoughtfully. “I had planned to stay the night in a motel somewhere up north, get a newspaper in the morning and see what was offering in the way of casual work.”

  “Well then,” cried Martha triumphantly, “what are you waiting for? What have you got to lose?”

  “Nothing really, I guess. Only...” Why was she hesitating? It was the type of job she had been seeking and now it was being handed to her on a plate. Yet something, some small voice of caution, held her back. Was it because in her heart she didn’t altogether trust Martha? You couldn’t live in the close proximity of shipboard life with anyone for six weeks and not learn something of them, and experience had taught her not to trust Martha’s motives, or her smooth persuasive tongue. But surely there could be no possible harm in taking the casual work she was being offered. What could be wrong in that?

  A thought came out of nowhere. Had it been Martha herself who had been the means of alienating Harvey from her? Because she wanted his company herself? It would seem so. Not that it mattered in the least. In a way it had been a relief to be free of his constant presence, his almost pathetic attempts to give her pleasure at no matter what cost to himself. No, it didn’t matter one little bit that Harvey had transferred his affections to Martha. But what if it had?

  “I don’t know what you’re worrying about.” Martha’s impatient tones broke into her thoughts. Did the indecision in her face show so much? “If you’re thinking he may not turn up to meet you you can put that thought right out of your mind. I’m to be called for at the bus stop at the nearest town to Waikare Station. He’ll be waiting there to collect you. No problem.”

  “It’s not that.” Angela stared abstractedly out of the window. The road ran between high banks of fern and gorse, sweeping towards a fringe of blue gums traced against the luminous blue of the sky. As the vehicle topped the rise she could see ahead a long wide street lined with old buildings, a parking area with jeeps and Land Rovers, a dilapidated timber hotel. Time was running out. She must make up her mind. Why was Martha so anxious that Angela should take her place? Why was it of such importance, this back-country job on a station about which Martha had had second thoughts?

  “I know! I’ll toss it over to fate!” Fishing in her woven flax kit, she took out a coin purse and found a five-cent piece. “Heads I take the job, tails I don’t!”

  “Hurry then,” there was an odd tense note in Martha’s voice, “we’re almost there!”

  The silver coin flashed in the sunlight, then settled on Angela’s outstretched palm. “Head’s it is!”

  Martha let out her breath in a long sign of relief and the fleeting thought crossed Angela’s mind that the other girl seemed in an awful hurry to get rid of her. Perhaps Martha did have a conscience in the matter after all.

  “Got your bag with you?” Martha enq
uired, still in that tense tone.

  Angela nodded, then glanced out to the wide street where the bus was pulling in.

  “If he’s not there yet he won’t be long,” Martha said quickly, standing aside to allow Angela to pass her in the narrow corridor. “He could have been delayed a little, but he’ll be along. He promised. His name’s Hillyer, Brian Hillyer—Oh, I almost forgot! Give him this, will you? It’s just something he might want.” She pressed into Angela’s woven flax kit a bulging manila envelope. “And tell him I’m sorry. ’Bye!”

  Angela bent to scan the quiet street. There was no one waiting there, that was for sure. Was she being wise in trusting Martha, knowing Martha as she did? Already, however, the Maori driver was standing in the open doorway regarding her enquiringly. “What name, miss?”

  “Oh—Twentyman!” She followed him out towards the luggage compartment at the rear of the vehicle. “There it is, the blue canvas one beside the mail bags.”

  Grinning goodnaturedly, the driver placed the travel bag down on the path beside her. “Have a good holiday!”

  “Thank you.” The bus was moving slowly towards a stream of country traffic when a cloud of red hair was thrust from a window.

  “Land Rover!” screamed Martha. “He’s coming for you in a Land Rover with deer antlers on the front!”

  Angela smiled and nodded to show she had got the message, then stood watching the bus as it traversed the wide street that appeared from this point to run directly into the mountains ahead.

  She had been the only passenger to disembark at the small township and feeling all at once self-conscious standing alone in the sunshine, her travel bag at her feet, she moved into the shade of an awning over a store and pretended to interest herself in a display window filled with tractors and farm machinery. She was conscious of feeling very much alone waiting on a strange street for a man she knew only by name. She pulled herself together. It was the type of employment she had dreamed of back in the London flat, wasn’t it? So why feel this stupid trepidation, this sense of rushing headlong into the unknown? Thrusting the doubts aside, she scanned the roadway, but could see only dust-coated cars and cattle trucks, a long beer tanker and behind, a man driving a red tractor.

  Maybe this Brian Hillyer man wasn’t coming to meet her after all. Perhaps he had found another girl to take on the duties at his sheep station, whatever they might be. Odd to think she wasn’t even aware of what she was supposed to do there. But everyone had told her that New Zealand farmers’ wives were often desperately in need of household help, especially in an emergency such as illness, the arrival of a new baby in the family or a mother’s sudden call away from home that left young children in need of care. If only her thoughts wouldn’t continually stray to some type of cooking job. What if it transpired when she got there that her duties involved exactly that? If that was the job she hoped that “he” would never arrive to collect her. Nonsense! She called on her common sense, reminding herself that there were endless other duties required on sheep stations—there must be!

  A quarter of an hour later she was still standing at the bus stop, an anxious-eyed girl with auburn hair and a deceptive air of fragility, her sprigged cotton blouse clinging around her slim figure in the breeze and long skirt blowing around her ankles. But how long did a girl wait? And who was this man, anyway, who kept her standing on a windswept street corner to suit his own convenience?

  As if in answer to her thoughts at that moment a battered LandRover drew to a stop beside her and her gaze went to the deer antlers branching from the bonnet. A tall deeply suntanned man got out of the vehicle and came striding towards her.

  It was the type of face one couldn’t easily forget, lean and dark with soft black hair falling over a bronzed forehead. The next moment she became aware of his cool appraisal. “I was told to look out for a girl with red hair. Are you—”

  “That’s me—or near enough!” Her young face flooded with relief and she sent him her wide and friendly smile. “Gosh, I began to wonder if you were ever coming to collect me! I feel as if I’ve been standing on this street corner for ever.”

  “I’ve come now.”

  She found herself meeting the chilliest blue eyes she had ever encountered. He wasn’t even offering her an apology! He was young and broad-shouldered with a lithe grace, and the thought spun through her mind that at any other time she might have considered him attractive in a tough, sun-weathered sort of way, but now all she was aware of was his icy stare. Clearly there was no welcome for her here, not even the slightest hint of friendliness, just that glowering look. What had she ever done to him, for heaven’s sake, to merit that forbidding expression? Anyone would imagine that he was the one who had been kept waiting for ages! In a nervous gesture she caught up a long strand of hair and twined it around her fingers. I don’t know that I’m all that anxious to go with you Mr. Brian Hillyer, not now. If you’re to be my employer—no, thanks!

  Thrusting the whirling doubts aside, she said hesitantly, “You are Brian Hillyer?”

  “Not me!” The flint-like tones cut across her soft husky accents. “I’m his brother Mark.”

  “Oh!” Now she was certain of the hard antagonistic note in his voice. Well, at least she had contacted the right family. She had an absurd sensation of fumbling around in a darkened unknown room, but willing herself to disregard his forbidding expression she said, “But your brother is expecting me today? You see, the arrangement was that I was to be picked up here and taken to—” wildly she searched her mind for the name, but the Maori syllables eluded her, “the station.” She hesitated. “He does still ... want me?”

  He was silent for a moment, regarding her with an odd look she couldn’t interpret. “You’ll have to sort that out with him yourself when you get there!” He swung open the passenger door, then picking up her travel bag tossed it into the back of the vehicle amongst coils of fencing wire, a sack of dog nuts and drums of drench. Angela got the distinct impression that it would have given him the greatest satisfaction to toss her in after the bag with the same savage gesture.

  She hung back uncertainly. “Just a moment. I’m not sure if I—”

  “Get in!” he rasped.

  Two schoolgirls had paused, giggling, to take in the little scene and Angela with an impatient, “Oh, all right!” climbed inside and seated herself on the high seat. As he came around the side of the Land Rover and dropped down to the driver’s seat she flung him an indignant glance. “Do you always order folk around like this?”

  He didn’t even turn his head but swinging the vehicle in a circle headed for the darkening hills ahead. “Only when it’s something that happens to matter a lot.”

  “I don’t see how it can matter all that much,” she protested. “It was just a promise. I’m keeping it that’s all. Look, there’s something I have to explain.”

  He threw her a brief enquiring glance and her smile died away in the face of his bleak hard stare.

  “Save all that for Brian,” he broke in harshly. “He’s the one you have to tell, explain things to, if you can.”

  Angrily Angela subsided in her seat. Never had she come across a man of such utter rudeness. Yet something told her that he was a person who was naturally well-mannered, and incredible though it seemed, she suspected it was her own appearance that had triggered off his state of barely controlled fury. But he was a stranger to her, she had never seen him before. Could his animosity be something to do with Martha? Had something happened of which she was ignorant and she had simply stumbled into the middle of it? But Martha had given her to understand that they were strangers, she and Brian Hillyer.

  It was all very odd and definitely disquieting. More than ever she regretted having given way to the impulse that had landed her in this situation, on the way to an unknown destination with a stranger whom she couldn’t fathom at all. A man who in other circumstances—she stole a sideways glance at the strong masculine profile, the soft dark hair, the firm sensitive lines of the mouth�
��she might have thought definitely attractive. Again she had the impression that he wasn’t as a rule like this, so off-putting and terse. If he refused to hear her explanation of how she happened to be taking the place of the girl to whom her brother had offered the job, that was all right with her. It didn’t matter anyway. She wouldn’t be staying at the station, not with this grim-faced man, no sir! She’d see this Brian man, explain what had happened about the position, then ask to be brought back to town where she would catch a bus and move on. She glanced towards the set face of the man at her side. She couldn’t imagine he’d have any objections to bringing her back, it was having her with him that seemed to be making him so incensed.

  Thrusting the disturbing thoughts aside, she peered out of the window. They had swung off the main highway and turned into a road winding between gentle green slopes evocative of the English countryside. Timbered farmhouses and mellow red outbuildings gleamed from shelter belts of tall pines, and weathered tea-tree loading ramps were built at the roadside.

  Soon, however, the smooth bitumen of the road petered away into rough metal. The pleasant cultivated farmlands were left behind and ahead were only the endless sheep-dotted hills. A hawk rose from the dust of the track and soared into the blue.

  To Angela the winding grey road seemed to go on for ever as they took the steep slopes, dropped down the hairpin bends on the other side, only to rise once again with always the pockets of native bush running up the valleys. They were climbing ever higher, and glancing down she could see sheep and black steers grazing in cleared paddocks far below. A purple haze lay over the cloud-shadowed slopes and around them echoed cascading notes of silvery bird-song. Angela would have liked to have known the name of the songster, but a glance at the grim profile at her side dissuaded her from enquiring. It was all new and colourful and exciting—or would have been had she had any other companion but this particular one. As it was she couldn’t wait to reach his home, wherever it was and arrange her return to civilisation just as soon as she possibly could.