Hana Du Rose Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1 - 4

by Bowes, K T

  She lay back in the chair, rising sharply at the sound of squealing outside on the balcony. A trouser leg appeared over the railing which separated Hana’s from the rest, followed by a body and head. The tall curtains were open and Miriam, Hana and Logan watched in amazement as the male scaled the railing on the other side before banging furiously on the doors of the room next to them. Miriam put her head in her hands. “It’s some IT company celebrating their twentieth anniversary. I’m not doing this corporate stuff anymore.”

  “Want me to deal with it?” asked Logan.

  At Miriam’s almost imperceptible nod, Logan strode over to the doors, wrenching them open and leaping the railing onto the adjoining balcony in one fluid movement. He grabbed the obviously drunk man by his shirtfront as he lifted a decorative vase off its base with the clear intention of putting it through the window next door. Logan’s usual awkwardness was nowhere to be seen as he knocked loudly on next-door’s window and shouted, “Management, open up!”

  Hana and Miriam heard the sound of curtains being pulled back and the doors opening and shutting as Logan walked the man through the room and out into the corridor. The women heard one-sided arguing, but Logan must have said nothing as neither woman heard his voice. The commotion went down the stairs at the end of the corridor and out of earshot. “Do you think he’ll be ok?” Hana asked wide-eyed.

  “He won’t hit him,” Miriam said conspiratorially, lowering her voice, “well, not unless he has to.”

  “I meant Logan!” said Hana, astounded.

  “Oh goodness yes,” chortled Miriam, “he can handle himself just fine.”

  Hana sat back on the pillows wondering if there was something particular she should have asked before she jumped headlong into a relationship. She remembered the stitches under Logan’s eye, but also the bruised and cut knuckles. Evidently he didn’t shy away from trouble, Hana worried about his magnetism for scuffles. She didn’t want that.

  “We’ve met before.” Miriam’s speech was slow and deliberate as though she spelled out each word in the air. “Do you remember?”

  Hana’s attention was caught, sensing an answer to the feeling of déjà vu and she leaned forward on the bed. “Yes. But where?”

  Miriam nodded, a steady, regal dip of her head. She had been beautiful once. “We were on a train. You were with an Indian man. You were pregnant and you looked pūkatokato, heartbroken.” She dropped her voice to say the Māori word for utter devastation.

  The scene flooded back to Hana like a cold wave crashing over her. That was it! They were going to tell Vik’s parents she was pregnant and went by train to London. Her father and brother had already been horrid to her and she dreaded the meeting with Vik’s family. The eighteen-year-old Hana cried silently for most of the journey, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and hoping the rest of the train hadn’t noticed. It was the worst day of Hana’s life and her fragile sanity had protected her, shrouding the hideous day in a blessed fog. Hana wracked her brain yet again, trying to remember.

  The older woman watched her struggle with it before helping her out. “It was the tube train on the Circle Line. There was an aisle in between us. Youse and the man was on the other side. I was travelling to see my taku tuakana. He was sick in the hospital there. He took a holiday to family in France and collapsed passing through England.”

  Hana’s mind grappled for the memory, finally pulling it out, dusting it down and seeing them there, a woman with grey eyes staring back at her across the graffitied carriage, unusual eyes, once seen, never forgotten. Only she had. Forgotten, that is. “You gave me a hanky, with little kiwis on it. I still have it.”

  Miriam inclined her head slightly, watching Hana with interest. Then it hit Hana like a freight train. “No! Oh no!” Surely the teenager with her…surely it wasn’t Logan? Those same eyes. That look he had. Hana felt sick and covered her mouth with her hand. Everything tipped over in her mind. The two lives collided, the then and the now. She wanted them separate but suddenly they were mixed and muddled, scarred by each other, dirtied. Hana felt like she’d been caught snogging with someone’s kid brother. Images of Anka and Tama flooded into her brain, out of proportion, off-the-wall-thinking, which made her writhe physically in her seat. “Oh God,” she wailed and it was not blasphemy but a genuine plea for mercy. “Does Logan remember?”

  Miriam shrugged. “I don’t know, dear. I haven’t reminded him. But he forgets nothing and he looks to me like a man who’s got what he always wanted. You need to trust him. He knows what he’s doin’.”

  Hana cast her weak mind back to the teenager who sat opposite Vik. She remembered the grey eyes and olive skin, the dark hair and the awkward glances he darted around the train. He was stunningly handsome, even back then. It was too weird. Hana ran her hand over her face, noticing it shook uncontrollably.

  “He died,” came Miriam’s voice, breaking into Hana’s writhing turmoil.

  “Sorry?” Hana jerked back to the present again.

  “My brother,” replied Miriam in a small voice, “the train was delayed and he died before we got to see him. And Logan wouldn’t get off. He kept looking back at you and we missed our connection. So he died.” Then she said, “It was moments - that was all. Just a matter of minutes.” Miriam looked pointedly at Hana, who sat shaking her head in disbelief. “What’s so bad about this?” the older woman asked her, “What’s so terrible?”

  “I don’t know,” Hana whispered, so quietly Miriam became alarmed and moved around the bed towards her. How could Hana explain how the age gap seemed suddenly huge - awful? The few years between her and Logan stretched into a hundred before her eyes just from this one, bizarre reminder and Hana’s happiness of the last few hours swished away, like water down the toilet. “He was a child,” managed Hana, her hand over her mouth, “a little boy and I was already a mother.” It seemed ridiculous.

  Hana jumped with shock when Miriam stood over her and gripped her painfully hard by her shoulders. “Youse were just a child yourself,” she countered. “A baby, having a baby. Don’t do this please, don’t hurt my son? I can see how he feels about you. He’s had…enough misery to last him a lifetime!”

  The last sentence was half plea, half threat. The grey eyes bore into Hana’s across the centimetres between them and across the dirty train carriage, irrevocably blended into one moment. Hana felt pole axed. Miriam silently left the room, knowing she had inadvertently caused a disaster, creeping off down to the kitchen to help the local women clean up the mess from the evening’s festivities. She left the door ajar and Hana started when later Logan returned, pushing it gently open. She sat on the bed, her head in her hands and he knew instantly from her body language that something had happened. He was at her side in a second. “Hana?”

  Pulling her hands away from her face, Logan was filled with panic when he saw the wet lines of tears on her cheeks and kept hold of her wrists as he sat down in front of her. Hana didn’t reply and was grateful when he pulled her into his chest and held her tightly for a while. Her body felt stiff and unyielding against him, slowly relaxing as he held her and breathed gently into her hair. The tears streamed down tracks on her face without ceasing, but she made no sound. It was the worst kind of crying, a bottled, lidded emotion like a hand grenade thrown into a trench, the pin already out but the explosion pending.

  Finally, Hana sat back on the bed, desperately wanting to go home but needing to solve her own mystery. She wanted to stop running away from things. She began haltingly, “You know when we first met?” Logan nodded, but his eyes coded out a fearful warning with their flashing grey irises. “The day when I found the rat...in the staff room...”

  “No,” he countered, “we met at the staff photos, on the second day. I stood behind you. The photographer told all the women to put their hands behind their backs but watch out for the men behind them, unless they wanted a different kind of relationship. You looked up at me a blushed and it was cute.” He lay down on his side, supporting his head on hi
s bent arm. His other arm stayed resting lightly on her thigh, not breaking the contact. “Do we have to do this now, Hana?”

  Hana noticed his lip was bleeding slightly and nodded. Logan saw her look and wiped the cut with his other hand, his brow furrowing. “Fine then,” he said with obvious reluctance. “It was technically even before that, as we did nod in the car park on my first day. Well, I nodded at you and you ignored me because you dropped your bag...Hana please, I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Logan grew impatient with the game, not wanting to go over the scene again. He had spent more than twenty years searching for her, finally giving up on ever obtaining the life with her which haunted his dreams. Then suddenly she was there, grappling around on the floor for the contents of her bag as a car almost ran her over. Logan swiped at his lip again with shaking fingers, remembering the shocked paralysis which left him stood there, frozen in time. In the picture in his mind, Hana retrieved her keys and stood up, the sunlight catching her beautiful hair. A lipstick fell onto the floor in her fluster and Logan wanted so much to pick it up for her, to touch her as he placed the object into her hand. He imagined so often what it would be like, to see her again. Long after Hana trotted off into the building, Logan remained transfixed. It was a defining moment for him, his whole miserable past catching up with his present in a single heart-stopping-body-blow.

  “You never told me you’d been to London,” Hana said, her tone accusing. Logan’s smile was almost imperceptible and Hana saw a man who kept his playing cards close to his chest. He looked silently at her for so long, Hana felt uncomfortable and plunged in further, “I was on a train, with Vik...”

  Logan sat up so quickly he startled her. He put his finger over her lips to stop her talking and came so close she felt his warm breath on her cheeks. His words were almost a whisper, haltingly given and Hana sensed his tremendous nervousness. “It was after my fourteenth birthday. I was on a train with Mum going to visit a sick uncle. Mike was back at the hotel with a fake stomach upset and I sat opposite the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I couldn’t take my eyes off her and all she did was cry from Epping Forest to the centre of London. I spent the journey trying not to stare, wishing I could take her off the train and run away with her and make it better. And I have spent the last…too many years, comparing everyone else to her. When I saw you in the car park here of all places, I was stunned. I’d finally found you. When you sat down next to me at the table, I knew I was going to find a way to make it right!”

  Hana was utterly speechless. How did she answer that? She could think of nothing to say in return, gaping uselessly.

  “Hana, who cares?” he asked her outright, “I don’t! Please don’t tell me you do?”

  Hana sat back and screwed up her face while she thought about it. When she opened her eyes, Logan searched her face for an answer, his grey irises shot with desperation and fear. “It’s weird,” she said, “like, I can see that little boy and he’s so young.” Logan rubbed at his lip again but didn’t interrupt. “I felt like it was a fresh start with you, but you saw…you saw me pregnant with Bodie,” Hana whispered the word ‘pregnant’ and Logan tried not to smile at her prudishness. “You saw Vik, it’s like…it’s like…” she dropped her voice so low, Logan leaned forward to hear her. His hair brushed against her forehead and she sensed him holding his breath.

  “You came into my past accidentally. But nobody else here has. They don’t know…I was a different person then.”

  Hana was obviously finding it hard to qualify her sense of confusion and Logan decided to nail it, once and for all. He took her hands in his and Hana felt him trembling. “If I knew you then and I know you now and I love you anyway, doesn’t that make it…kind of meant to be? Special somehow?”

  Hana stared at him with real concentration and he could see realisation dawning in her eyes. “I didn’t think about it like that,” she replied. He kept a firm hold on her hands as though physical contact would immunise him against what she might say next. His face was a mask of fear but something clicked in Hana. It was like a full circle. She could see it connected them in a surreal way. She allowed herself to feel differently about it. Logan’s perspective was a positive thing and he had said he loved her.

  “So, what did you think of me?” Hana pushed her luck and Logan smiled and bit his already bleeding lip.

  “I’ve told you already and I’m not going to say it again.” He got up and kissed her casually on the forehead. “But I am going to find the owner of this bloody company and tell him to shut his employees up, otherwise they can all drive home tonight!”

  He was gone, shutting the door with a click behind him. He needed to get out of the room where his life almost came crashing down around his ears. It was too soon for her to make the link. She didn’t remember and he had chosen to leave it that way. Bad timing was the story of Logan Du Rose’s life. He was badly shaken as he went downstairs to confront the only other person who knew; his bloody mother.

  Hana sat on the bed for a long while. She hadn’t realised how noisy the party had got. No wonder Miriam didn’t want to do corporate events again. They were dreadful.

  As another male appeared on her balcony attempting to get through to the room on the other side of her, Hana marched over to the doors, made sure they were locked and drew the curtains across them with a flourish. She used the TV to drown out the noise and fell asleep on top of the covers again, missing the drama which unfolded downstairs. It involved the local police and the company boss, a portly little man with a round red face, who had lost control of his staff.

  Chapter 33

  “So much for giving you the best room in the house!” remarked Logan as they drove home the next morning. Hana smiled. She was probably the only one on the property who slept well, but half a bottle of wine could do that to a person.

  “I had a cool time,” she said softly, “I loved the trek.”

  Logan smiled across at her and squeezed her hand. He drove one-handed, holding her right hand in his left and their fingers entwined on his thigh. They felt close and it was good.

  Hana sat up straighter as she saw the Tainui Bridge to the right, recognising that the start of Hakarimata Road was on the other side of it. Logan looked quizzically at her. “Would it be ok,” she began, “if we made a detour on the way home?”

  As they turned up the steep gravelled driveway it was obvious the property had fallen into disrepair. Logan did not need to see the house itself to deduce little money or love had been showered on this place for many years. The drive was pitted with well-worn ruts and holes and as they climbed ever higher above the landscape, there was evidence of landslides and falls encroaching onto the track. But the view was breath-taking.

  As it came into sight, it was apparent the section nestled partly into the underside of the Hakarimata Ranges. The house itself sat proudly isolated on a lower slope, five hundred metres away from the bush, surrounded by green, rolling hills and paddocks. The house was an immense piece of architecture, a seasoned villa which may not have started life on this particular block, but somehow ended up here. It was white, weather-boarded and proud. It had an old, rounded, intricate corrugated roof and a widow’s walk, characteristic of properties constructed around the early 1900s. At the back of the house, the walkway continued into balcony, running on top of a garage roof which made a roof garden. Sadly, it was practically derelict. “Hana, it’s a dump. Why do you want to see it?” he asked.

  Two of the windows were smashed and the garage doors hung precariously off their runners. From the front, the property comprised of a single story but the back nestled into the hill, which was undercut to encompass the double garage. The house itself looked spacious and well-designed but as he sat in the truck, Logan was doubtful even the floorboards would hold the lightest of buyers. It looked a mess and he was tempted to put the vehicle into a sharp turn and set off back down the driveway.

  He turned to Hana, ready to commiserate but was amazed by s
omething he saw pass across her lovely face. Was it hope he saw in her eyes as she stared at something clearly outside his vision? Logan didn’t know her well enough yet to tell. That she was captivated by this wreck of a house; he did recognise. He hadn’t turned off the engine, yet she pushed open the door and crunched across the gravel towards the front door where an agent sat on a camping chair looking considerably surprised at the visitors. Logan switched off the engine, locked the doors and made his way towards Hana. He was suddenly confounded by his new role. What should he do? Keep silent? Say nothing? State the truth; this place had seen better days and was irreparable, or what? He felt truly lost.

  Logan’s natural awkwardness was exacerbated by his unease as he shook hands with the agent, a polite Englishwoman with a southern accent. She wore unsuitable stilettos that gave her considerable difficulty on the gravel, but she was pleasant and affable given the state of her surroundings. “The property certainly has potential,” she twittered as she and Hana moved companionably around the place. Logan moved more slowly, taking in the practicalities, the elderly wiring, the rotten weatherboards and the general, daunting antiquity of the structure. He looked around quickly and then went along to a large and spacious living room. The huge bay window at the front looked out on a wondrous and spectacular view of the merging of the Mighty Waikato River and the Waipa, the grey water standing out clearly against the orange hues of the latter, the contrast marked between the city river and the clay-laden waters of the Waipa. Ngaruawahia, home of the Māori King oversaw the convergence of twin rivers.

  The sky took on a pink glow as the sun dipped into the hills behind the house. On a clear, fine day, the view would be immense. Hana clattered around with the agent downstairs in the garage and Logan heard them laughing and sharing trivia. When they came back upstairs Hana looked alive and vibrant. The agent looked hopeful. I bet you are, thought Logan uncharitably, looking at the agent’s face. No one in their right mind is going to buy this place.