Always a Rainbow

by Gloria Bevan

  She giggled up at him. “I was hoping you would.”

  The burning thought came to Angela that this was the reason he hadn’t kissed Susan goodbye. Why should he, when they could make their farewells in privacy later on when the other travellers had left them? Oh, why did she think these things? Why did it hurt so much to picture the other two alone together? Susan—was she the reason why Mark had left her so abruptly when they had shared the firelit intimacy on the night of the storm?

  Wrenching her thoughts back to the present, she became aware of the protestations of friendship and heartful thanks that were echoing all around her. The business man, whose taut nerves had gradually unwound amid the peaceful surroundings of the station, bade Angela and Mark a courteous farewell. The two women friends extended a warm invitation to all at the homestead to come and stay for a visit at the big old house the two shared in the city. No need to give any notice, they told them, just come! As the line of vehicles moved away the two young boys leaned from the window waving wildly and shouting “See you in August!”

  Angela’s parting wave was perfunctory. Somehow she couldn’t prevent her gaze from straying towards Susan. The bright sunshine tangled sunbeams in the blonde hair as she leaned from her car, laughing and calling to Mark who was in the lead of the procession of vehicles.

  At her side Brian said, “Well, that’s the last we’ll see of that lot! Now comes the bit Doris didn’t like at the end of these emergency set-ups—washing all the bed linen and getting it ready for the next lot!”

  The thought ran through Angela’s mind that Brian was speaking to her without his customary sense of unease. Perhaps in the excitement of the moment he had temporarily forgotten that she was a friend of the girl who had betrayed him. She thought he looked different this morning. A tinge of healthy colour tinged his face and he appeared stronger. “You’ll have to get Jill to give you a hand with it,” he said carelessly.

  The smile forming on Angela’s lips died away as she met the younger girl’s angry glance. “Why should I?” Jill muttered resentfully. The soft young lips tightened. “She’s getting paid for it!”

  “Don’t bother!” Angela turned aside and went to attack the pile of linen heaped beside the washing machine. As she flung sheets and pillow cases into the churning suds her thoughts wandered. She wouldn’t have imagined that Jill’s suspicious, hostile attitude towards her could hurt so much. Just a strange girl, whom she wouldn’t ever meet again once she left here, and yet ... One more thing she had to blame Martha for, one more person to dislike and distrust her.

  Keep busy, she admonished herself, and don’t let all this worry you. Immediately, however, the thought ran through her mind. If only one person here believed in me, if only that one person were Mark! Since the night of the storm she had tried not to think of him—tried, but it was no use, for waking or sleeping he stayed in her mind. He had become a part of her life, the only part that mattered. She had been grateful for the crowded house that made it possible to avoid meeting his direct glance. From now on it wouldn’t be easy to conceal her thoughts when their eyes met, yet somehow she must do just that. If only there was some magical way one could put a lock on longing, shut out the heartbreak.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  To Angela it seemed strange to feel so isolated, for telephone lines were down and there were no newspapers or mail deliveries. Not that she was expecting any letters, but it was possible that Doris might have written from the South Island. Her only other correspondent was Graeme back in London, and she had as yet given him no forwarding address. Was it because deep down she wanted to put him out of her life? Since coming to Waikare she had found herself in another world and there was no going back. It seemed, she mused on a sigh, that it took only one man, one special man, to make you feel that way; for you to long never to be out of sight of him, even though you knew perfectly well you were asking for heartbreak.

  Nevertheless she must write to Graeme, and soon. Back in her room she dropped down to the bed and sat for a long time nibbling the end of her ballpoint. Of what could she write? Should she describe the scenery here, try to paint a picture of life on an outback New Zealand sheep station? But she knew he wouldn’t be interested. The tag of verse Brian had read to her jingled in her mind with a ring of truth.

  “But if I say so here folks stare

  Not knowing how it is out there.”

  No, the only subject of interest to Graeme would be their own plans for the future, only the plans weren’t real any longer. She knew now that whatever doubts she might have had about marrying Graeme had crystallised into certainty. Now there wasn’t the slightest question in her mind that the lukewarm affair you could scarcely term a romance was over. But how did you tell a man who cared for you that you didn’t love him and never would? Mark’s clear decisive tones seemed to echo in her mind “A clean cut ... kindest in the long run.” It was almost as if he were dictating the words, not many and as little hurtful as she could make them. “Sorry, I hope this won’t come as too much of a shock, but since coming out here I’ve had time to think things over and it’s only fair to let you know I’ve changed my mind about our plans. It’s not that there’s anyone else—” She stared at the sentence until the words seemed to intensify on the page. “Isn’t it?” The silly teardrop splashed down on the paper and she crumpled it up and threw it aside. She forced herself to write a second note, omitting the part that wasn’t true, the part, she thought wryly, that hurt her even more than it would wound him, fool that she was. It was a horrible letter, stilted and unreal, but it was the best she could do. She sealed the flimsy airmail envelope before she could write another which would be no improvement on this.

  When she went into the lounge the telephone was ringing. So the line had been repaired! She hurried to pick up the receiver and caught Doris’s excited tones. “Is that you, Angela?”

  “That’s me!” Heart-warming to hear a friendly voice, even over the wire. “How are you, Doris? I hope you’ve got some news of Kelly’s arrival?”

  “Oh, I have! I have! This morning! I thought I’d ring you first of all to let you know the good news. The most beautiful baby, with the biggest brown eyes you ever saw in your life. Eve’s so thrilled!”

  “I can imagine! A wee girl after all those boys! No wonder your daughter’s so proud of her—”

  “Oh, it’s not a her, dear, it’s a he and a big nine-pounder at that!”

  “Oh dear ... I hope your daughter isn’t disappointed?”

  “Disappointed? Good lord, no! She’s on top of the world! She says she’s so used to boys now she doesn’t know how she’d cope with a fussy, prissy little girl around the place. She says it would sure to be a boyish type with all those brothers to play with. You know, pack a gun in her belt-holster and play those awful warlike games the boys love. It’s really much better this way, Eve says. She’s got oodles of clothes for hand-me-downs, not pants, of course, they always go through the knees, but lots of tops!”

  Tactfully Angela refrained from any mention of the drawer in the homestead crammed with “think-pinks”. Not that she could get a word in had she wished, for Doris, excited and happy, chatted on breathlessly. She enquired about happenings at the station. Had Angela and Mark managed to get back to the homestead on the night of the storm after seeing her off at the airport in town? How was Brian progressing? And John, had Angela heard any more of him? Was Jill still staying at the house? Would it suit Angela if she stayed on for a full month in the south? At last she rang off, and feeling cheered by the friendly tones Angela strolled down the steps.

  She decided to take a walk. Of late there had been so many duties to keep her indoors. (Don’t kid yourself, it’s not the station surroundings you’re interested in seeing but Mark—always Mark). Pushing the thought aside, she moved out into the afternoon sunshine where in the flower plots bedraggled roses and mud-spattered lilies gave evidence of the recent storm. By the pool Rusty was busy with a long bamboo rake scooping up a pink wash
of Suva Queen hibiscus blossoms swept by high winds from bushes growing on the bank above. As Angela neared him he glanced up and something in the familiar deep chuckle and crinkled smile touched her. That was what came of being generally disliked, she told herself wryly, it made you pathetically grateful for the slightest sign of affection that came your way.

  “Hi, Rusty,” she came to stand beside him. “It looks as though the storm has made lots of extra work for you!”

  “Keeps me out of mischief!” He chuckled. “Same goes for you. I’d say! Looks like a refugee camp, does Waikare, every time the river floods.” He tossed the blossoms on a mounting heap of pink petals. “That Sue, she wouldn’t be much help to you ... all talk, that one. Doris keeps a stock of frozen stuff all ready for times when a crowd appears from nowhere. Took all the credit for looking after them herself. Sue did, I bet?”

  Angela’s lips curved in a smile. “How did you guess?”

  Rusty’s small frame shook as he chuckled to himself. “Can’t help getting to know folk in isolated places like this. The good and the bad, it sticks out a mile, no matter how folk try to hide it. That Sue, she ain’t never seemed to have heard about not counting your chickens before they’re hatched,” the blue eyes glinted conspiratorially, “know what I mean?”

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  “So long as you don’t let her pull the wool over your eyes.” He bent to pick up a blossom and tossed it on the top of the pile. Enigmatically he added, “The boss, he don’t say much, but he won’t let any woman push him around, no, sir!”

  Angela pretended not to understand him, but her spirits rose magically. Rusty was only, what had he termed himself, the “do-anything-man,” but come to think of it, wasn’t that about the most valuable attribute of all in these remote districts where settlers could be called upon to do all manner of jobs that in the cities would be undertaken by tradesmen or craftsmen? What if Rusty were right? What if the liking, the pushing, the affection were all on Susan’s side? All at once it seemed to her that sunshine had never seemed so sparkling, air so crystal clear. For once the wind had dropped away and it was very still. Two seabirds soared overhead, white wings outspread against the translucent blue. She heard herself saying in what she hoped was a tone of unconcern, “Where is he working today, the boss?”

  Rusty bent to prop up a drooping stem of giant flowering stock. “He’s over in the paddock breaking in a new horse. Why don’t you take a stroll over there and take a look? He’s got his own method when it comes to breaking in his horses and it works like a charm!”

  Angela hesitated. She had a swift recollection of a television documentary programme she had once viewed a mental picture of spurs and whips, of a terrified wild thing roped and thrown to the ground. “It’s not too cruel?”

  “Cruel? Mark? Girl, you’ve got the wrong idea about the boss. When it comes to breaking in horses he knows what he’s doing. He takes time about it, no hurry, gently does it. It takes plenty of patience believe me but it works in the long run. You have to hand it to the boss, he knows his job!”

  Angela was looking puzzled. “But how could he break in a horse gently?”

  “Easy if you take your time about it. The boss, he starts right at the beginning, gets the foal used to being handled by him, gets the little chap’s confidence, makes the foal feel he’s not afraid of him. Mark does that all the time the foal’s growing up, and then when the day comes for the young one to have the saddle on his back Mark has no trouble. I’ve seen him get on a newly-broken mount and ride him around the paddock quiet as can be no problem.” The blue eyes in the weather-roughened face twinkled. “You should go and watch him in action. Know the place I mean? Through the first gate, turn left and follow the sheeptracks to the top of the rise.

  “It’s an idea, I think I’ll do just that!” But in her heart Angela knew it was more than an idea, it was a compulsion, an excuse to see Mark once more. She simply couldn’t help herself, why pretend otherwise?

  Strolling past garages and implement sheds, she reached the gateway. As usual she had to push aside a cluster of fiat woolly sheep contentedly enjoying their dustbath before she could open the gate. The path to the left that Rusty had indicated led down into a bush-filled gully where giant tree-ferns and tall leafy puriri trees met overhead. When she emerged into bright sunlight she climbed the slope and found herself on a grassy plateau where a man was leading a bay mare around a worn dirt track. Angela paused to watch as Mark leaped up into the saddle, but there were no buck jumps or wild sideways leaps in an attempt to unseat the rider. For a moment the mare stood motionless then she continued quietly along the dusty circle in the grass.

  She climbed up on the gateway, perching herself on the top rail and swinging tanned legs. As he caught sight of her, Mark waved, “Be with you in a minute!” Soon he was pulling rein beside her. He dropped to the ground and gave the mare an encouraging pat. Angela caught the deep quiet tones. “That’s enough for one day, old lady. Take it easy now!” He was slipping away saddle and girth. “Not too bad, was it? Tomorrow we’ll try out a trot and canter. You’ll catch on in no time at all! We’re going to get along fine together, you and I!”

  How infinitely soothing were the low masculine tones. So this was the pattern of breaking in the horses bred on the station, a method that produced such unfailingly successful results. Kindness in place of cruelty, patience and understanding rather than ruthlessness or the whip that could break an animal’s spirit for all time.

  He came to lean on the gate beside her, the bridle jingling from his arm, and she looked down at him, unaware that her eyes were shining. “Is that all there is to breaking in a horse? I guess she won’t mind your mounting her next time, or the next?”

  “That’s the idea, Twenty! Myself, I don’t go for that word ‘breaking’. There’s no need for anything of that sort. Not that I’ve got any particular magic touch. What you saw just now was the result of months of handling. Ever since that mare was born I’ve been around with her, won her confidence—”

  “I know, I know! Rusty was telling me—”

  “Rusty?” His blue eyes squinted against the sun as he grinned up at her. “You don’t want to believe all you hear, Twenty! The old boy happens to be prejudiced about some things.”

  “Including the boss?” Angela’s hazel eyes were laughing and provocative.

  “Could be.”

  All at once her expression sobered. Someone else had said those words to her quite recently. Of course, Martha. Now the thought ran through her mind that the advice could work for as well as against her. Like everyone at the station believing that Susan and Mark would be married one of these days—everyone but Rusty, that was. Or was she grasping at straws, clutching at any hope rather than face up to a truth that hurt too much to acknowledge?

  Mark gave a friendly pat to the mare standing by the fence. “Away you go, old girl. We’ll have another session tomorrow.” How infinitely gentle was his manner with the highly-strung mare, Angela mused. A tender lover too, she wouldn’t wonder. His deep tones cut across her musing. “Ever done any riding, Twenty?”

  She shook her head and dropped down beside him on the grass. “I never had the chance.”

  “Like to?”

  “Uh-huh.” (I’d like to do anything if you were there with me to show me how, Mark.) The truth hit her like a blow. “Only there isn’t much time left now, is there?”

  He didn’t answer and the next moment she wondered if she had imagined his odd considering look, for he was saying lightly, “Right now I’m going to take you to see the falls. After the rain the other night they should be quite a sight!” Moving towards the Land Rover, he flung saddle and bridle in the back and swung open the passenger door. “Hop in!”

  “There are an awful lot of things to see on this station,” she murmured. She was conscious of a secret happiness. They were alone together in the stillness and the sunshine and all at once nothing else in the world mattered.

  The
Land Rover lurched over rough ground as they dropped down into the green gloom of a tree-filled gully, then swept up to the crest of a high hill. Mark brought the vehicle to a stop, pointing out to Angela the southern boundaries where rough bushland was covered in an impenetrable jungle of twisted tea tree. Beyond were the swamplands, choked with mangroves and perilous to all but those familiar with the treacherous depths. They moved on, sweeping down a track cut through thickly-growing native bush and presently Mark braked to a stop over long tree-shadows on the path. “It’s a walking track from now on. Not far.” Angela’s curious gaze took in a twisting track lost to view amongst dense bush. “I’ll go ahead,” Mark said, “and show you the way!”

  She followed him down the overgrown track, stepping carefully over trailing black ropes of supple jack looped from branches high above. Thorny bush lawyer and trailing plants barred their progress, but Mark pushed aside the tangled barriers as Angela made her way forward. In the depths of the bush the air was hot and still, the only sound the buzz of insects. Once from their feet a native pigeon rose with a flutter of iridescent blue-green wings. As they went on Angela could hear the muted roar of a waterfall that gradually became louder. Then at last they emerged from the filtered green light into a grassy clearing and she was conscious of a cloud of spray blowing cool and damp on her face. She stepped back, laughing, then her gaze lifted. A hundred feet up white spray was blowing over the flax and tea-tree growing on the banks as the sun-shot water tumbled in a never-ending white torrent to foam and swirl over rocks far below. “Lovely!” She looked up at him, her face flushed from the heat of the bush-track.

  “You haven’t seen it all yet! There’s something rather special down here. We’ll have to wade through the water though—give me your hand!”

  At his touch once again the masculine magnetism took over, potent, way beyond her control, so that forgetting everything else Angela stumbled on a slippery rock and would have fallen had it not been for his strong grasp. She realised they were making their way towards a cavern beneath the falls. Inside the damp earth walls were encrusted with small ferns and pools of water lay on the ground. Mark pushed aside long spears of flax and turned towards her with a smile. “Now you can look!”