by Gloria Bevan
‘I’ll bring you some tea,’ the Maori woman said, ‘that’s what you need now.’
‘But I thought I’d had it,’ Maggie protested.
‘Oh, that bit of soup was nothing!’ Mrs. 'Wahonga shrugged a plump shoulder. ‘I’m going to cook some fish, just caught today. My boy Hone he goes out in the boat and gets plenty. Pretty good, eh?’
‘But I couldn’t possibly—’
‘Course you could!’ A graceful brown hand waved remonstrations aside. ‘Then you get better quick ehoa?’ Mentally Maggie agreed that Mrs. Wahonga, in her musical lilting tones, had a point there. She would, she thought, do anything, eat any amount of food, if only it would hasten her recovery.
‘All right, then,’ she smiled her pixie smile, ‘if it will get me out of bed sooner.’ Pleating the bed rug with restless fingers, she was scarcely aware of speaking her thoughts aloud. ‘I don’t want to be a burden here, any longer than I can help. I know that Danger...’ Her voice trailed unhappily away.
Mrs. Wahonga picked up the towel, a twinkle in her dark eyes. ‘Danger, he got a shock when you walked in here, eh?’
‘Well, yes, he did rather.’ Maggie forbore to explain that she hadn’t exactly entered the room under her own steam, so to speak. But there was no need to go into details. ‘It wasn’t that he wanted—’ She stopped short, biting her lip. ‘I mean, it was just because of the ’quake—’
Mrs. Wahonga nodded, the basin held effortlessly beneath a rounded arm.
‘He didn’t want you around, eh? Because of that other one? His Cathy. That the trouble?’
Maggie sat up straight. ‘But I thought he wasn’t—’ All at once she realized that her interest could be construed by the Maori woman as something warmer. ‘Married ... or anything...’ she finished lamely.
‘Danger? Married? No fear! Guess he learned his lesson about all that.’ Mrs. Wahonga gave her deep, rich chuckle. ‘I’d like to have seen his face when you walked into the house. Must have given him one big shock, you here—again.’
Maggie stared up at her bewilderment. ‘But I’ve never been here before!’
The expressive dark eyes studied her curiously.
‘He didn’t tell you, then?’
‘Tell me what?’
Mrs. Wahonga shrugged a plump shoulder under a brilliantly patterned shift frock. ‘Guess if I don’t let you in on it someone else soon will. Just—’ the liquid dark eyes rested consideringly on Maggie’s big dark eyes in a small face, the clean line of a small square jaw—‘you so like that other one that he nearly married. I reckon he never got over that, Danger,’ she went on in her pleasant musical tones. ‘Two years ago now, but he never take a fancy to any other girl since then, not a real fancy. You so like. Just for a minute, when I walked in here tonight in the dim fight, you had me fooled. I thought to myself, I thought, It’s his Cathy. She’s come back.’
Maggie could scarcely contain her curiosity. ‘Was he—fond of her?’
‘Fond of her? He just thought there was no one like her! When a man don’t fall in love until he’s thirty, then he falls hard! Cathy—an announcer on television she was then—she came up here to stay on her brother’s farm, just for a month she said, while she got over a sickness. Nervous breakdown, that’s what it was, she said. But in the end she stayed for three months. She and Danger, they were always together. Folks around these; parts were getting all set for a tin-canning. They thought there’d be a wedding any day and there’d be a mistress up at Amberley at last. Then—’
As she paused Maggie leaned forward expectantly. ‘What happened?’ she prompted.
Mrs. Wahonga shrugged a plump shoulder. ‘You tell me! One day they were out riding together, happy as could be. The next Cathy had left the district.’ She spread her hands in an expressive gesture. ‘Nobody know if they have one big bust-up, or what. All we know is that she never come back. Anyway, a sheep station no place for a girl like her. She’s an actress now, overseas, with a big part in a play at a theatre in London. I saw her picture in a newspaper just the other day. Danger,’ she paused thoughtfully, ‘he different since then ... sort of quiet. He don’t laugh so much as he used to. More’n two years ago now, since Cathy left, but I don’t think he’d forget’ A broad smile broke across the brown face, showing perfect teeth. ‘Not much chance of forgetting his Cathy with you right here, ehoa?’
Maggie made no comment and the lilting tones flowed on. ‘Danger, he go to dances sometimes, parties too, but he don’t ever stay for long. Guess he don’t care for girls any more.’ Especially, Maggie thought to herself, ones that bring hack painful memories of ‘his Cathy’.
‘Oh well,’ Mrs. Wahonga toned towards the door, her tones philosophical, ‘he get along all right by himself. He got his work. He tangata whenua,’ explaining, as she caught Maggie’s puzzled expression, ‘he man of the land. Maybe he forget, one of these days.’
And maybe he won’t! Maggie disagreed silently. Not when he can’t stand the sight of me around the place.
She brought her mind back to the Maori woman’s placid tones. ‘I gotta get that fish on cooking, before the men come in.’
With her erect, graceful carriage, she moved from the room, leaving Maggie a prey to conflicting emotions.
A number of things were clicking into place, things that had puzzled her during her interview with Danger. Could it have been only last evening? Her chance resemblance to ‘his Cathy’ must be quite arresting. It wasn’t her fault, but it did make a lot of matters clear, such as Danger’s inexplicable refusal even to consider her as an applicant for the position of housekeeper in his home.
So that was it? He was still deeply in love with someone else, someone who didn’t care. He must be, or he wouldn’t have been so insistent about sending her packing as soon as was decently possible.
She was still pondering the matter when Mrs. Wahonga returned, carrying a tray where delectable piping hot schnapper fillets, garnished with a sprig of parsley and slice of lemon, lay on a hot plate.
‘It looks delicious.’ Maggie found that in spite of the soup, she was still hungry enough to enjoy the appetizing food.
The stout Maori woman beamed happily. ‘You like fish? Good. Hone, he get it way beyond the breakers. Plenty of schnapper on this coast. Toheroas too, down on the beach. You like toheroas?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never had the chance to taste them.’
Mrs. Wahonga grinned broadly. ‘You will. It’s the season now for getting them and there’s plenty in the sand down at the Gap. Eat up now. When you get outside that you feel better! I’ve got to see to dinner before the men come in!’
Maggie needed no further encouragement. The freshly fried smoking hot fillets were a delight, as was the crusty home-made bread lavishly spread with yellow butter. A cup of tea from a brown pottery teapot completed the meal.
Presently Mrs. Wahonga returned to collect the tray. ‘I’ll keep the kids away until tomorrow. Just you yell if you want anything!’ The kindly brown face bent over her as Mrs. Wahonga straightened the covers. ‘Tomorrow you be fine, ehoa! Sleep well!’ With a parting smile she moved away, walking noiselessly in her rubber thongs and closing the door softly behind her.
A little later Maggie caught the distant murmur of masculine voices, the rattle of crockery, an echo of a musical Maori laugh, but she was only vaguely aware of the sounds. She was busy thinking over what the Maori woman had told her. What had that other girl been like, really? An actress, Mrs. Wahonga had told her. She must have possessed some special quality of attractiveness to capture his heart, a man like that; to make him care so much that even now, all this time later, even to see someone resembling ‘his Cathy’ cut deep. She wondered who had been to blame for the break in the love affair, but that was something she would never know. Better to forget all about it. Trouble was, she told herself ruefully, that Danger wasn’t an easy man to forget, even for her, and she scarcely knew him. Something else occurred to her. Wasn’t it gene
rally acknowledged that when it came to matters of the heart, a man tended to remain faithful to a particular type of girl, at least so far as appearances were concerned? So, the thought came unbidden, what an opportunity presented itself for her to revenge herself on John Dangerfield for his hurtful treatment of her last night! She wouldn’t be surprised if given half a chance she could make him fall in love with her, just a little, and what a chance that would be to even the score! Supposing it could be her turn to have the upper hand, instead of being the one in the wrong, forced to beg for a job, dependent on his generosity for medical care and attention? What if their positions were reversed and she could take her revenge on him for all the humiliation she’d been forced to endure at his hands? That would teach him a lesson re advertising for domestic help and then, merely because of selfish personal reasons of his own, refusing the single applicant who was offering!
But could she? Wouldn’t there be an element of risk? Come on, Maggie, admit that it would be playing with fire. There’s no disputing the disturbing effect he’s had on you from the first moment you set eyes on his lean frame. Deep down, an inner sense warned her that it was a game at which two could play, and she couldn’t afford to be a loser a second time, not now she knew how high was the cost of failure.
Love ... and Danger. The words linked themselves in her mind with a curious insistence. It was a challenge that excited her beyond all reason. The next moment she brought herself up sharply, aghast at the direction in which her thoughts were leading her. She wasn’t staying on here. In a day or two she’d be leaving Amberley station and she’d never see Danger again. Besides, honesty compelled her to admit that any feeling, she aroused in him appeared more in the nature of an insufferably patronizing amusement than the stirring of a deathless passion. A tape rolled back and a deep no-nonsense voice echoed in her mind. ‘No need to concern yourself on that score, Miss Sullivan. The position isn’t likely to arise.’
It couldn’t happen, of course, it was way beyond the bounds of possibility, but wouldn’t it be satisfying if it could! She fell asleep on the thought.
CHAPTER THREE
As she struggled through mists of sleep, Maggie was vaguely aware of someone calling her name. Then in the pre-dawn stillness she caught a sibilant whisper, ‘Miss Sullivan, Miss Sullivan, are you awake?’
Dimly she made out a small figure in a white nightgown standing in the doorway; caught an urgent whisper. ‘Can I stay here with you?’
‘Philippa! Is that you?’
‘Please let me stay.’ The childish pleading voice was choked with tears.
‘Of course you can! Hop in with me! What’s the trouble?’ Maggie asked as the small girl snuggled under the sheet beside her. ‘Nightmare?’
Philippa didn’t answer. She was shivering, but whether from chill or night terrors, Maggie could not tell.
‘Tell me.’ Maggie was still half asleep herself. ‘Then you can forget all about it and go back to sleep. What was it about, the nightmare? Something chasing you?’
‘Mmm ... it was awful. You won’t laugh if I tell you?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die!’
‘It was the same dream I always have,’ Philippa whispered. ‘The Saint. He was coming straight for me with his teeth bared and that cruel mean look in his eyes ... you know, all the whites showing. And he jumped, he jumped at me and I couldn’t get my legs to move, I just couldn’t!’
‘It was only a dream,’ Maggie soothed the distraught child, ‘something you ate for tea, I expect.’
When Maggie awoke again Philippa had disappeared, but whether she had fled back to her own room ashamed of her night-time fears, or because she was in dread of the teasing remarks of her older brother, Maggie had no way of knowing.
The room was flooded with sunlight and she could hear masculine voices and snatches of laughter somewhere near at hand. Moving carefully, she dropped her feet to the floor, relieved to find that she felt no unpleasant reaction. She was better at last! She moved towards the window and leaning her elbows on the sill, looked out. Cleared high hills, dotted with grazing sheep, soared up into a sky pulsatingly blue, and in the valleys dark native bush ran up the steep slopes. Well, she’d arrived at the sheep station in the back country at last, even if her stay here was only on a very temporary basis!
As she stood watching, a tall rangy figure emerged from the stables. Danger! He threw a sheepskin saddle-blanket over a restive roan horse that was tethered to a fence post, bent to adjust the girth, then leaped lightly up into the saddle. A moment later he was joined by two young men astride their sturdy stock ponies, and soon the three cantered over the hillside and were lost to view.
So the boss of Amberley together with his farm helpers had begun their day’s work on the station while she had slept in so disgracefully.
A knock at the door made her spring back into bed, but it was only Ian, his tousled brown hair more unruly than ever. ‘Danger said not to wake you. He said to tell you he’s gone over to the back paddocks to tighten the fence wires down by the macrocarpa trees, but if you want him I can go over with a message.’
Want him! Maggie’s lips tightened. ‘There’s something I do want to know, though, Ian. About the van, is it—’
‘It’s okay to drive, Danger said. He got Gavin to change a tyre and put on the spare. Danger mended the broken shelf too, so you’d never know it had been smashed.’
Danger again! All the same it was a relief to know that the vehicle was once again mobile. Now all she need do was get herself in the same condition. She brought her mind back to the small boy facing her. ‘Is there anything you want me to do for you, Miss Sullivan?’ he was asking politely.
‘There is, you know. I’d like my suitcase out of the van.’ If that Danger man imagined that he could keep her a prisoner here, he’d soon find out that he was mistaken.
‘I’ll fetch it.’ He was gone before she could say more. Presently Maggie flicked the catches of her cheap fibre suitcase, slipped into a gaily flowered brunch coat and went in search of the bathroom. She found it at the end of the long passage, a huge old room with gleaming modern fitments, and soon she was turning the silver taps beneath the shower, washing away all the weariness and upset of the last few days.
When she was dressed, a crisp creamy open weave shirt hanging loosely over tan-coloured shorts, her long dark hair tied back from her face with a brown ribbon, she felt she could face anything, even the maddening predicament in which she now found herself. As soon as Danger returned she would put it to him, make it clear that she was now quite recovered and could leave at once, but in her heart she knew that he would insist on her waiting to see the doctor. In a way, she mused uneasily, she supposed she did owe Danger that much. Come to think of it, a doctor living in this remote area would be forced to make long and arduous journeys to visit his patients. She could scarcely leave Amberley station before his second visit, seeing that he was taking the trouble to check on her progress. Besides, Danger had promised ... it always came back to that.
When Maggie made her way into the sunny dining room with its high ceiling and dark panelling, she found the children at breakfast, noisily squabbling over a free gift that had tumbled from the packet of cornflakes Ian was pouring into his bowl.
It took quite a time to clear up after the meal, Mark having tipped a mug of milk over the table and on to the floor. At last, however, Maggie left the two older children to deal with the breakfast dishes while she wiped over the black and white floor tiles, ran a duster over the heavy old kauri table and chairs.
In the kitchen she discovered to her delight a huge white freezer cabinet stocked with frozen foods. At least, she reflected thankfully, as she took out crisp green lettuce, tomatoes, bread and cooked meats, that would take care of the question of lunch.
The children, enthusiastically armed with dusters, broom and mop, offered to help with the household chores and Maggie was surprised at how soon the untidy room was set in order.
�
�You wouldn’t think that Danger gave Mark a bath last night, would you?’ Philippa observed, watching as Maggie, damp face flannel in hand, deftly removed the remains of the morning meal from around Mark’s mouth, then dried the puckered babyish face with a towel.
‘There!’ Maggie released the squirming child. ‘Now you can go! What are you going to do today, anyway?’
Wide blue eyes turned trustingly towards her. ‘I’m gonna build my boat. It’s going to be a big boat.’ He paused impressively. ‘The biggest boat in the world, with sails ’n everything. An’ when I finish making it I’m going to sail way, way over the sea—’
Maggie picked up a comb and after holding it beneath the cold water at the sink bench, ran it through the silkily fair hair. ‘Just you?’
‘Me and Poss. We’re going to go way away until we find my mummy, and then we’re going to bring her back here—’
‘Don’t take any notice of him!’ Philippa had wandered into the room. ‘He’s always going on about going to find Mum and telling fibs. Last week he was going to fly away in his own plane.’ Her young voice was scathing. ‘As if he could!’
‘Fat lot you know about it!’ Mark flung himself towards her, his chubby face scarlet with indignation. ‘Dum! Dum!’
‘Don’t call me that!’
His sister aimed a blow at him, but with the agility of long practice Mark leaped nimbly aside, then fled from the room. Maggie caught the flick of a furry dark tail as a tiny animal went scampering through the door after him.
‘You can’t believe a thing the little horror says,’ Philippa observed idly. Seating herself at the table, she laid down a sheet of drawing paper and going to the kitchen, began to fill a small jar with water. Soon, head bent and tongue protruding in intense concentration, she was sketching in bold watercolours, a line of pines on a windswept hillside, scudding clouds in an expanse of blue sky.