by Gloria Bevan
Together they took a winding path that led over the paddock towards an old colonial-style house with a wide verandah running the length of the dwelling. Danger tethered the horses in a grassy paddock nearby and he and Maggie strolled in at a small gate and crossed the sweep of green lawn.
‘Maggie!’ Tony emerged from the stables, harness dangling from his hand. Surprise and pleasure mingled in his expression. ‘You came!’
He seemed unable to believe his eyes, though heaven knows, she reflected ruefully, conscious of windswept hair and crumpled clothing, she couldn’t be much to look at at the moment.
‘Ann anywhere about?’ Danger was asking.
‘Over there in the shed.’ Although Tony waved a thin hand in the direction of the outbuildings a short distance away, his eager gaze remained riveted on Maggie’s small flushed face. ‘She said something about getting out the tractor.’
‘That’s good enough for me! I’ll find her!’ With a careless nod Danger strode down the winding path that led to the shed.
Tony led Maggie into the house and out to a wide patio that had evidently been a recent addition to the old home. Black coolie chairs were scattered over the polished timbers of the floor and a low cane table was set in the centre of the cool open porch.
‘Take a seat.’ He tossed a gay scarlet cushion down and Maggie dropped to the floor. ‘What’ll you have? Tea, coffee, fruit drink? Or something stronger? Just say the word.’
‘Fruit drink sounds wonderful! We’ve been out riding for hours! I’ve never been so thirsty!’
‘Right! Fruit juice it is!’ He bent to turn the switch of a radiogram, flooding the room with soft background music, then went into the kitchen.
Left alone, Maggie’s glance went to the student note pads and architectural textbooks that were scattered over the floor. Idly she reflected that Tony must be still thinking of a career along those lines. Well, good luck to him! Her gaze lifted to the vista of rolling hills outside. If Danger didn’t locate Ann in the shed he would go out there searching for her, she knew he would. She mustn’t allow herself to forget, even for a moment, that Ann was his girl!
She wrenched her thoughts away as Tony returned, carrying in his arms a tray. Ice tinkled in tall glasses. Dropping down beside, her, he handed her the cool grapefruit juice. ‘You know, I’m surprised that you’re sticking it out at Amberley, measles or no—’
She wrinkled up her nose. ‘Why, do you still think I don’t look the type?’
‘You look good to me, Maggie! It’s just—oh well, if I’d taken a guess I’d have said you were a city girl.’
‘That’s funny,’ she teased, ‘I thought at first that you were a city type too.’
She realized he was eyeing her closely, the pale green eyes thoughtful. ‘But you, you really like it up here?’
She nodded. ‘I love the country, especially at this time of the year when the new lambs are frisking about all over the place and the kowhai’s out on the hills.’ Reflectively she stirred the ice in her drink. ‘I was brought up on a sheep station way at the back of beyond on the East Coast. I guess that accounts for it.’ She smiled across at him. ‘Kowhai in the blood, I mean.’
Tony sent her a wry grin. ‘You can have it for me! Kowhai gold and all! Give me the city pavements, a nightclub or two, some mates to drop in every now and again, and I’m happy! It beats me how you—’
Maggie finished her drink, then laughingly turned towards him. ‘That’s just me, I guess. Anyway, it’s a change from office work and the kids seem to like me. At least—’
All at once she remembered Philippa’s stormy peaked features. But she could recapture the child’s confidence, of course she could! She just had to make good that rash, unconsidered promise she’d flung at Danger. With a start she brought her attention back to the fair, bearded young face. What was Tony saying? Something about arranging a barbecue. ‘We’re putting one on, one night soon. I could zoom over to Amberley and collect you. What do you say?’
‘All right,’ she said, ‘just give me a ring first.’
He raised light eyebrows. ‘That’s about as far as I ever get with you,’ he murmured moodily, ‘a talk on the phone. That’s why—’ He stopped short as Danger and Ann entered the room together.
The other girl was wearing jodhpurs. Her white schoolgirl-type blouse was open at the throat and rolled-up sleeves revealed the well developed muscles of her arms. Tall, strong, vital—once again the reluctant thought passed through Maggie’s mind that they made an arresting pair, the lithe sinewy sheep-farmer and the tanned girl with cropped hair bleached by the sun during long hours spent in the open air.
‘I hope Tony’s been looking after you,’ Ann smiled towards Maggie. Throwing a light switch across a chair, she turned to the man at her side. ‘How about you, Danger?’
‘Beer for me, thanks.’
‘I’ll fetch it.’
She was back in a few minutes with the drinks, settling herself in a low chair by Danger’s side. The two fell into a discussion regarding the recovery of the missing steers, then went on to arrange for the docking of the lambs in a week’s time. Maggie was only half aware of Tony’s voice as she caught snatches of the other conversation. She gathered that Danger would be available to help Ann with her farm duties whenever she needed him. She had only to ask. Clearly there wasn’t anything that he wasn’t anxious and willing to do in the way of helping the other girl. How very different from his attitude to one Maggie Sullivan!
Grey cottonwool clouds were rolling in over the hills when at last the party took the path leading towards the house paddock where the horses were tethered. Tony gave Maggie a leg up as she vaulted into the saddle. ‘When am I going to see you again?’ he whispered. ‘Before the barbecue, I mean. It’s my turn to come and see you. When?’
Maggie smiled down into the pale eyes. ‘One of these days,’ she murmured vaguely.
‘Or nights! I might just drop in on you one of these evenings. Just say which one—’
‘I don’t know.’ She was confused, uncertain as to whether her position as housekeeper at Amberley gave her the right to invite guests to the house—Danger’s house.
But wouldn’t you know, she told herself scornfully a moment later, that Danger would overhear the softly spoken words. Swinging lightly up into the saddle, he turned his restive mount. ‘Any time,’ he said easily, ‘and that goes for Ann too. She knows that.’
Maggie’s gay smile faded. With Danger, it always came back to Ann.
They moved away amidst a chorus of farewells and Danger, riding ahead, held open a white gate where ‘Manaia’ was printed in black painted letters, while Maggie moved through the opening. Presently they took the winding white metalled track that encircled the hillside and at the foot of the slope they pulled their mounts to a walk as they entered a bush-filled gully with its soft subdued fight sparked with patches of sunshine.
It was a pattern endlessly repeated on the ride back to Amberley, Maggie found. Cleared green hills dropping steeply down to ponga-filled gullies. Always on the rise the wind met them, blowing cool and fresh on their faces.
At length, they came in sight of the homestead, peaceful and sheltered among tall trees, and while Maggie urged her mount forward, Danger paused to close a taranaki gate behind him. She turned a flushed face over her shoulder. ‘Race you to the boundary fence!’ she cried impulsively. It was a wild and stupid gesture, she knew, for what match was Pete against the powerful thoroughbred stallion? On the flat stretch of grassland ahead Danger would beat her hands down, and that would be one more triumph for him. She had asked for it!
The thoughts flew through her mind then everything else was forgotten. She was off, urging her mount forward, enjoying the exhilaration of flying along as Pete raced ahead with his long easy stride.
‘Come on, Pete,’ she whispered, leaning low, ‘show him what you can do!’ Hair streaming behind her in a dark cloud, she was aware of the sound of hoofs behind her. Above the pounding of th
e stallion’s hoofs she could hear Danger shouting: ‘Maggie! Maggie!’ The wind carried the rest of his call away. Something loomed ahead, a great fallen log, unnoticed before in her blind rush, but no matter, Pete had taken higher jumps titan this, with ease. She was only half aware of Danger’s shout as she leaned low over the flying mane, as the big horse gathered himself for the upward leap. There was a split second of time where she glimpsed a second log, dangerously wide, lying below, then she felt the horse twist beneath her. Hills and sky blurred in a crazy pattern, she caught the dull thud of hooves striking wood as she was thrown clear.
Maggie had the oddest feeling that she didn’t want to move. She was perfectly, rapturously comfortable where she was, yet for some inexplicable reason she must stir herself to action. Dazedly she wondered whether it was the feeling of the strong arm encircling her shoulder that gave her this feeling of deep content. Or maybe it had something to do with the muscular shoulder she was leaning against.
As her eyes flickered open she found herself gazing directly into Danger’s face. Only, she reflected, still in that state of dreamy content, it didn’t seem like him. Not with that drawn look of anxiety, an expression in his eyes that was so near to a caress that it made no difference.
‘Maggie! Maggie darling!’ How different her funny little nonsense name sounded said like that, tender with feeling. Danger’s cool remote tones ragged with anxiety over her, she marvelled idly, yet making her name sound like an endearment all the same.
Only she must have dreamed up the endearment part of it all, she thought drowsily, for when she opened her eyes once more he was shouting: ‘Wake up, Maggie! Wake up!’ She stirred in his arms and struggled into a sitting position on the grass, then wished she had stayed where she was, for when she did manage to focus her gaze he was practically yelling at her, his eyes aflame with exasperation and anger.
‘You fool! You crazy little fool! Didn’t you hear me calling to you not to risk it? Couldn’t you see,’ he demanded in a hard, angry tone, ‘that the thing was a mile wide?’ For one electric moment she thought he was about to shake her. Dazedly she shook her head.
‘Hell, I thought you were never coming out of it!’ He let out his breath on a long sigh of relief.
‘Was that what happened?’ Maggie stared around her. ‘I remember that Pete—’ A terrible fear ran along her nerves and her eyes widened in apprehension. ‘He fell too! I know he did! He’s not ... not...’ She couldn’t put the dreaded thought into words.
‘He’s okay.’ Danger jerked his dark head towards a cluster of leafy puriri trees a short distance away. ‘He was up on his feet again a lot quicker than you were!’
‘Thank heaven for that!’ She could see now that Pete was quietly grazing. Slowly she got to her feet. ‘No bones broken at any rate.’ She smiled shakily.
‘I made certain of that.’ His voice was grim.
‘You did?’ She digested the information with mixed feelings. No doubt he had done only what he would have done for any rider who had taken a fall. All the same, she wished ... To hide her embarrassment she asked quickly, ‘How long was I out for?’
‘Five minutes or so! One moment you were sailing over the top, then when Pete caught sight of the second log he tried to twist around and Boom! You were down! I thought you were never going to come out of it!’
Maggie pulled at a long grass stalk and nibbled it thoughtfully. ‘I just can’t understand how a silly little fall like that could have put me out.’
‘Can’t you?’ He rose to his full height and stood looking down at her. ‘Once you’ve had a bad dose of concussion it doesn’t take much to make you go out like a light.’ His tone was as cool and impersonal as ever.
Maggie sighed. Here we go again, she thought, back to square one. She was ‘just Maggie’ again, hurting herself, causing him concern and inconvenience, being a nuisance to him, as usual. She must have imagined that ‘darling!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
That evening Maggie assured Danger that she was now perfectly well, thank you, with no after-effects of the fall. Honestly, there wasn’t the slightest need to worry about her. The master of Amberley listened politely and completely ignored her protestations. For the next morning Mrs. Wahonga came strolling up the driveway, her wavy black hair caught back in a ponytail, pleasant brown face creased in a beaming smile as she caught sight of Maggie on the verandah above.
‘You unlucky with the accidents, eh, Maggie?’
She laughed. ‘Am I ever!’ Unluckier than you know, Mrs. Wahonga, trapping myself here with Danger for a boss!
All morning as she worked her way through her household chores while the older children sat over their correspondence lessons, Maggie could hear the Maori woman’s musical tones as she softly sang the age-old chants of her ancestors. When the lunch dishes were cleared away Mrs. Wahonga seated herself on the sun-splashed verandah floorboards, her flexible fingers busy with a basket she was weaving from long strips of green flax.
The children grouped themselves around her plump figure while the small possum scampered around their feet. ‘Please, show me how to make them,’ Philippa begged wistfully, and Mark, pushing belligerently past his sister on sturdy tanned legs, shouted, ‘Me too! Me too!’
‘All right, ehoa! Don’t rush me! We’ll have to get some more flax from the bush first!’
‘There’s plenty down in the gully!’ Philippa cried eagerly. ‘Come on, we’ll show you!’
‘That’s an idea,’ Maggie put in. ‘Maybe if we can get some you’ll show me how to weave kits too. I used to know once, ages ago, but I’ve forgotten.’
Philippa threw a baleful look. ‘I thought of it first!’ Maggie decided to ignore the girl’s ill humour as the children ran down the steps and Mrs. Wahonga, carrying Mark in her arms, rose to follow them. They crossed the yard, passed through a gate, a paddock, a second gate, and they moved down the slopes of a grassy hill. In the gully below Maggie caught the soft murmur of a running stream and soon, on reaching the bush-fringed banks, they came in sight of thickly clustered flax bushes with their dramatic tall black stems and tassels of burnt-orange. Miraculously producing a knife from her capacious pocket, the Maori woman cut the flax and soon they were returning to the house with armfuls of the long green spears.
Back on the sun-splashed verandah, under Mrs. Wahonga’s direction, the long leaves were torn into narrow strips and patiently guided by deft brown fingers, they all began to weave the flax. Even Ian was making an attempt at a basket and Mark, not to be left out, pushed the flax in and out with tiny fingers, his face set in an expression of intense concentration. Mrs. Wahonga, singing softly in her native tongue, paused to offer instruction when needed.
Maggie’s fingers moved with increasing confidence as her kit began to take shape, but all the time her thoughts wandered. As she watched the Maori woman leaning back against the verandah rail as she worked, she found herself envying Mrs. Wahonga’s relaxed and philosophical attitude. But then—she glanced up to meet Philippa’s sullen stare—the Maori woman didn’t have her problems to contend with. She hadn’t intended to deceive the child, her troubled thoughts ran on, not really. It just hadn’t seemed important, when she’d first arrived here, to mention her interest in riding, for at that time she hadn’t expected to be staying at Amberley for more than a few days. Now unfortunately the damage was done; there was no doubt but that the small girl regarded Maggie as both a liar and a cheat. For since the moment when Philippa had discovered that Pete belonged to Maggie, the child had been coldly polite, but that was all. Who ever would have imagined, Maggie mused, that she would find herself concerned over a strange child’s opinion of her? Come to that, who would have dreamed—her painstaking fingers fell motionless as she stared unseeingly at the flax base—that she would allow any man to fill her thoughts to such an extent? A man already deeply involved with another girl! And you’d best not let yourself forget it, Maggie Sullivan! She wrenched her thoughts from the direction in which they were dr
ifting.
By the end of the afternoon Maggie felt a sense of pride in her achievement. Even though her flax kit might bulge in unexpected directions, it nevertheless fulfilled its purpose as a light, strong, flexible basket, and wasn’t at all bad for a first attempt. Well, not quite a first attempt. For although it was rarely that Europeans were skilled in the art, kindly Maori neighbours had once instructed her in the art of flax weaving, although she had long since forgotten it.
It was a little later, as she glanced idly through a week-old newspaper, that she perceived a way of recapturing Philippa’s friendship. She ran her eyes over the advertisement, taking in the details of the children’s art contest that was being organized by a city firm. The subject could be any New Zealand scene, the work to be executed in paints, crayons or pastels, but it must reach the judges in ten days’ time. Maggie clipped around the advertisement, then went in search of Philippa.
She found her lying on her bed, curled up with a book. The small girl’s look of surprise changed to a mutinous stare as Maggie closed the door behind her. ‘Look,’ she held put the clipping, ‘here’s something just in your fine! A painting competition for children of your age, with money prizes and all! It’s an old paper, but you’ve still got time to put in an entry. Anyway,’ Maggie went on persuasively, ‘there’s that sketch you were doing the other day, the one of pine trees on a hilltop.’ She seated herself on the bed at Philippa’s side. ‘What do you say?’
The girl sent her a cold, scornful look. ‘All those town kids. I wouldn’t have a chance!’ But in spite of herself she held out a hand for the clipping. The thin plaits fell around her peaked face as she perused the advertisement. ‘I couldn’t...’ The high childish tones were uncertain.