Smoke Screen

by Emilie Richards

  "I'll hold," she promised the operator as she drummed her fingers in a hard-rock rhythm against the glass. She listened as the phone whirred and clicked; then she heard her mother's voice.

  "Hello, Mother," she said, trying to remind herself that she didn't have to shout. There was a faint hesitation as her voice was transmitted, then an enthusiastic response from the other end.

  "Darling. Where are you? Are you still in Honolulu? I tried to reach you last night and this morning, but they told me that number had been disconnected."

  Paige drummed her fingers louder in frustration. Either Lucy hadn't found Carter in a good mood in the days since Paige had come to New Zealand, or Carter hadn't told his wife where their daughter was. "I left Honolulu the Wednesday before last. I'm in Waimauri, New Zealand."

  There was a longer silence than necessary. "Why?" Ann asked at last.

  "I'm checking on the property you inherited, Mother. I'm staying at the house."

  "Does your father know?"

  Paige recognized her mother's Carter-must-be-placated voice. "I don't know if he does or not," Paige said, irritated, "but I'm calling to tell him now. Is he there?"

  "Paige, come home. You shouldn't be there."

  Paige could almost hear her mother reaching for the cut-glass decanter that stood on the table beside the parlor telephone. She imagined the tingle of ice cubes and the splash of expensively mellow scotch. "Mother, is Father there?"

  Another extended silence was followed by a sigh. "Don't stir up trouble, darling. New Zealand is too far away. Come home."

  Paige wondered what New Zealand was too far away from. Too far from the United States, or too far from her mother's life? Perhaps what had seemed like a whim on her father's part was more. "I need to speak to Father," she repeated.

  "Just a moment."

  Paige heard the hurt in her mother's tone, and she was sorry to have put it there. But she was too old to blindly follow bad advice just because it had been given by a parent. She wasn't going to leave New Zealand without a plan for the thermals firmly in place.

  And she wasn't going to leave Waimauri without some answers to questions that were beginning to seem important.

  Cousin.

  She wished she could call her mother back to the phone and ask if Adam's suggestion that they were related had any basis in fact. Did she have family here, family that her mother had never acknowledged? Adam's blood was Maori and Pakeha. Did they have a common English ancestor? Had there been a family spat her mother didn't want her to know about?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by her father's voice.

  "What the hell are you doing in New Zealand?"

  "Playing cricket with kiwi birds," she said pleasantly. "And hello to you, Father mine."

  "Right now I'm your boss, not your father. Get on the next plane home, Paige, or your job is a memory."

  "I'm fine, thanks, and how are you? Improved your golf score any? Bought and sold any continents?" There was a short silence, and Paige tapped her fingers, waiting.

  "I wouldn't stand for this from anyone else."

  "The advantages of daughterhood."

  There was a rumble across oceans, but Paige knew it was her father trying to suppress a laugh. Carter Duvall was any man's definition of a bastard, but he had two weaknesses: his daughter and his wife. "Come home, daughter," he said more pleasantly. "Come home and I'll buy you a continent."

  "Thanks, but I'll settle for selling part of an island. Listen to this." She told him about her conversation with Hamish Armstrong, ending with the price Hamish had quoted.

  "You've done well," Carter admitted grudgingly. "Now come home and let me send someone more experienced with this kind of deal to finish up negotiations."

  "Just what are you and Mother trying to hide?"

  There was a short silence, followed by profanity that made even Paige, who was used to Carter's language, take notice.

  "You know, you just insulted your own mother," she said when he'd finished. "And possibly your grandmother, but you went so fast, I couldn't say for sure."

  "We aren't hiding anything," he shouted. "New Zealand's history. And there's no point in you being there. The future counts, not the past."

  "An excellent slogan. I'll have it chiseled on your headstone. In the meantime, I'm not going to tolerate you sending someone 'more experienced' to finish anything. This deal's mine, Carter. I'll come back when I've made a successful sale." She paused. "And when I find out what you're so worried about."

  She could have heard his slam of the telephone receiver without the phone company's help.

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, dressed in an ice-pink, wool jersey dress with frivolously expensive eel skin shoes and belt, Paige began the hour drive to Rotorua to meet Hamish for dinner. Lush, verdant hills rolled back from both sides of the road, broken only by an occasional tree and more than occasional sheep, some with newborn lambs who frolicked in the deepening shadows.

  After her phone call she had spent the day browsing through the library for books that detailed the history of New Zealand, particularly the volcanic region of which Waimauri was a part. Her reading had begun as an exercise in trying to understand the area, but it had quickly evolved into fascination.

  She had followed the story of the Maoris coming to the islands sometime around the fourteenth century and their struggle to survive in a climate unlike their native Hawaiki, now thought to be one of the group known as the Society Islands, of which Tahiti was a part. She had learned about the eight canoes that had landed, and how descendants of the people from each canoe had formed tribes. She had read the fascinating, often violent history of a people who had almost been extinguished after their encounters with the Europeans who followed them centuries later to "civilize" the islands.

  Reading about the European settlers had been interesting, too. North of Auckland, the Bay of Islands had harbored a colony of the worst reprobates in the South Pacific, pirates and whalers and convicts escaped from Australia's penal colonies. There had been an unconscionable rape of the North Island forests, and a flourishing market in Maori tattooed and preserved heads. The Europeans had brought a Christianity they didn't always practice, along with muskets and liquor and diseases that the Maoris had no immunity against.

  It wasn't until 1839 that Britain began to sort things out, sending 19,000 stable settlers to begin a colony. But it was another twenty-five years before the fierce wars between the Maoris and Pakehas ended, leaving a Maori population decimated by war and poverty and the attendant problems of alcoholism and malnutrition.

  Luckily the story hadn't finished there. Both Maoris and Pakehas had thrived and flourished since the turn of the century. Paige had been left with a growing sense of excitement at discovering more about this country whose heritage was rich in folklore and tradition, and whose contemporary commitment to fair play and equality was a model for nations everywhere.

  Carter might believe she had no reason to stay in New Zealand, but more than ever, she knew he was wrong.

  And more than ever she believed Carter was hiding something. Whatever it was, she intended to find out the truth before she went home.

  In the meantime she was looking forward to sizing up Hamish a little better. If she had sometimes felt that she was a vice president of Duvall Development solely because the company belonged to her father, she wouldn't feel that way after she left New Zealand. Negotiating the future of the thermals fell under the heading of proving herself.

  She put Carter out of her mind, and immediately another man filled it. Unfortunately it wasn't the first time she had thought of Adam that day. He was a confusing man, and he provoked confusing feelings in her. She was no twittering virgin whose heart beat faster at velvet dark eyes and masculine arrogance; she was a divorcee who had known her share of men, even if she had never fallen into the casual sexual habits of the women in her crowd. So why did her mind keep straying back to Adam? He had nothing to offer her, just as she had noth
ing to offer him, even if he were interested.

  And yet he was undeniably the most arresting man she had met in a long time. Her attraction to him was classic. He was a man of mystery, a man whose secrets were more compelling than other men's candor, a man whose depths begged to be explored. Even Granger had not affected her this way. Granger had been a known quantity, a man she had understood and loved for his compassion and warmth. Adam showed neither of those qualities, yet she had the feeling that those closest to him saw both.

  She could rationalize her interest in Adam as loneliness, as something to enliven the simple life she was living, but neither analysis was complimentary to Adam or to her. The truth was more complex, so complex that she didn't understand it all. Paige forced Adam out of her mind. For the rest of the trip she counted sheep and kept her eye on a dwindling fuel tank.

  Rotorua's downtown was laid out with British precision. She found her way to the hotel where she was meeting Hamish and turned her car over to the valet. As she waited in the lobby, she admired a carved wooden panel done by a Maori craftsman.

  "Like it?"

  Paige turned around and smiled at an elegantly attired Hamish. "I don't know that I understand it, but yes, it's wonderful."

  "They've got carvings like this all over New Zealand if you know where to look."

  "Where do you look?"

  "Meeting houses. Churches. The Maoris do some smaller carvings for the tourist trade, but usually today's carvers can't keep up with the demands of their own people."

  "You've done your homework."

  "I have, actually. We need to understand this part of New Zealand to be certain we make full use of the thermals." He smiled. "If you sell them to us."

  "We'll have to see about that, won't we?"

  Hamish took her arm. "No business tonight. I've neglected to tell you how lovely you look. I'll be the envy of every man in the dining room."

  Paige let Hamish guide her through the hotel lobby to the lounge. She wasn't oblivious to the heads that turned. With his blond good looks, Hamish made a striking companion.

  "I took the liberty of purchasing tickets for the hangi feast and concert tonight. I thought that if you hadn't seen one you might enjoy it." Hamish seated her at a small table and signaled the waitress.

  "I haven't seen one. What is it, exactly?"

  "The hangi is a special underground oven the Maoris use. They steam all sorts of food in it, then serve it buffet style. After the feast there's a troupe of Maori singers who entertain."

  "Have you been before?"

  "Several times." Hamish smiled almost sheepishly. "When you see the women, you'll understand why a bachelor might be tempted to go back more than once."

  Paige wasn't sure if Hamish was just trying to slyly tell her he was single, or if he was really that impressed, but either way, the hangi sounded interesting. Sipping drinks, they chatted about their lives, although when they finally made their way into the banquet hall, Paige realized she knew little more about Hamish than she had originally. He had been an executive with Pacific Outreach Corporation for five years, and his special expertise was the design and development of future projects. He was a native Australian, although his parents were from Germany and Scotland, and he had grown up in a tiny town in Queensland where his parents had run a butcher shop. Beyond that, Hamish Armstrong was a skillfully camouflaged unknown.

  They arrived in the banquet hall just in time to follow the tall-hatted chef poolside to open the steam pit where their dinner had been prepared. Back in the banquet hall, they were seated at one of a number of long tables with other guests, and then, after a humorous introduction to the fare by their Maori host and a blessing in the Maori language, they went to the buffet to heap their plates from a variety of dishes including marinated raw fish, mussels, and Maori chicken, a local seabird.

  The meal progressed with chatting among guests. Four different countries were represented at their table alone, and the friendly atmosphere set by their host prevailed. Over boysenberries and fresh cream, Paige lifted her eyes from her plate to see Adam standing beside her.

  "Adam," she said, caught off guard. "I didn't know you were here."

  "I wasn't. One of the performers asked me to come and see the show tonight." Adam's gaze traveled to Hamish. He didn't smile. "Hello, Armstrong," he said without enthusiasm. "You're no slouch, I'll give you credit for that."

  Hamish nodded curtly.

  "I gather you two know each other," Paige said, mystified that the vibrations between the two men were this strong. Hostility almost shimmered in the air.

  "We do," Adam acknowledged. "Do you mind if I join you here at the end of the table?"

  Paige was interested in Hamish's answer, but he only shrugged. "Of course you may," she said. "You'll have a good seat for the performance."

  Adam pulled out his chair with lazy grace and draped his long body over it. "Have you been to one of our concert parties before, Paige?"

  "No. I'm looking forward to it. The meal was delicious."

  "Someday you'll have to come to a real Maori feast."

  "The Maori people excel at cooking and singing," Hamish said, as if he were instructing Paige, "but they're behind in other areas. Wouldn't you say so, Tomoana?"

  Paige refused to be insulted on Adam's behalf. She knew him well enough to know he could take care of himself. Settling back in her seat, she waited for the sparks to fly.

  "In areas like avarice and fraud?" Adam asked politely. "I'm afraid you may be right. The Maoris have trouble cheating their neighbors or claiming everything they see as their own. It's set us back tremendously."

  "I wouldn't want you to think I was criticizing," Hamish said, holding his hands palm-out as if to push away the thought. "There's a certain sweetness in simplicity."

  "What do you think about that, Paige?" Adam asked, raising one shaggy brow.

  "The only Maoris I know personally are anything but simple or sweet," she said, locking her gaze to his.

  She saw the approval in his eyes before he spoke. "Insightful." He stopped, then grinned. "For an American," he added.

  "We can't all be Maoris. We have to work with what we've got."

  "You might be surprised," Adam said, his high-voltage grin disappearing.

  Paige was used to Adam's swift changes of mood and his enigmatic answers, but this time she couldn't let it pass.

  "What do you mean?"

  Adam reached across the table and covered her hand, which was still holding the spoon she'd been using for her dessert. He guided the spoon back into the bowl of cream.

  "'Things are seldom what they seem. Skim milk masquerades as cream,'" he recited in his resonant voice. He let the cream drip off her spoon for several seconds before he moved his hand. "There's another line from that song, too. Something about jackdaws strutting in peacock feathers." His gaze flicked to Hamish. "Are you a Gilbert and Sullivan fan, Armstrong?"

  Paige didn't understand anything any better, but she knew she had to close the open rift between the two men, even though she was irritated with Hamish for goading Adam. "I was Yum-Yum in The Mikado in my senior year of high school," she said, switching the subject to herself. "It was a small girl's school. Both my roommates had to sing men's parts."

  "Then you sing?" Adam asked.

  "Only a little. The director thought I looked exotic enough to play Yum-Yum. I think he was sorry when I opened my mouth." She pushed her bowl away. "I can't eat another bite. That was delicious, Hamish. I'm glad you thought of this."

  Hamish's pale eyes signaled his disapproval of her interruption, but he gave her a chilly nod. Before more hostility could erupt, their host appeared to introduce the show. Paige clapped along with everyone else as the troupe of Maori singers came out to perform.

  The women were dressed in thin-strapped bodices of intricately woven red, black and white design, with matching headbands adorned with white feathers. Their red skirts were covered with an outer skirt made of individual reedlike fibers
in a white and black stripe that rippled and clicked as they moved. The men wore similar reed skirts over dark shorts, but they were bare-chested. All were bare-footed.

  Paige was unexpectedly stirred as the troupe began to sing. Performed in the Maori language, their songs were melodic and beautifully harmonized, with the men keeping a driving chantlike beat while the women carried the melody. They danced as they sang, and the movements and sound were hypnotic. She had expected a tourist show, but this was something more. It was the song of a people who had adapted their ways under the pressure of another civilization, yet it was a song filled with the beauty and joy of their own unique contribution to the country that was now New Zealand.

  "What do you think?" Adam asked, leaning forward so that his question was a whisper only she could hear.

  "Wonderful." Paige didn't take her eyes from the stage. For a moment she was overwhelmed by deja vu. "I feel like I've heard them before. I must have heard a recording somewhere."

  "Perhaps."

  "Who did you come to see?"

  "The woman on the far right."

  Paige examined her. She was the youngest and the prettiest of the five women, with waving black hair that rippled over the top of her dancing skirt and a smile that no man would be immune to. "She's lovely."

  "You'll enjoy the poi dances."

  She did. The poi was a lightweight ball on a string that was swung in graceful arcs as the women sang. The men were featured in the haka, rhythmically shouted chants of defiance that were accompanied by sharp, aggressive jabs of the hands and feet.

  For an hour Paige listened, spellbound. When the lights were turned on again and everyone stood to sing "Now is the Hour," the traditional Maori farewell, she was sorry the concert was over.

  "Would you like to meet Hira and the others?" Adam asked, switching his gaze to Hamish to include him, too.

  "I'm afraid I have to use the telephone," Hamish said, looking at his watch. "Shall I help you get your car, Paige?"

  Paige would have liked to meet the performers, but she also knew where her social duty lay. "Thank you," she told Adam, "but I should probably be getting back now. It's a long drive at night."