Always a Rainbow

by Gloria Bevan

  “A rainbow in the falls,” she cried incredulously, “away down here? I just don’t believe it!” She was fascinated by the arch of muted colours. Eerie and insubstantial as a dream, the rainbow glistened through the blowing spray.

  “There’s always a rainbow here,” Mark told her, “so long as the sun shines. Thought you’d like it.”

  “Like it!” Angela thought she had never seen anything as beautiful as the misted colours curving through the blown spray. “It’s so funny,” she scarcely realised she was speaking her innermost thoughts aloud, “the rainbow, I mean. I used to think that coming out to this country was a bit like looking for—” Her voice faltered into silence as the terrible thought came to her that he’d be bound to put his own interpretation on her particular “pot of gold”. A rich Kiwi husband, a wealthy sheep farmer? Stupid, stupid! Now she had sent the magic of the moment flying away into nothingness, blown away like the mists swirling around them.

  “This, Twenty?” He turned to catch her in his arms and excitement was making her heart beat faster as he drew her close. The next moment very gently his lips brushed her cheek. A breath of wind tossed the flying spray towards them in a misty shower, but neither noticed as at last he found her lips in a kiss that for Angela blotted out the world.

  Afterwards she told herself that there must have been some special magic in the misted rainbow, otherwise she would have drawn herself away from him sooner, not let him kiss her when he was already involved with someone else. But she had forgotten Susan, forgotten everything, and it was only with an effort of will that she disengaged herself and drew free. “Pot of gold,” she murmured wildly, “that’s what I meant.”

  He said very softly, “That’s what I meant too.”

  Pain twisted her heart. So her fears were justified. He was referring, of course, to Martha and her husband-hunting projects in a new country, what else? He made to take her in his arms once again, but with an unsteady laugh she turned aside, said quickly, “Hadn’t we better get back?”

  “As you wish!” A muscle twitched at the side of his bronzed cheek. He was silent as they retraced their steps over the water-washed rocks and up the bush track. Glancing towards his set jaw and chilly blue eyes, she wondered if he were already regretting that kiss by the waterfall. But what was a kiss? More likely he had already forgotten the momentary impulse that had impelled him to caress someone whom he usually regarded with a sort of indulgent amusement. Still, she was a girl and he was a man—and Susan was far away.

  Hurrying her steps, Angela stumbled on over the overgrown trail. Somehow it didn’t bear thinking about, that kiss. To him a mere gesture, to her a moment of ecstasy, of being close at last to a man who was everything she had ever dreamed of in a lover. How amused he would be, she thought with secret irony, were he to be aware of the truth of her dreams about that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. For a brief time she had thought she had found it, but evanescent as a dream the moment of fulfilment had slipped from her grasp. You never ever found that pot of gold, not really. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. Imagine Mark, already probably planning a wedding with the daughter of a neighbouring station-owner, becoming seriously interested in Twenty, the shearers’ cook! Could anything be more unlikely?

  In the days that followed Angela told herself a thousand times that it was crazy, it was hopeless, it just didn’t make any sense for her to feel this way about Mark. But love, it seemed, took no account of common sense or resolutions and just to see him was suddenly everything—lighting his pipe, tossing back the thatch of thick black hair, giving the men their orders before riding away for the day’s work. Such ordinary things, yet significant because they were a part of him. And underneath it all the pain, the heartache that somehow she must hide from everyone, and especially from him. She was glad now for his casual attitude towards her, and it was only in dreams that he called her by her own name. Let him call her “Twenty”, that way it was easier, for she’d die, she’d just die if he ever guessed the way she felt about him.

  So this was love! She knew at last the reason why other affairs of the heart had never really touched her. Only vaguely had she felt that there was a deeper territory of the heart, heights and depths of which she knew nothing. Now she knew for sure. She also knew, she reminded herself bleakly, that loving Mark was a mistake. It was asking for misery. To her he was way out of reach and always would be.

  As she prepared meals and performed the usual household chores it seemed incredible to her that no one noticed her inner stress, but apparently the predominantly male household saw nothing different in her and if she had to force herself to eat the meals she prepared at least she succeeded in getting them down.

  Jill who might have been the one to notice Angela’s quietened spirits said nothing, but then the other girl avoided speaking to her whenever possible. It was clear that in some mixed-up way she continued to hold Angela responsible for having some part in Brian’s accident. It was cruel and unfair, but there was nothing to be done about it. Because she loathed living in an atmosphere of dislike and suspicion Angela made one more attempt to bridge the unhappy gap stretching between them. One morning as she laid the table for breakfast Jill said coldly, “You needn’t set a place for Brian. He went out early to help Mark earmark the steers.”

  “Goodness,” Angela paused in surprise, “that seems a tough job for anyone just recovering from an accident.”

  “It’s his decision.”

  “I suppose so.” Angela made a sudden decision on her own account. “Jill,” she said appealingly, “there’s something—”

  The other girl had gone to the door. Now she glanced back over her shoulder. At the hard discouraging expression in the blue eyes Angela’s resolution faltered, but she forced herself to go on. “Something I’d like to get straight. I know you think—”

  “If it’s something to do with your friend Martha don’t bother telling me any more lies! You’ve done enough damage already between the two of you!” The door slammed angrily behind her and Angela with heightened colour went on with breakfast preparations.

  Once or twice she had played with the idea of making another attempt to explain matters to Brian, but there was something about his attitude towards her that stopped her. A certain nervousness often when she appeared. When she tried to talk to him she was aware of unquiet overtones. A worried frown invariably appeared on his tanned face. Was it her imagination or was he asking himself, “How much does she know? Was it true what she said about their not being friends, or are they making a laughing stock of me, she and Martha?”

  On another level she was aware of life flowing on around her—Brian’s recovery, Mark working long hours, leaving the house at dawn and often returning to a late dinner after darkness had set in. The narrow one-way bridge was now repaired and there were callers once more at the homestead, stock agents, veterinary surgeons, agricultural experts.

  One day a letter arrived from Doris. She was having a wonderful time with her family and the new baby boy was so good he was quite unbelievable. She hated to ask favours, but if Angela could see her way to staying another couple of weeks? She was writing by the same mail to Mark, but she was certain he would be only too pleased for the present arrangement to go on a little longer. Pleased, Mark? Mark, who probably never gave her a thought from one day to the next. To whom a kiss was neither here nor there, just part of a day’s outing. If only she could think of him in the same way!

  She was in the lounge that evening when he came into the room and she saw that he held Doris’s letter in his hand. “Hi, Twenty, all alone?”

  Hadn’t he noticed, for goodness sake, that she was usually alone in the evenings? Jill was somewhere with Brian and Mark invariably worked in his office while she washed up after a late meal.

  He flung himself into a low coolie chair. “Heard from Doris today?”

  “Yes. I got a letter today too. She seems to be really enjoying herself down south.”

  He no
dded. “She’s having a ball. It’s about time she took off for a holiday, though I never thought she’d leave a stranger in charge here. Must have taken quite a fancy to you, Twenty!”

  Angela gathered her senses together. Ridiculous to feel so stirred up emotionally merely because he was regarding her with a quizzical teasing gleam in his blue eyes. She forced back an impulse to say, “Why shouldn’t she like me? Everyone isn’t prejudiced against me like you and your brother and Jill.” She heard herself saying, “I like her too.”

  “She’s a good sort, Doris.” He shot her one of those quick sideways glances. “How do you feel about staying on a bit longer? Letting her have a decent break while she’s down there. It’s been the devil of a Job to get her away this year and you’d be doing something really worthwhile for her.”

  As if she needed any persuading, with his blue glance full on her, the strong tanned face she couldn’t get out of her mind turned hopefully towards her. His gaze softened. “She’d like you to stay on, and that goes for me too!”

  “I’ll stay,” she said thickly. Heavens, she thought in distress, what if he guesses that staying on here means all the world to me? Even if it’s heaven being here it’s hell too, but anyway I can’t resist the offer. She subdued the excitement running along her nerves, said in what she hoped was an off-hand tone, “If you can stand my cooking.”

  “Stand it? Twenty, in my book you could get a job as assistant chef around here any old day you choose!”

  She tried to laugh naturally. “I’ll remember that.” Something deep inside her was crying, I’ll remember you, every little thing about you and especially your smile ... your smile.

  “If you stay,” he was saying, “you’ll be able to come along to the rodeo next week.”

  She nearly betrayed herself by saying quickly, “Will you be riding?”

  He grinned. “Always do. It’s a sort of tradition at Waikare for the owner to take part in the show. A day or two before I take one of the shepherds with me and we drive the wild horses down from the hills. That way we’re sure of getting the real thing for the riders. You’ll have a good day there, there’s a lot to see. You’ll like it.”

  “Will I?” The thought of watching him ride a bucking wild bronco filled her with horror, yet at the same time she felt such confidence in him that she couldn’t really imagine him being thrown or badly hurt in a fall.

  “You don’t sound too enthusiastic! But wait till you get there! Riders from the States, Canada, Australia, they all come over here to compete and there’s always a big crowd watching from the rails. Roping steers, buck-jumping, barrel race, there’s a lot to see.”

  “All right then, I’ll give it a go.”

  He grinned. “Give it a go! You know something, Twenty? You’re talking like one of the natives. You’ll be one of us before you know it.”

  “You think so?” She turned away before he could discern the shadow of pain in her eyes. With an effort she brought her mind back to the deep tones.

  “I’ll send a wire down to Doris, that’ll make her day. You’re sure about this. Twenty, you’ve made up your mind?”

  She nodded. “I’m sure.” Sure, when every nerve in her body was straining to stay here for ever, just as long as he wanted her! “One of us”, he had said, but it was only a joke to him. He was the boss again, an employer asking his employee to extend her term of service for a period. Why must she remember at this particular moment that kiss by the waterfall?

  Suddenly it was Saturday and the thought that Angela had pushed to the back of her mind could no longer be ignored. Saturday, when Susan was coming to the barbecue at Waikare. Why was it that whenever Susan was at the house Angela allowed herself to be pushed into the background? Mark had told her not to give the matter of preparation for the barbecue a thought, that the men would attend to all that. Angela mused uncharitably that even though everything was arranged regarding the preparation of food for tie evening’s entertainment Susan would no doubt take it on her own shoulders to organize everyone and everything. Brian had already taken the meat from the huge deep-freeze cabinet in the kitchen and the brick-lined barbecue by the pool was ready laid with fuel.

  That evening Angela changed shorts and blue denim blouse for floppy cream-coloured slacks and a gaily printed Mexican peasant blouse. Since coming here to work she had worn her Titian hair tied back from her face, but tonight she brushed out the long strands until they glinted and gleamed, leaving the coppery mass falling free over her shoulders. No need to tell the world how she felt inside. Tonight she was determined to appear gay and carefree.

  Already car-lights beamed across the window as vehicles pulled up on the drive. She could hear car-doors slamming, snatches of laughter and through it all, Susan’s high clear tones. So the other girl had brought guests with her, probably her visitors from Sydney. When the crowd had moved towards the barbecue Angela closed her door behind her. She had imagined she was the last to leave the house, but as she went down the hall someone was speaking on the telephone and she couldn’t help but overhear Brian’s tones. He was speaking in a voice quickened with excitement. “Yes, yes, I wouldn’t miss it, not now!” Then in a lowered tone, “I’ve got to go, someone’s coming. See you at the rodeo. ’Bye till then!”

  She forgot him as she went outside. The sun’s setting had left behind a lingering lemon afterglow shading upwards to a pale translucent blue. By the pool leaping flames from the barbecue illuminated long spears of growing flax and tall tea tree sheltering the brick fireplace. She was crossing the dew-wet grass when someone came hurrying up behind her. “Angela, wait!” She swung around to see Brian, his small-featured face alight with some inner excitement new to him. There was a difference in him tonight, she could sense it. Could it be that the telephone conversation that for some reason he had wished to keep secret so filled his mind that for once he had even forgotten to be uneasy with her? As she glanced up towards his abstracted face it seemed to her that for once he had even forgotten about her being “Martha’s friend”. At his next words she changed her mind. “Look,” his tone was laced with urgency and something else—excitement? curiosity? “Tell me something, will you?”

  She paused beside him. Something warned her that the “something” was a matter that mattered a lot to him. She said cautiously, “If I can.”

  “You can. It’s about Martha. You know, your friend, the girl who came out on the ship with you.”

  “Martha?” She gave an impatient sigh, but Brian deep in his thoughts, didn’t notice. What was the use of trying to convince any of them on the subject of Martha?

  “You see,” he was saying in that quick excited tone so removed from his usual diffident accents, “we were pen friends—well, a bit more than that, actually, at least that’s what I thought. And then—” He broke off, looking at her anxiously. “But you know all this. You were her friend. She must have told you!”

  Angela shook her head. “She didn’t!” She was becoming very weary of trying to tell people the truth about Martha. She said on an impatient sigh, “What is it you want to know?”

  “I just wanted to ask you about her.” Angela made to move on towards the group moving in the shadows of the flickering firelight, but Brian put out a hand to detain her. “Don’t go. I want to talk to you. When you first came I’d had it, I didn’t care, but now I’m okay again and there are things I’d like to find out, must find out, that only you can put me wise to. Tell me, what sort of a girl was she?”

  What could she say? Angela stalled for time. “How do you mean?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Well,” she said carefully, “she was good company, quick, witty. She always had a ready answer! She dressed beautifully, and of course she had that gorgeous red hair!”

  He said very low, “You know I don’t mean all that!” He kicked at a loose pebble in the dust of the path. “I guess it comes right down to a few words, really. Could you trust her?”

  “Trust her?” There it was, the
sixty-four-dollar question, the one she had been dreading. But she pretended not to understand. “She was honest, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “No, no,” he passed a hand over his head in a gesture of frustration. “What I mean is if she told you something that could be right or couldn’t be—heck I’m making a mess of this, but you know what I’m getting at. Could you believe her?”

  Oh yes, Angela knew very well what he was getting at. The difficulty was in making an answer. She decided to play it straight. “I can only answer for myself. We weren’t terribly friendly, you know, on the ship, just part of the same gang who used to knock around together. You know how it is on board ship—”

  “No, but I can imagine.”

  “I—liked her well enough ... until she tricked me, into coming here under false pretences. Oh, not that I didn’t want to stay in the end,” she added quickly, “but—”

  Brian was staring at her in surprise. “Tricked you?”

  She nodded. “You see, I hadn’t seen her since we left the ship in Auckland almost two weeks earlier, until that day we ran into each other on the bus coming north. I told her I happened to be on the lookout for a job, some work on an outback sheep station if I could find it, and she assured me that she had something lined up in that direction, but if I liked I could take the job instead. You mightn’t believe this, but I had no idea when she handed me that envelope at the last moment and told me to give it to you what was in it. She never said a word to me on the ship about any other plans. The trouble is,” unconsciously she was twisting a long strand of hair round and round her fingers, “no one up here believes me.” She sent him a wavering smile. “Unless you do.”