by Zana Bell
The next speaker was an engineer who spoke confidently about the feasibility of installing sewage and water systems in Aroha Bay. He was followed by an environmentalist who discussed the disruption this process would have on the ancient tree root systems and the soft-earth cliffs. Both speakers had the same mixed response that Manu had evoked, though it got louder each time.
A Māori woman, bent with age and dressed in an ankle-length, faded floral skirt shuffled forward. She had an indefinable quality that immediately caught Sass’s attention, and the room fell silent as she talked about their ancestors who had built the pā and the great battles the site had seen. She went overtime, but the applause at the end was loud and unqualified.
A young man with a bright tie came forward next. This must be Andy, the entrepreneur Kurt had recommended as the only one with vision in the town.
“This is our chance to put Whangarimu on the map,” he urged. “The resort it just the beginning.” He went on to expand on his dream of Whangarimu becoming the holiday destination of New Zealand, with a large fun fair and casino to follow.
Sass was torn between being appalled that Andy was an ally and feeling sorry for this babe in the big bad woods, ripe for fleecing by, well, types like Kurt.
Suddenly she had the unaccountable feeling that she was being watched. She glanced up to find Jake staring straight at her. He raised his eyebrows, inviting her to share in the joke. Then Moana shifted and the swing of her hair momentarily blocked Sass’s view. When she looked again, Jake was gazing at Andy, face impassive.
The young man had gone on too long. Sass was aware of people stirring behind her. There was a lot of shuffling and the odd sound of chairs scraping the wooden floor. Another few minutes and the audience would turn ugly. Unwittingly, he was poisoning the meeting, polarizing divisions and thus making her job that much harder.
She saw Jake lean forward and whisper urgently to the mayor, who immediately rose.
“Thank you, Andy, but I’m afraid I’ll have to stop you there or the meeting will go on all night. Now, it has just been suggested that some members of the audience might like to have a turn to speak after so much listening. We’ve only one speaker left and he’s happy to wait.”
It was an excellent move, allowing the crowd to vent. People bounced to their feet, one after another, to support the protection of the pa, to demand jobs, to proclaim the rights of free market, to insist that Whangarimu remain the same, that it change with the times, that it resist American domination and that it embrace the real world. For a faltering second, Sass wondered how on earth she would ever find a compromise. Then Matt Finlayson stood up and his presence seemed to fill the room.
“It is absurd,” he said, his strong voice carrying the confidence of the highly successful, “to even be having this meeting. New Zealand is full of untouched, picturesque bays. What it needs is a positive way forward, a way to provide jobs, bring money into a depressed economy and stop the flight of our young to the cities. We wouldn’t be discussing this now if it weren’t for a few bleeding-heart environmentalists—” he shot a look directly at Jake “—who mistakenly believe they can save a handful of birds at the expense of progress. It’s time to get real. Time, Whangarimu, to pull ourselves out of the fiscal doldrums and into prosperity and plenty.”
The audience broke into an uproar. Cheers and applause vied with angry cries, and when Sass turned around, she saw some raised fists. She breathed in sharply. This was exactly what she didn’t want. Instead of feeling grateful to Matt for his support, she was angry. He’d whipped the already high feelings into a frenzy. How could they ever have a rational discussion now?
But beside her, Moana chuckled. “Jake’s dander is up. You watch now.”
Sass looked across at the brothers. Sure enough, Rob had remained calm, but Jake’s jaw was set, his eyes blazing. He radiated such suppressed energy and fury that Sass half expected to see lightning crackle around his blond head.
“Thank you, Matt,” said Tom, again stepping forward and trying to shout over the hubbub. “On that note, the man who needs no introduction—Jake Finlayson.”
The noise crescendoed as whistling and stamping were added to the shouts of the audience. Jake rose and walked to the front of the stage. He nodded to Rob, who moved across to switch out the lights, and a screen was lowered. In the glow, Jake stood very still. He was an imposing figure despite the faded jeans, ragged around the hems. As a concession to formality, he’d worn a white shirt, which made his tan seem more golden than ever. His unruly mop of curls glinted. He stood with feet planted apart, hands tucked into back pockets, elbows taut—a gunslinger ready to take on the whole darn town. The noise died without him making a single gesture, a single sound. Then he turned and switched on the first slide. It was a drawing of a huge eagle.
“This was the New Zealand giant eagle, the biggest there has ever been on earth.” Jake’s voice revealed none of the fury she’d seen in his face just seconds earlier. “Its wingspan was up to three meters long. That’s the distance from that window up there—” he gestured to one high on the wall, and everyone obediently looked up “—and reached all the way over to that beam.” All eyes followed the large path as people took in the phenomenal dimensions. Jake smiled.
“The talons were huge.” His hands measured the size in the air. “And would have been hanging low—just about…” he paused as though considering “…yeah, just about there—” his finger pointed “—right above my father’s head.”
He winked and everyone laughed, all ugliness dissolving instantly. Sass felt the breath leave her body in a long, slow exhalation. The tense lines under Jake’s shirt also relaxed as he rocked back on his heels, a lecturer now sure of his audience’s complete attention. “And that’s only the beginning. I’m going to take you on a brief tour of all the birds New Zealand has lost over the centuries and, most tragically, over the past hundred years, thanks to mankind and his thoughtless or, worse, rapacious ways.”
It was not a grim talk, though. Jake injected every slide with humor and interest, displaying a genius for highlighting details guaranteed to catch the imagination and make the birds come vividly alive. The list was dizzying: the moa, the laughing owl, the Stephens Island wren, the huia, the piopio, the Chatham Island bellbird, the South Island kōkako. Though people laughed at Jake’s descriptions, Sass could hear the hitch in throats as his talk gathered momentum, moving on to the current gravely endangered species and finishing up, not surprisingly, with the fairy tern. The slide showed a pretty bird, white with a black head and bright orange legs and beak.
“Yes, we have many species of tern,” Jake said. “Yes, the world will continue without these lovely birds, but…” he paused and the room was deathly quiet “…it will be that much emptier. As our lives are poorer without the birds we have already lost. My father was right. New Zealand abounds in unspoiled bays. Why then must we choose this one, one of the last sanctuaries for the fairy tern, for some resort, paid for with foreign dollars?”
Then, very deliberately, he turned to look at Sass. There was no warmth, no laughter in his expression now.
“It’s time to make a stand for those creatures that cannot defend themselves. It’s time for us to say no. No to greed, no to extinction. We must unite in our determination to preserve life, to preserve what is ours. Together we must go forward to stop these people who threaten Aroha Bay and the terns and drive them from our shores.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE JEEP WAS VERY QUIET
after they dropped Rob and Moana off. The euphoria following his performance had faded and Jake felt drained. He wasn’t used to having a guilty conscience. He’d meant every word of what he’d said—of course he had. But now, with just the two of them, he couldn’t help wondering what Sass was thinking. When he’d gazed directly at her in the hall, she’d looked right back at him, and for a second he’d felt as if he was in one of those movies where the background goes out of focus and the surrounding noises bl
ur. Just Sass and himself, caught in a moment that stretched forever, yet was over in a flash.
Real life had swept in with tumultuous applause, and afterward he’d been inundated with well-wishers shaking his hand, slapping his back. Sass had accidentally been jostled by some of his supporters, and though apologies had been made immediately, it was as if he’d made her invisible. Some of her hair had come out of the bun and Jake found himself thinking that it made Sass, usually so immaculate, seem vulnerable.
He stole a glance at his passenger. Her profile was rimmed in gold from the passing streetlights, her expression pensive as she stared into the darkness.
“Did you find the meeting helpful?” he asked.
“Very.”
He cleared his throat. “What I said—it wasn’t personal.”
“Wasn’t it?” she asked.
He didn’t know how to answer truthfully.
They turned off the city streets onto the dark road leading home. Was she mad at him? What if she began to cry? He couldn’t stop himself from asking the most clichéd question in all of history.
“So what are you thinking?”
She smiled. She had a really nice smile. “I was wondering whether Matt made his speech to damage your case or to help you.”
His shoulders relaxed. She wasn’t going to make a scene. Instead, like a true professional, she’d put personal feelings aside to analyze the evening. She’d make one helluva surfer, bouncing back from the biggest dumps. Sharp, too.
Feeling unaccountably lighter, he laughed. “You know, I’ve been wondering the same thing myself. Probably a bit of both. He’s a complicated bastard.”
“I gather the two of you don’t see eye to eye.”
“Nope. He’s never forgiven me for getting expelled.”
She cocked her head. “You were expelled? What for?”
“Taking dope to school.”
“Ah, so you wanted to get expelled.”
He was taken aback. “No.” Then he thought about it and realized that, subconsciously, he probably had. “Maybe.” Strange he’d never really thought of it like that before.
She leaned against the door to look at him more clearly in the darkness. “Why?”
He was silent for a second. “I guess I didn’t want to follow in the footsteps laid out in front of me. Dad had been top of his class, and so had Rob.” Jake shrugged. “It really pisses the old man off to have a failure of a son.”
“You aren’t a failure. You’re a world-class surfer.”
“He’d rather I was a world-class financier.”
“Mmm, I can see that.”
Silence fell again, but this time it felt companionable. He could detect a faint hint of her perfume through the smell of diesel.
“So this Jungle Paradise Resort—c’mon, Sass, you can’t really think it’s a good idea.”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her voice, as ever, was soft and reasonable, when she said, “Not the Mayan ruin part, no. Kurt went slightly overboard there.”
“Slightly?”
She laughed. “Okay, a lot. He’s cut from the same cloth as Andy.”
“Yeah. Whangarimu World. How did Andy come up with that lemon?” Jake shook his head. “I’d like to say the guy’s on drugs, but no. Seriously, though, are all your resorts as crass as that?”
“Not at all. Polynesian Paradise in Hawaii is lovely, all rock pools and waterfalls. A touch clichéd if you like, but very nice to stay at. The one in Mexico has a lot of panache and the Italian one is stunning. But you know how it goes. There was always a demand for the new, the never-thought-of. That was when they started to become extravaganzas and we got a reputation for it. Like the Olympics, the pressure is on for each one to outclass the one before.”
“In tastelessness?”
But she would not be drawn. “In meeting customer preference.”
Jake snorted. “You’d stuff up all of this for customer preference?” He gestured to the still harbor waters embossed in moonlight. The intricate silhouettes of gnarled pōhutukawa flew past as he swung the Jeep down the driveway and pulled up in front of the house. As he switched off the engine and killed the lights, they could hear the haunting notes of the morepork.
“Listen to that owl,” he said. “Who will hear that over the din of casinos and discos?”
“Who hears it now,” she replied softly, “apart from you and the boys?”
Caught off guard, he didn’t know how to reply. He wasn’t about to concede the point, but couldn’t refute it, either.
Her perfume remained tantalizingly faint. He leaned closer, ignoring the tug of his seat belt pulling him back.
“I didn’t mean it personally,” he said, looking into the dark hollows of her eyes, and this time knew it was the truth.
“It was a good speech you gave.”
Her voice conjured images of feminine dresses from the thirties and couples making out on American porch swings.
“Thanks. Did it convince you?”
She chuckled. “Great oratory doesn’t mean you’re necessarily right. Look at Hitler.”
Was she also leaning in just that much closer?
“Yeah, you’re right. Look at lawyers.”
As she laughed again, he couldn’t resist. He reached out and tucked that fallen strand of hair behind her ear. It was like silk. Of course it was. Miss Pain-in-the would make sure every detail of her life was perfect. His hand lingered by her ear. He could so easily draw her to him and—
Her hand came up and clamped his wrist. “We can’t.”
“No,” he agreed, “we can’t.” But he didn’t take his hand away.
“You’ve got to stop this…” She paused.
“What?” He couldn’t help it—he stroked her hair, ignoring her restraining fingers.
“This blowing hot and cold.”
He laughed. “It’s better than always being so bloody cool and superior.”
“Well, it’s got to stop.” She looked like a schoolteacher chastising a naughty kid, so he dropped a kiss on her nose.
“You’ve already said that.”
“Because you haven’t stopped,” she pointed out. He noticed, though, that she wasn’t pushing him away. “What do you want, Jake?”
“For an overpaid hotshot, you aren’t very bright. I thought I was making myself quite clear.”
In the moonlight he saw the reproving, sideways glance she threw at him as she let go of his hand and began undoing her seat belt. He leaned back and grinned.
“What? Running scared?”
“No. Running sensible.” She must have been flustered. Uncharacteristically, she was fumbling with the buckle.
“Speaking of running, fancy a real run tomorrow morning?”
Her seat belt finally came free. “What’s a real run?”
“Outside. Away from your treadmill. Breathe real air for once.”
“You are so full of it.” She opened her door.
“If you aren’t up to it—”
She got out. “See you pronto at six. I don’t wait around.”
“I know, I know. Time is money.” But she had already gone. He was left alone, laughing softly in the darkness. Score one for him.
Except he was the one left with a libido tied in knots.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“MORNING, SASS
. Ready for that run?” Jake’s voice, deep and maddeningly cheerful, carried into the sleep-out, where Sass was pulling on running shoes. Damn! She’d hoped he’d be late, so she wouldn’t have to face him just yet. It had been a sleepless night with too much to think about, what with the meeting and all. She steered away from thoughts about after the meeting in the Jeep. What was he going to be like this morning? She didn’t want things getting intense, just wanted to pretend nothing had happened. And it hadn’t, had it?
She went out onto the deck to find Jake doing chin-ups from a tree branch. When he saw her he dropped to the ground and walked over to her, the bounce of wired energy in his
step. No wonder this guy didn’t drink coffee; his blood carried its own caffeine.
“Glad you could make it. It’s a glorious morning.”
Glancing up, Sass realized that the dark sky wasn’t just caused by the earliness of the hour. Full-bellied black clouds hung overhead. “It looks like rain.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What d’you mean? It’s ready to bucket down.”
“It won’t be a problem. Cross my heart.”
She watched him solemnly cross his broad left pec, but still didn’t trust the look in those eyes.
“Is that a real promise?”
“A real promise. You can’t back out now—I thought we could go up to the pā.”
He was dangling the carrot and she knew, donkey that she was, she’d go after it. He knew it, too.
“Okay,” she said, “let’s go.”
Jake was right; it was a glorious morning. The sea was pewter and shafts of early sunlight slanted gold through the iron-gray clouds. The hills were very green against the sullen skies. They jogged up the driveway, their strides well-matched. At the top Jake turned left.
“Hey, I thought we were going to the pā.”
“We are, but I thought we could go down the road a bit first. Why, aren’t you up to it?”
The cocked eyebrow was deliberately employed to goad her—and succeeded.
“Sure.” She lengthened her stride into a sprint.
He laughed and picked up his own pace. It was a really dumb thing to do. She hadn’t exerted herself beyond a sensible jog in years but there was something about the dirt road stretching out in front of her that reminded her of when she’d been one of her school’s long-distance runners.
They flew down the road almost shoulder to shoulder. Suddenly she felt a splash of rain on her nose, another on her head. Then the cloud burst like an overfilled water balloon. They were drenched in seconds.
“You said,” she cried accusingly, between breaths, “it wouldn’t rain!”
“No,” he retorted, “I said it wouldn’t be a problem. It’s not just lawyers who can play silly buggers with the fine print.”