by Gloria Bevan
Afterwards willing hands made short work of the dishes piled high in the kitchen sink and soon everyone was spilling into cars and trucks and Land-Rovers. In a few moments the mass of vehicles was swinging from the headland into the rutted track that led down to the ocean beach below.
Maggie waited with the children in the car until Danger in the beach buggy, accompanied by two men she did not know, gave her a signal to start. He went ahead, throwing a backward, glance over his shoulder to Maggie as she revved up the engine and moved over the grass. On the steep boulder-strewn track the road engaged all her attention but once on the sand she had only to follow the tracks of the beach buggy in the gleaming wet surface. Now she could take in the endless sandhills where marram grass retained a precarious hold, the ragged cliffs high above with their yellow clay banks. Ahead, the beach stretched away in an immensity of sand, the vehicles that had preceded her already blurred with haze in the distance.
A glance in the overhead .mirror showed her a jalopy a short distance away, with Gavin at the wheel.
At last the beach buggy pulled up and Maggie drew to a stop alongside. Danger was out of the car and holding the door open for her. For a moment she stood still, looking around her. She was intrigued by the men and women, old and young, Maori and pakeha who were already kneeling on the wet sand as they thrust their hands down in search of the shellfish. Gay plastic buckets made splashes of colour along the shoreline. All at once she realized that Danger was eyeing her with his maddening look of amusement. ‘You’ll be just as keen as the rest, once you get started!’
She laughed up at him and all at once the day seemed to swing into focus. The sparkle on the sea more glittering, everything suddenly novel and exciting. ‘Show me!’
‘I will! I will!’ Mark circled excitedly on the sand as he rushed from place to place. ‘Here! No, here!’
But Danger’s glance was on the sand. ‘See that bit of a bubble? Might be worth trying. Come on, Maggie, let’s give it a go!’ Together they knelt on the Wet surface, thrusting hands deeper and deeper while sea water rushed to fill the sandy opening,
‘Oh,’ Maggie cried disappointedly as she caught sight of a flash of disappearing white shell, ‘he’s getting away!’
‘That’s what he thinks!’
Maggie made a further effort to catch the shellfish and somehow, somehow found herself clutching Danger’s hand. At once everything fled from her mind except the masculine magnetism against which she struggled in vain.
‘He—got away,’ she said huskily, getting, to her feet. He was still kneeling on the sand, glancing up at her with a laughing, quizzical expression. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Not—really.’ But the words stuck in her throat and hurriedly she began to dig in a fresh spot, bending low so that he couldn’t see how shaken she was. She scarcely realized she was digging feverishly with no quarry in sight, until all at once a tiny shellfish appeared in her hand.
‘Throw him back,’ Danger advised matter-of-factly, ‘he’s far too small for regulations—or a meal.’
As the shellfish scuttled deep into the sand, she realized that Tony had come from a nearby car to stand at her side.
‘Bad luck,’ he commiserated. ‘You could always come back next year when he’s bigger, or stay at Te Rangi and wait—’
She scarcely heard him. She was watching Ann moving towards them, hearing Danger’s deep tones as he turned away. ‘Want a hand?’
They moved away together along a beach that to Maggie had all at once become vast and strangely lonely, in spite of the Maori and pakeha groups scattered along the coastline. She must have been crazy to have imagined the fleeting physical contact with Danger to have meant something, something of far. greater import than the trivial task they were engaged on. Something like falling in love.
Maggie found to her surprise that the toheroas were more elusive than she had anticipated. Many of the spots where she and Tony dug yielded nothing, and when she did catch a fleeting glimpse of a white shell, it vanished into the wet sand immediately. Or perhaps she was too inexperienced to know how to grip the smooth shell before it burrowed away.
The children were having more success as they wandered from place to place. Even Mark had captured a baby toheroa which he clutched in a chubby hand, refusing to obey the older children’s orders and return the tiny creature to the sand.
Tony, glancing down at the small boy’s belligerent, screwed-up face, smiled tolerantly. ‘Determined little cuss, isn’t he?’
‘Is he ever!’ Maggie agreed. ‘Even when he’s cross and horrible like that somehow he kind of gets around you.’ She peered into Tony’s yellow plastic bucket ‘How many have you got anyway?’
He shrugged thin shoulders under a cotton shirt.
‘None—yet. I’m depending on you to help me.’
They strolled along the sand while the children ran ahead. Maggie with an effort wrenched her thoughts from Ann and Danger, whom she could see in the distance, and tried to concentrate on the matter in, hand. She couldn’t help but notice that wherever there were Maori diggers the toheroas were plucked from the sand without difficulty. Judging by the speedy way in which they obtained their quota, the smiling relaxed Maori men and girls appeared to know far more of the ways of the shellfish than anyone else. Maggie decided to dig in the vicinity of a laughing, happy-looking Maori party and almost immediately both she and Tony managed to capture their quota of shellfish with no difficulty at all.
The golden afternoon slid away and Maggie was surprised to find that the tide was on the turn and people were collecting picnic gear as they strolled back in the direction of the vehicles parked below the mark of the tide.
Maggie strolling with Tony as they made their way towards the beach buggy, was suddenly aware of a note of urgency in the light tones. ‘Look, it’s goodbye, isn’t it? Just like that? One day together and then—’ He spread thin hands in an eloquent gesture.
A shadow fell across Maggie’s face. How could she have forgotten that she was leaving here tomorrow? Tomorrow! The wild remoteness of the ocean beach must have bewitched her into forgetting. Or could it be that she didn’t wish to remember?
Tony, however, misinterpreted her silence. ‘You feel that way too? Well, it doesn’t have to be. I’ll keep in touch ... ring you tonight.’
‘Look what I’ve got!’ Mark clambered into the car, turning to thrust towards Maggie a sand-encrusted hand clutching an extremely small toheroa. ‘It’s a big one, isn’t it?’ he demanded.
She smiled. ‘Compared with you, maybe.’
‘Phil says it’s too little, and it isn’t! It isn’t so! It’s big!’ The two older children, reaching the car at that moment, hotly debated the point, and in the loud argument that ensued, Tony was forced to raise his voice. ‘Don’t forget, Maggie. Tonight. ’Bye!’
He went to his car while Maggie climbed behind the wheel of the Chrysler.
On the return journey over the sand she drove carefully, remembering Danger’s instructions to keep the car below the tide-mark. Although there was room in the car she knew better now than to offer the walkers a lift, realizing that the people on foot were part of the toheroa-gathering plan. Indeed, it seemed to her that the outing was planned with the precision of a military operation.
‘Hey, Miss Sullivan,’ Ian said suddenly, ‘can you cook toheroas?’
‘Heavens,’ she thought, ‘I don’t even know how to get them out of their shells.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Phil said carelessly. The children must have perceived her hesitation. ‘Danger’ll show you.’
‘Bags I do the mincing,’ Ian called out.
‘You did it last time!’ protested his sister.
Maggie was thinking with relief that if she had only to deal with minced shellfish, it would be a simple matter to make them into fritters.
Indeed when at the evening meal she served the fritters she felt a justifiable sense of pride in her achievement. As the meal progressed, however, she had to a
dmit that Danger took her culinary skills very much for granted. Perhaps, she thought forlornly, Ann had spoiled him in that direction. The appreciative comments of the two farm helpers, however, made up for their employer’s preoccupied silence and lack of appreciation.
It was later when she passed Danger, engaged on the telephone in a long conversation with a stock buyer, and went out to inspect the van. She couldn’t think why she had neglected to look over it before this. Now she took in the newly erected shelf. Broken crockery and glass had been cleared away and utensils neatly replaced above the bunk bed with its grey Army blankets. Apparently everything was in readiness for her departure, except, herself. Odd how she felt so reluctant to leave here. It must be the children who were playing on her heartstrings. The children ... All at once she realized that it was long past Mark’s bedtime. Closing the van door behind her, she went back to the house in search of him. Could he have put himself to bed? Surely not. Yet, come to think of it, she remembered his fair head drooping listlessly over his high chair during dinner. He had looked quite exhausted. A swift search through the children’s bedrooms, however, brought no sign of him, and Maggie wandered out into the deepening twilight.
Mike was seated on the step of his hut, his dark head bent over his guitar, work-roughened hands plucking idly at the strings. Gavin lounged beside him. He took the cigarette from his mouth and glanced towards Maggie. ‘Coming to the concert?’
She smiled and shook her head. ‘Sorry. I’ve lost something—Mark, actually. It’s long past his bedtime and he’s vanished, conveniently, I expect. You haven’t seen him around, have you?’
‘Not a hair or hide.’ Mike resumed his playing. The plaintive notes followed Maggie as she went into the stables, peered into the great dim cave of the shearing shed, the shadowy garages, then returned to take a path leading around the side of the house.
The two boys were still seated in the doorway of the open hut when she returned a little later, a worried frown creasing her forehead.
The pluck-plucking stopped abruptly as Mike glanced up. ‘No sign of the little blighter?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘I can’t think where he’s got to.’ She glanced perplexedly around her. ‘And it’s getting awfully dark.’
Gavin came to stand beside her. ‘The other kids don’t know where he is?’
‘The last they saw of him was at dinner.’
‘He’ll be around. Having fun watching us out looking for him, I bet! Come on, Mike, let’s go and collect him.’ And to Maggie: ‘You can relax, Miss Sullivan! We’ll have him back safe and sound within a minute or so!’ He grinned cheerfully. ‘We know swags of hidey-holes that you don’t!’
As Maggie watched them stride away into the gloom, a little of the anxious ache that niggled at the back of her mind died away. Absurd to feel concern about Mark, here in his own home, and yet—She couldn’t seem to banish the terrifying pictures conjured up by her too-vivid imagination—the waterholes for one, that a small child could tumble into with fatal results. The high hills—in the vastness of the station Mark could lose himself once he was beyond the first gate. Most worrying of all was the thought that he had been in her care. If only she’d put him to bed earlier!
The boys’ return a little later did nothing to allay her anxiety.
‘Nowhere else to look,’ Gavin said, puzzled. ‘Oh well, he’ll show up at any moment. He’d better put in an appearance before Danger gets to find out he’s missing.’
‘Who’s missing?’
The deep tones made Maggie glance behind her. How long had he been standing there, his cigarette a red glow in the gathering darkness?
‘It’s just—Mark,’ she said slowly.
‘He’s taken off,’ Gavin put in, ‘at his bedtime. Wouldn’t you know?’
But Danger’s glance was fixed on Maggie’s anxious face. ‘You should have told me.’
Anger flared along her nerves. Of course he would have found the child right away. No problem. Wasn’t it typical of him? Yet at the same time she couldn’t help but feel a sense of thankfulness. For all his annoying ways, she had to admit that there was something definitely reassuring about him. He did get things done.
‘Wait here. I’ll go and have a look—’ He spun on his heel. ‘Gavin, you could take a look down the road. You never know what ideas the kid gets into his head. Mike, have a glance over in the horse paddock, will you? Maggie, you go up to the house ... we’ll get him back in no time.’
Slowly she made her way towards the lighted lounge. The television was switched on, but she couldn’t concentrate on the screen in the empty room and at last she went out to the verandah, leaning over the rail and peering into the darkness.
A moment later Danger came striding towards the lighted house, alone. As he stood looking up at her she caught the glint of his eyes in the light of the overhead lantern. ‘No luck yet. I suppose you checked in the van?’
‘Oh yes, yes! I was in there just a while ago, I can’t help thinking,’ the words spilled from her lips, ‘it’s silly, but I just can’t get it out of my head about the waterholes—’
‘It’s okay,’ his voice softened. ‘I’ve checked all the near ones. Not that Mark’d be likely to take a header into one, not after the tongue-lashing I gave him about it when he first arrived here.’
Maggie let out her breath on a long sigh of relief. ‘Well, that’s something. You—don’t think,’ she faltered, ‘that anything’s happened to him?’
‘Mark? Not on your life! He’ll be along any minute, proud as Punch at getting the better of everyone.’
But two hours later, despite the searching of the two older children, Maggie, Danger, the boys, there was still no sign of a small chubby child. As the minutes dragged by, Maggie blamed herself. If only she’d been more careful. If only ... regrets, recriminations.
Another hour went fruitlessly past before Maggie, waiting at the window of the lounge room, caught sight of Danger approaching the doorway. He carried a small boy in his arms.
‘Safe and sound,’ he said. ‘Better get him to bed.’
‘Oh, thank heaven!’ Maggie said on a long breath of relief. ‘I’ll take him now—wherever did you find him?’
‘Asleep in the van.’ His voice was grim,
‘The van!’ Maggie cried incredulously. ‘But I looked there first of all!’
He grinned. ‘Bet you didn’t look under the bunk bed. He was well hidden by the covers. It was just a lucky chance that I happened on him.’
Mark, still half asleep, smiled angelically. ‘I’ll have a word with him about all this in the morning,’ Danger said.
Hurriedly Maggie took the child in her arms. ‘Just a quick wash and I’ll pop him into bed.’
Mark clung to her as she carried him to the bathroom, a subdued Mark who seemed strangely listless. Perhaps, she thought, he was still half asleep. It wasn’t until she was pulling the sheet up over the small pyjamaed figure that it struck her that Mark’s eyes had a glazed look. And surely that high flush burning on the babyish cheeks was something more than sleep. Putting a hand to the child’s forehead, she was horrified to feel the heat there. He was feverish, no doubt of it. He must be ill, she thought, or he wouldn’t have slept all this time in the van while we were calling his name. She watched him swallow a crushed aspirin uncomplainingly.
‘What made you hide out there in the van, Mark?’ she asked gently. ‘Why did you do it?’
Sleepily the glazed blue eyes opened, the childish tones were suddenly clear and Indignant. ‘Wasn’t hiding! I was going away with you!’
‘Oh, Mark!’ She bent to drop a kiss on the small, flushed cheek, her long dark hair falling around her face. The next moment she felt rather than saw someone else in the room and turning swiftly, realized that Danger had been a silent witness of the little scene. How long had he been there, watching—and listening? He came to stand at her side, glancing down at the small boy who already was breathing softly, with closed eyes.
‘I
think he’s feverish,’ Maggie whispered. ‘I’ve given him aspirin and that should bring his temperature down, unless—’ She stopped short, struck by a sudden horrifying thought. ‘Wouldn’t it be awful if he were sickening for something?’
‘Could be. And if he is,’ Danger said quietly, ‘maybe you’d better think about changing your mind.’
‘About leaving here tomorrow, you mean?’
He didn’t answer but merely continued to regard her with that cool inquiring look. (Well, it’s up to you, Miss Sullivan.) But it wasn’t Danger whom she must think of just now. All that mattered was the welfare of a three-year-old boy whose outward aggressiveness, she realized now, served to conceal an inner insecurity; a deep longing for his absent mother, or for someone who could take her place. ‘All right then,’ she said slowly, ‘I’ll stay.’
Glancing towards him, she was just in time to surprise a triumphant gleam that flickered in his eyes. Hastily she amended: ‘But just until you manage to find someone else.’ After all, though, he had the last word, and what was even more annoying, his soft whisper had the effect of making her forget all those good resolutions about not allowing him to affect her. ‘If I find someone else!’
CHAPTER FIVE
Maggie woke early on the following day, a morning of skies washed a pale eggshell blue and high winds. For a few minutes she lay still, thinking, remembering. She couldn’t understand why she felt so happy at the thought that once again fate had detained her at the vast sheep station. A country girl at heart, despite all those dreary years spent seated at an office desk? She only hoped though that Mark wasn’t suffering from some serious complaint. The thought made her spring from the bed, and slipping into a short filmy brunch-coat of palest pink she hurried along the hall. On the way she met Ian, tousle-headed and obviously on his way to the bathroom shower.