by Bowes, K T
And then he looked again at Hana and his heart melted in his chest, at the excitement and passion for this place he saw in her eyes. It was clear to the agent and to him that she had fallen in love with it. Back in the truck, skittering down the treacherous road, Hana chatted on about the house and the lovely English agent who migrated from somewhere not so far away from where she grew up. She pointed out the areas where someone had painstakingly sunk piles and retaining walls and seemed to have gleaned the whole history of the place in a short half an hour of looking around. Some long buried wisdom caused Logan to bite back the enormous, mounting reservations and simply ask Hana, “What did you see?”
She faltered obviously in her chatter, looking sideways at him with confusion as though she didn’t understand the question. Then she turned away, looking out of the window after whispering the single word, “Myself.” Then she fell silent.
Logan turned off the Hakarimata Road and went left towards the rail lines and State Highway 1. He turned left again, but instead of taking the right turn down River Road and back to Hamilton he kept driving north. After a few minutes, just before the Taupiri sign he pulled onto the side of the road in a makeshift lay-by, usually full of gravel piles from the road gangs but empty today apart from one significantly depleted heap. The truck crunched and lurched through the potholes and ground to a halt and Logan turned everything off. Including his own brain, which was desperate to warn Hana against the foolish plan he suspected was currently being hatched inside her lovely head.
When she turned to him, Logan was surprised to see tearful green eyes as her face revealed her trying to process some deep, inner turmoil. Logan resisted the urge to speak and sat patiently waiting. Eventually, Hana relaxed a little and ventured some attempt at explaining what she meant. “It’s like the house is stuck. It has the potential to be something truly amazing but it sits there decaying, something previously loved, just…stuck. That’s how I feel. Previously loved, but stuck. I’m living a life mapped out for four people. Now there’s only me left and I keep on living it. I’m not sure I even like it anymore. I wanted someone to rescue me, give me a new lease of life and energy, but I didn’t know that was what I wanted, what I needed. Not until I met you. This house excites me. I can see how it should be, not how it is now. It could be beautiful; my life could be beautiful.”
Hana stopped speaking and sat still, picking at a piece of plaster on her left index finger and betraying agitation in her taut posture. Logan reached out towards her, putting his hand over her fidgeting fingers and holding them tightly still. He said nothing but stared out across the horizon, a slight smile playing on his parted lips.
Hana looked up at him, gauging his reaction to her bizarre logic. She followed his intent stare, out through the windscreen, across water sparkling in the dying embers of the sunshine, until her eyes rested on the white house set high on the hills backed by the bush line. The house sat proudly and from a distance, the viewer could see none of the imperfections which daily cursed it. They sat for a while in comfortable silence until Logan spoke, “Get a good surveyor.”
Chapter 34
Before the first week of the holiday was over, Hana took the massive decision to rent out her house on Achilles Rise, engaged a solicitor, a surveyor and asked the English agent to act for her in the purchase of the extravagantly named Culver’s Cottage. Despite present appearances, the old villa was surprisingly sound. The former owner who had grand designs in mind for the hundred-acre property, shifted it wholesale onto its current site five years previously. But hard times came in the shape of business collapse, followed quickly by his marriage and the grand designs ended before they began. The property was sectioned off leaving the old villa with some amount of land and it lay unwanted and silent, watching over the convergence of the twin rivers.
Other prospective viewers fled at the steepness of the driveway and the state of the outside. Those who ventured inside merely added to the list of the house’s misfortunes, poking and prodding plaster and wood and further disgruntling the agent who handed responsibility for it over to the newest kid on the block. Only one offer had been received, so far below the asking price it was grudgingly presented and pinged back almost instantaneously by the owner. A three-year buyers’ drought ensued and the owner was reportedly ready to bite off any proffered hand.
Logan took Hana to the offices of the Waikato District Council and they trawled through as many public records as they could manage in a morning stint. They researched current land values and tried to decide on a reasonable offer which would neither break the bank, nor cause offence. The house was up for six hundred and fifty thousand dollars, while the single rejected offer was for less than four. Current land values had dropped considerably. Properties with less acreage sold for around four hundred and fifty to five hundred in that area, although newer houses graced their square footage. The bank was willing to advance Hana four hundred thousand as a mortgage and she had nearly two hundred thousand in the bank left over from Vik’s life insurance. She and Logan poured over the sums. “It’s going to cost a fortune in repairs, even if you do some yourself, so the least you can spend on the purchase price, the better.” Logan advised.
He sat back in his seat and Hana observed him through her eyelashes. He had an exceptionally good head for business and at his request, a couple of builders visited and hummed and sighed, but gave fairly realistic quotes. Times were hard and they wanted the work. A third builder was still due to look. “It’s up to you,” Logan said. “I’ll help you with whatever you need me to. But the decision is ultimately yours.”
The owner, via the agent, happily relinquished his front door key and Hana was free to visit the property at will. There was something about driving across the Waipa Bridge, some peculiar lifting of her spirits which told her this was meant to be. She prayed fervently she would be blessed here and that the Good Lord would cause it to go well for her.
Her prayers were answered. Subject to the requisite Land Information Management report and finalisation of the surveyor’s findings in writing, the desperate owner accepted Hana’s conditional offer of five hundred thousand dollars towards the end of the second week of the holidays, to be rid of the place. Hana was both terrified and elated, all at once. Logan was incredibly supportive. He even sweet-talked the agent into acquiring the owner’s original grand plans for the property, and listened to Hana as she veered between ecstatic highs and doubt filled lows.
Their relationship progressed into something tangible and steady as they worked together and Hana was forced to admit she was in love with the handsome Logan Du Rose. It was a pleasant surprise to discover she still had love left to give and she revelled in his company and felt a physical thrill at his nearness. People at work began to notice. Instead of abating as their first flush of love took hold, the electricity between them grew stronger and Logan lost his awkwardness and began to look happy with life. “I never dreamed I would actually find you,” he whispered to her once, his kisses urgent and soft. “I couldn’t have imagined it would be this good.”
As the school boys dragged themselves out of bed on the first day of term-two and staff struggled into work after a restful and well deserved break, Hana rushed back into the office, the proud owner of Culver’s Cottage. It was to her, a palace in the making and not the derelict forgotten wreck it appeared to be. “I can’t believe I bought a house all by myself,” she said to herself in the rear view mirror, feeling daunted and excited synonymously. Obviously Logan was a major contributor in practical ways, but the legal documents made Culver’s Cottage the property of Mrs Hana Johal.
It was business as usual in the department, sorting out the mail that trickled in during the holidays. The Year 9 runner kept busy, bringing up the huge boxes of literature ordered before the break. He was a tiny boy and the boxes were cumbersome. He broke out in quite a sweat after the fifth one and needed to sit down for a minute. Fortunately Hana had a few packets of sweets in her desk for just such an o
ccasion and he was grateful for the sugar-induced energy from his chosen packet.
Rory had taken a term’s sabbatical and was enjoying being at home with his wife and new baby daughter and the pressure was eased without the constant rows between him and Sheila. His desk became a handy space to put boxes, post and anything else that appeared in the room. Very soon Rory’s desk no longer resembled its usual tidy self, but looked like a storeroom surface.
The sound of Angus’ gentle Scottish lilt broke through the hustle and bustle as he approached the student centre, echoing in the corridor outside. Sheila and Hana jostled each other in their attempt to clear Rory’s desk of its considerable detritus and then stood in the middle of the room armed with boxes and papers looking frantically for somewhere to hide the mess. Peter North crept quietly into the room and sat at his desk playing with his phone. At the same moment, both women seized the opportunity to stash the offending stuff under his desk but in their efforts to each get there first, bumped awkwardly together and the whole lot tumbled from their grasp and landed in various places on and around Pete. One box upended on his desk, spewing its contents down the side like a paper-fall, while another landed squarely on his head, upside down.
Angus was calm as he appeared in the doorway and made no remark, but his guest seemed wide-eyed with alarm. Pete was completely adorned in university brochures and opened envelopes, sat stock still at his desk. A University of Waikato brochure slid out from under the box on his head and landed the right way up in front of him. Deciding to make the best of the situation, he turned away from the spectators and leafed through the brochure as though nothing was wrong.
Hana froze with her back to the door but Sheila, thinking on her feet as always, slapped Pete on the back of the head, knocking the box forwards over his eyes whilst rebuking him roughly, “You are such a messy boy, please get this cleared up!” Sheila dumped her box onto the desk in front of the bewildered and still silent Pete and stomped off muttering, “Oh and don’t do it again!”
Hana fought the urge to either laugh or look ashamed at poor Pete’s predicament, but Angus carried on as though nothing had happened. “This is Caroline Marsh and she will be acting for Rory this term,” he stated. “She also doubles as an able physical education and science teacher and I know you’ll make her most welcome.”
With a flourish, he dismissed the new woman, indicating Rory’s slightly askew desk with his hand and flounced away. The room remained completely static as nobody moved and Angus could be heard chatting to a student in the corridor outside. Hearing Ms Marsh was Rory’s temporary replacement, Sheila reappeared from her office and openly stared at the newcomer. It was evident from her face expression that this woman was never going to match up to Rory and Hana smelled trouble already.
The teacher seemed fine to her, short blonde hair, slightly built, athletic but not overly so. Somewhere in her early forties, she wore no makeup but didn’t appear to need it. She was pretty and looked as though she knew her own mind and wasn’t going to be a pushover. Breaking the deadlock, the woman moved towards Rory’s desk and began to straighten things out. Hana breathed a sigh of relief and started to uncover Pete, putting the brochures back into the box and then trying to wedge them under her desk. She had vastly over ordered and there was little room left under there, what with the new box of wall display paper, six big file boxes of student career records and a plastic brochure holder that she was still waiting for the caretaker to come and fix to the wall. She gave it a hard shove and hoped she would be able to find a way to get her feet under the desk.
As Hana dusted Pete down, straightened his collar and flattened the bits of his wispy hair back onto his head, Ms Marsh left the room. Pete turned towards her retreating back and muttered, “Bitch!” maliciously under his breath.
Hana was shocked and slapped him lightly on the top of his head. She was appalled. Pete had never said anything so harsh in all the years she had known him. He turned towards her as though he wanted to say something and then in usual Pete-style, slammed the brochure down on the desk with a slap and, grabbing his keys, stalked off out without a backward glance. Hana and Sheila looked at each other and with a shrug, both got on with their work.
Ms Marsh returned, evidently from her car as she carried a number of personal items which she set out on her desk. She picked up a cardboard roll containing a number of persuasive Lincoln University posters and held it between two fingers as though it was contaminated, before dropping it into the bin. Hana cringed inwardly and looked to see if Sheila saw. She didn’t. She fussed over something on the table and didn’t turn around at the clunk the cardboard made as it hit the empty metal bin sides.
There was no staff briefing on the first day back. Everyone was expected to get straight back into it. At just after nine o’clock, the door shot open and Logan dashed into the room. He smiled beautifully and carried a sheet of paper in his hand. “This is a quote from the builder for the roof,” he began. “Reckons he can do it for this price and start this week. If you’re happy, that is?”
He looked pleased with himself and Hana responded to his enthusiasm, leaning into him to read the quote and scrutinise the figures. “Well done,” she praised him. “Thank you so much!” Hana felt the familiar hum of their connection and the spark of attraction at Logan’s proximity. It was difficult not to be physical at work, keeping their hands and lips frustratingly under control and making their new relationship seem even more charged.
One second they were looking together at the scrawled handwriting bearing the magic numbers and the next, Hana felt tension crawl over her. Logan became rigid, his arm muscles clenching against hers and she glanced up at him with a questioning look.
Caroline rose slowly from her seat and faced them, a look of self-satisfaction adorning her face and a smirk rising to her lips. “Hello Logan,” she stated. “I guess you didn’t expect to see me here?”
The last was a rhetorical question, as from his stance and shocked appearance it was obvious to Hana that Caroline was the last person on earth he expected to see. Logan kept hold of the paper with one hand and Hana saw it vibrate as his hand shook. The mantle of awkwardness descended over him and he pursed his sensuous lips. His grey eyes fixed at a mark on the wall behind Pete’s desk that looked a lot like a bogey and then letting go of the paper abruptly, Logan stormed from the room without explanation. Hana remained standing there, wondering what had happened.
Caroline turned back to her seat and sat calmly down while Hana dangled the flapping corner of paper in confusion. Sheila’s trouble antenna was on red alert and she looked positively perplexed from her office doorway. She shrugged and raised her hands, asking without words, ‘What was that about?’ But Hana merely mimicked the action to show she hadn’t a clue. Turning back to her desk, she caught the slightest glance from Caroline and felt uncomfortable at what she saw in the other woman’s eyes. Somehow a challenge had been issued and Logan Du Rose was at the centre.
The rest of the day went as usual. Caroline was quiet and the two women left her alone to settle in. Hana was wary of her for some inexplicable reason, working through the odd scene over and over in her head while she crunched numbers for budgets and emailed speakers for lunchtime visits. “Well, obviously they know each other,” Sheila whispered in the lunch room over coffee. “Yet only she seems happy to renew the acquaintance.”
Hana tried a couple of times to text Logan but knew as she wasted her credit he probably hadn’t got his phone on him. His failure to reply merely confirmed her suspicion - unless he was deliberately ignoring her.
A minor scuffle outside in the foyer occupied most of lunchtime as Sheila first shouted, then punished and finally sat and talked with the offenders. Unfortunately, this occupied the large table in the centre of the room which meant getting to the brochure racks was next to impossible. Hana felt a curious unease all day and found it impossible to concentrate. As the final bell tolled, she decided to give up and wandered out to the truck which
she wedged in the only available parking space left in the Chapel car park that morning.
Clattering across the uneven surface in her high heels, Hana noticed Logan in the distance walking towards Peter North’s battered Nissan Sunny in the car park behind the gym. His hands were stuffed into his tight trouser pockets, pulling the material taut over his neat buttocks and his shoulders were slumped and despondent. Boris was at camp and Pete had done one of his disappearing acts, obviously leaving Logan the keys to go home.
Hana knew from experience her voice wouldn’t carry, so she began to walk over, lifting her right arm high in a wave. Readying her smile as she saw Logan turn, she heard a woman’s voice call his name and Caroline Marsh approached him from the other direction, sashaying across the car park. The woman stood intimately close and put her hands on Logan’s chest, gazing up into his eyes as her cherry red lips moved. Hana stopped walking and watched as after a pause, Logan unlocked the car. Hana saw Caroline’s hand drag casually from his chest to his waist, lingering on his butt as Logan opened the boot and stowed his bag. The car doors slammed, sealing them both inside. Logan started the engine and backed out of the parking space at the same moment as pride and dignity flooded back into Hana’s dismayed senses. You idiotic, middle-aged fool!
Returning her stupid hand back to her side, Hana clip clopped quickly over to the truck, aware they would drive right past her if she remained stood in the middle of the road. Feeling devastated, she hid on the driver’s side, bobbing down as though she had dropped something. She knew who Caroline Marsh was.