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Essie Summers - House of the Shining Tide









Essie Summers
- House of the Shining Tide





CC You and your sister are two of
a kind! "


Judith had always had trouble
with her stepsister, so when Lorette got engaged to a young farmer Judith felt
a great relief.


But it soon appeared that
Lorette's fiance's family wanted to prevent the marriage, and Judith responded
to her stepsister's selfish demands for help one last time, to try to keep the
engagement together.


She had formidable opposition
from the autocratic Craig Argyll, who didn't like Judith at all. "Another
woman with an eye to the main chance!" he said.


CHAPTER ONE


Judith awoke to the warmth of an
Australian morning and, even at this early hour, to the murmur of Sydney
traffic. She lay there blissfully, savouring the complete relaxation of half'
slumber, then rubbed her eyes and turned over on her other side to see through
her bedroom door the bright sunlight streaming down through the skylight on to
the canvas she had been working on the day before.


Even from this angle she could
see it was good. Pure happiness washed over her. And she needn't put it away
and hurry off to teaching. In fact, today she needn't even go on with any
illustrations. She could please herself.


There would be no Lorette to
distract her, no extravagances making it imperative to have a regular wage
coming in. She could branch out on her own, be a free-lance. Her illustrative
work would bring in enough for her own simple needs, and that meant she would
be free to express herself on canvas. Free to roam Australia in her little car,
seeking subjects dear to her heart. She would try to capture in a succession of
pictures the Australian scene, its varieties, its mood, that light washing over
every scene that was so individually Australian—something you didn't realize
till you left your homeland and came back.


From now on Lorette would be her
husband's responsibility. A feathering of uneasiness ruffled the edges of
Judith's mind. Poor Michael! What disillusionments lay ahead of him? She
wondered. But he had been so overwhelmingly in love with her stepsister, a
little bemused, inclined to wonder at the good fortune that had given him
Lorette. Judith thought he might very well in later life say to himself:
"Whatever did I see in her?"


She shook off the feeling of
discomfort that was almost guilt. That sort of thing was always pulling. The
eternal wonder… what could somebody see in someone else? Hadn't Barrie
said: "Love is not blind; it is an extra sense that shows us that which is
most worthy of regard." Perhaps


Michael had found some kindred
touch in Lorette. It was a comforting thought, but not convincing. It was far
more likely infatuation than love on Michael's part. He was blinded by her
beauty, unaware of all that was mean and self-seeking and malicious in her.


Others had fallen for that
ethereal beauty, wistful and dream-like, the red-gold hair, the laughing
sapphire eyes, the dainty ways of her, but in so short a while they had seen
through her. Still, none of them had been as wealthy as Michael. Lorette was
shrewd beneath that naive exterior; perhaps this time Lorette would think it
worth while to continue to show her best side to Michael, to his mother and
stepfather, overcome her bone laziness, her selfishness.


She had certainly marked Micheal
down for her own. From the moment Michael had shown them the colored slides of
his home, had mentioned that their Argyll Hills homestead had been chosen as
one of the homes to rest Royalty on their last tour, Lorette had been
determined to become Mrs. Michael Argyll. He was the only son, another happy
circumstance.


Lorette and Michael had become
engaged before he returned to his home in New Zealand. In less than a month his
mother had sent for Lorette. It had been a gracious letter, warm and friendly.
It had suggested that Lorette go to Argyll Hills in the South Island and remain
there till her wedding. Only one phrase had given Judith the least uneasiness.
It had said: "So we can get to know you better."


Lorette had been there just over
a month and must be happy, for there had been only one brief lettercard,
written the day after her arrival, full of purring content.


Judith had given her all the
cash she could spare, since Lorette was a free spender and mustn't appear to be
penniless. Knowing Lorette, she had given her half then and the promise of the
other half in two months' time. Since the wedding was to be early in the new year this should suffice, she had pointed out, and had
added: "In any case, there won't be any more, Lorette… I'm giving up
my job teaching and concentrating on painting. So it's a fair warning"


Lorette had flung her arms about
her, all sunshine and sweetness (naturally, Judith thought, with half the money
to come), and said, "Judith, my darling pet, I've been a sore trial to
you, haven't I? But I can't help it; I was born that way, and Mummy spoiled me.
But you've shed your responsibility now, darling. Michael's got plenty and to
spare."


Judith stopped musing. Time to be going on with her new, free life. She got out of
bed, tall and slim in pyjamas, her long smooth hair caught back with a white
ribbon, wandered out into the studio, gazed critically at her canvas, picked up
a towel, went into the shower room.


Finally she emerged from her
bedroom, trim, workman- like, lithe, with a buoyancy
in her step that had been missing for a long time. She wore blue cotton slacks
and a tailored white blouse that would be covered with a paint-stained smock
later, and there were white sandals on her bare brown feet. The smooth hair was
brushed back and twisted into a knot at the top of her head, as glossy as an
acorn, the grey eyes clear, eager. Tomorrow was hers.


Some day the name Judith Kneale
would be known not just as an illustrator of children's nature books but as one
seen scrawled at the foot of landscapes, still-life studies, flower
studies.


She leaned a hand each side of
the square-paned windows and looked across the city roofs she loved. Sydney…
the city of fascinating contrasts… beautiful, bad, teeming with life here
in the Bohemian quarter of the city, King's Cross, with its cosmopolitan
crowds, its mixture of tongues, colors, creeds, the jostle and noise, vivid
loveliness and squalor, vice and saintliness… and beyond the multicolored
roofs the incredible beauty of the harbor. It had come to hold a place in her
heart only equal to the home of her childhood, that lonely lovely spot beside
the sea . . j Parnka, the
Shining Water.


But that was yesterday, here was
today and tomorrow, in this studio, enhanced for her now that Lorette and
Loretta's untidy habits were gone, with the orderliness her soul loved.


There was a tap on her door, a
tap she knew. "Come in, Maggy."


The handle turned and a small,
serious face appeared. It beamed, lighting up, and the nine-year-old advanced
into the room bearing a basket.


''Mushrooms for
your breakfast. Look!''


They were beautiful button
mushrooms with pale pink fluted linings, lying on a huge cabbage leaf.


"And Mummy says if you have
no bacon to have with them she's got plenty."


"But wherever id you get
them from? They look so freshly picked."


"Uncle Lennie. He came over
last night with Auntie Joy. He had a case out in the country." Maggy's
voice was very precise, with only a faint hint of her Hungarian accent.
"Not a murder, not a robbery, nothing beastly. A disappearance—and they
found her. A happy ending, Uncle Lennie said. And the girl's mother gave him
the mushrooms. A whole carton full. Enough
for them and Patrick and Clancy and Anne and Faith and us and you."
Maggy lost her sedate air, executed a little skip of pure pleasure. 'I love
Uncle Lennie."


Judith felt her heart contract.
Small Maggy loved Lennie because the big detective was so like her own father
who hadn't lived very long after he found sanctuary in Australia. His hardships
during the Rebellion had affected his health, but his wife, Magda, had battled
on with a gaiety of heart and a steadfast faith that brought the tears to the
eyes. She had made a happy home for small Magda and Danos, now called Dan
because he must grow up an Australian, his mother said.


Magda worked hard, long hours,
so Judith took care of the children after school because her hours were shorter
than Magda's and it meant that the children were not playing on the streets.


Maggy went away. Judith sliced
the rind off her bacon, cooked her mushrooms, tidied up the flat, singing
softly to herself. Magda looked in to say goodbye; the children were ready for
school, and just had their own small chores to do.


Magda was surprised. "I
thought you might have been sleeping late, my Judith, to celebrate your freedom,
you understand. But I see you are all ready to start the work."


Judith grinned. "I simply
couldn't bear to waste any of the precious hours. I've got a flying
start."


Magda shut the door, Judith heard her footsteps fading down the stairs. She
squeezed out a blob of rose madder on to her palette, picked up her brush…


At eleven she went down for the
mail, unlocking her box and finding two letters. One, happily, was from the
firm who commissioned her illustrative work, and contained a cheque. That too
spelled freedom. She would have lunch soon, then get out her little car and
drive off to do some sketching. The ideal life.


The other letter was from
Lorette. It was postmarked Oamuru, New Zealand. It was very, very fat. Lorette
was no letter writer as a rule, though when she troubled she wielded a facile,
interesting pen, but mostly she was too lazy. Judith told herself she was
foolish to feel a flutter of apprehension. Nothing could be wrong—yet—surely?
It was only that living with Lorette so long made you uncertain… there
were always minor crises, disturbances, scenes.


She sat down and opened it hastily, wanting reassurance, read it through with the old
sense of dismay back in her heart.


It was
headed, "Koraputai, Argyll Hills, North Otago," and plunged straight
into a grievance:


"Why Michael didn't tell me
the estate didn't belong to his people I do not know. He says he never said it
did. Not that we've quarrelled about it, Judy, I wouldn't like them to think me
mercenary, I merely said: 'I thought your folk owned Koraputai.' Michael looked
puzzled and said, 'But I talked a lot about Craig. You must have known…
the Argyll Hills estate has always belonged to that branch of the family.
Mother is Craig's cousin—much older, of course— and when he was orphaned she
brought him up.' But I had assumed that Craig lived with them, not them with
him. You did too, didn't you?


"And this Craig Argyll is
as hard as nails, as tough as they come. His eyes are like gimlets. The
questions he has asked me! All about my family. Seems
to think a city girl will be no good as a wife for his precious cousin Michael.
He's quite a bit older. I made a frightful faux pas. Said to Michael, but in
Craig's hearing, 'When we're married, darling, I think we'll cut down some of
those trees to let more light in on the patio.' Oh, lord!


"His eyebrows came down
like one of the old prophets and his voice chilled me to the bone. 'Surely you don't imagine you and Michael will have the
right to do that? What do you mean, anyway? You won't be living in this house
after you're married!'


"It was my first hint
that the place didn't belong to Michael. Michael had pointed out a rather
lovely house on the estate near the gates as we came in and said: 'That was
built for Granddad and Grandma Argyll—Mother and Dad hope to retire there when
we get married.'


"Evidently what he meant
was when he and Craig get married. Though Craig seems a
confirmed bachelor. Michael had no real claim on the estate at all,
though perhaps he'd be Craig's heir if Craig never got married, though that
certainly wouldn't mean much, I suppose Craig is just in the thirties. I
finally said to Craig: 'Where do you expect Michael and me to Live?' and he said quite bluntly, 'In one of the married
couples' cottages, of course.'


They're so plain… just
five-roomed wooden bungalows. Michael likes the idea, the idiot. I made a bid
for Hawthorn House, the one by the gate. Said that as Craig didn't look like
getting married in the near future, I supposed Michael's people would stay on
at Koraputai and it would be more fitting if we moved in there.


"He nearly swallowed me
whole. Said his cousin had always dreamed of living there and he had deeded the
whole thing to her and there the matter ended, that young people ought to be
content to start at the bottom. That if we were careful we could save and in
time buy a small farm of our own. A small farm! I know what work that would
mean. Koraputai is so lovely, a bit old-fashioned, but full of antiques. Some
stuff too valuable to keep—it would bring a good price and modern stuff would
be just as good. You'd love it here. What interiors you could paint…
panelling, brass, books everywhere, fabulous carpets, heirlooms. But they're
demons for work. Michael's mother is always up at six and expects me to be up
at seven! They've only got one woman living in (a real tartar too) and a girl
who comes over every morning from the township. I'm even expected to do my own
washing. Just as if this girl couldn't!


"I suppose it's the old
story—the mother of an only son not wanting him to get married and trying to
show me up in front of him. She has one of those naturally haughty manners. She
said: 'My dear, you must expect to work if you're going to be a farmer's wife.
And work hard. There is shear* ing, harvesting, lambing, all making extra work
for the wife.3 Me! It's all so different
from what I thought. And they won't let me have any of the cars, just because I
dented one the teeniest bit. It's just ghastly being here without trans- port,
that's what I miss most of all. Not as if we're even on the main road and I
could get a bus. The men are always too busy to take me. Oamaru's a real,
one-eyed town, and Dunedin, though not exactly exciting, is seventy miles away.


"Michael's mother trots
round after me with an ashtray till I could scream and says in the most
unconcerned fashion to the girl, 'You get on with the cupboards, Lorette will
do the dishes.5 And when I objected once because I'd just done my
nails, she said, 'I'm afraid you'll have to pull your weight, Lorette. Domestic
help is practically non-existent here and I'd hate to lose Rita. Besides, it
will all be a help to you when you are running a home of your own. Michael's
wages on the farm won't run to a maid even if you could get one.


"Even Michael has snapped
once or twice. And that horrible Craig said very nastily once: 'Michael, leave
the poor girl alone. Can't you see she's a lily of the field?'


"I can tell you I'm going
to change a few things around here. I simply won't live in one of those poky
cottages. There is a wing here, quite separate, they could let us have. Then we
could at least eat with the family. But I can't stand living at close quarters
like this till the wedding—it's like living on the edge of a volcano. They'll
make mischief, I know. It's a frightful strain.


"So I want you to come for
three months or so, Judy. You'd impress them. And I'd ask them if they'd let us
have Hawthorn House. I could tell them what a good housekeeper you were, and I
could say I feel having the two of us would be too much for them short-staffed,
and they mightn't be so critical if we didn't live so closely.


"Of course, pet, had you
still been teaching I'd not have asked you to give up your job, but now you're
free-lancing it will be all right. You could still do your illustrations. In
fact you'd find this countryside very paintable. Not my cup of tea but
definitely yours. So you will come, won't you, darling?


"You must. I know I've
sometimes been a thorn in your side, but it's your one chance of getting rid of
me! To get me safely married off! I know you will, bless you, because your
troublesome little stepsister is very miserable and you have a heart of gold.
Send me a cable. And do come by ship and bring the car. Then we wouldn't be
tied.


"Lots
of love* ''Lorette"


Judith finished reading it,
sighed deeply but wasn't unduly perturbed. Lorette didn't really need her…
what she did want was the car. But that car was the one thing Judith had
salvaged out of the wreck of the Kneale fortunes; the rest Lorette's mother had
squandered, or gambled away. Lorette wasn't going to have that to smash too.
This was the time to be firm.


She picked up the phone. She'd
send a cable. "Sorry, much too busy earning a living. Quite
out of the question. Judy."


But the next fortnight she came
to dread the sight of blue airmail envelopes. Lorette's letters became quite
hysterical. It ran to pattern, of course. Lorette and Maisie, her mother, had
so often got their own way by such tactics they couldn't realize it didn't
always work.


Judith showed the letters to
Jagda and to Joy, the wife of the big detective. They advised her to be
adamant.


Joy's green-blue eyes were
indignant. "For goodness1 sake don't
weaken, darling. Lorette's been hung round your neck like the Old Man of the Sea
for years. Do her good to be made to work a bit. If you go she'll just sit back
as usual, spending hours on her appearance, kidding you to alter her clothes
and press them and I don't know what else, and belittle you behind your back.
She'd admire you far more if you dug your toes in and said that from now on
you're living your own life. If you aren't careful she'll wheedle that car out
of you… you'd find yourself handing it over and even telling yourself it
was all you could do. I know Lorette. Gosh, I'd like to meet this Craig…
he seems to know how to handle her. Most men fall backwards to please her. Until they see through her."


But then came
the letter that undermined all Judith's determination. It contained a
threat—the threat of suicide.


Joy was furious when she saw the
utter misery, the inde* cision in Judith's face.


"Judy," she said
quietly, "I know a fair bit about this sort of thing—Lennie being in the
line he is. People who threaten suicide aren't the ones who do it. Especially for a stupid reason like this. Some people just
use it as a weapon to get their own way. They don't really do
it."


Judith looked at her.
"Don't they, Joy? Most don't— but what about Lorette's mother?" Her
face was stricken, remembering.


Joy lost her color. "I'm sorry,
Judith. I—I forgot. Trust me. Has Lorette actually reminded you of that? Has
she?"


For answer Judith held out the
letter. It said: "I'd have thought that after all that happened to my
darling little mother when your father left her to go to you in England, you'd havfe been only too glad to come over here to
help me. Do you want me on your conscience too?"


Joy felt anger, rage, despair
flood her heart. She caught Judith's hand. "Darling, it's so unfair. It
was Maisie's own wrongdoing that brought her to that. In any case, Lennie has
never believed Maisie meant to do it. He's quite sure that she meant only to
take enough pills to put her into a heavy sleep to scare your father into
letting her do what she wanted to do."


Judith nodded. ''But it haunted
Dad, and if he hadn't had that on his mind I think he'd have put up a fight
when he fell ill. As it was, he said over and over again in his delirium, 'I
ought to have known she was weak. I shouldn't have judged her so harshly.' I'm
too scared not to go, Joy. After all, it's not as if I'm giving up a job. I've
enough to see me through a prolonged holiday over there. I can act as a sort of
buffer between Lorette and the Argylls. And she may settle down. Once she's
married I can come back. I can let the flat for a few months. That will
help."


"I'm against it," said
Joy stubbornly, her small pixie face set comically and unnaturally in a
fighting look. "You've sacrificed so much for Lorette already. Wish she'd
married Leo Malone. He's the one for her. Michael is too young. But Leo never
has a bean. Too much of a rolling stone for Lorette.
But at least Leo doesn't invest her with a halo to match her looks. Oh, that
dewy-eyed innocence! It gets my goat! He knows what a little devil she is—yet
loves her just the same. They're birds of a feather. Now if only they had
married each other there wouldn't have been two homes spoiled. I'd be sorry for
any ordinary woman who married Leo. But it would serve Lorette right.
Bah!"


Judith suddenly laughed.
"Oh, Joy, you do me good, bless you. It relieves
my feelings to have you blow your top for me. But I'll have to go. It won't be
long. I'll be back before we know where we are, with everything tied up, and we
can take up again where we left off."


"A lot can happen in three
months," said Joy gloomily.


CHAPTER TWO


Judith felt as if a lot
happened in the following three weeksj She told
Lorette she couldn't come sooner than that. Pass- ages for the four-day trip
across the Tasman were heavily booked till then, but there was room and to spare
on the sailing Judith booked in.


She was frantically busy that
last week doing as .many illustrations as she could in advance. Joy, despite
her disapproval, helped as much as possible.


"Maggy and Dan can come
to me after school—that will leave you free to get on with your work."


"But, Joy, you've got four of
your own."


"Yes, I know, but one of
the things you find out as a parent is that, children fight less when they have
others in to play. And I've promised Magda I'll have them while you're away.
She'd hate to think they came home to an empty flat. Yes, she did protest, but
I told her it eased my conscience a bit… that we Australians have had such
an easy life… I can't do much about the world situation, but I can help to
make her path a bit easier now."


It was just four days before
her sailing that it happened. Judith was sorting out some household treasures
for storage, for the people to whom she was subletting the flat were moving in
in two days' time, and she'd have a shakedown in Magda's flat for the two
nights.


She heard a tap on the door.
It sounded like Lennie's tap. It was, the door opened and in he came. Judith's
smile of welcome died on her lips. Lennie's face was devoid of color. His
nostrils were pinched. He was finding it difficult to frame words.


Judith flew to him, took his
hands. His hat was hanging between them.


"Lennie… what is it?'' Not
Joy?''


He shook his head, swallowed.
"No. It's Magda."


"Magda!
But what? Is she ill? Seriously?
But she was all right———"


"Judith .
; . I'm sorry. She's : ; . gone.
It must have been heart. It looked like heart. I've seen a lot of sudden
deaths. The factory manager knew I was a friend and called me. Magda had quite
suddenly died at her machine. She was laughing one moment with the other machinist,
then just gasped, put her hand to her breast and was gone. "


Judith shut her eyes. "The
children,'' she said.


Lennie nodded. "Judy…
I've had to break sad news to many folk in my time. I can't
face telling those kinds, but I must. Are they down at our place?"


Judith nodded. "Yes. I—I'll
tell them, Lennie. God knows how.''


Lennie said heavily: "Have
you any idea how they're left? No relatives, are there?" He made a
gesture. "I mean here."


Judith shook her head.
"No." Then remembrance stirred a sudden knowledge. "Lennie,
Magda made a will. Not that she had much—but she was thrifty. There's a small
sum in the bank, and an insurance. And she asked could
she name me as the children's guardian. We laughed and said there wasn't much
likelihood of anything happening, but it was there just in case." She
thought swiftly. "Magda leased that flat unfurnished, so she would be
within her rights sub-letting it at a higher rental furnished. That would help
keep them. I couldn't let them go to an orphanage, Lennie. There will be child
allowances too. I could manage."


Lennie said: "But where? You've
let your flat.''


Judith clasped her hands
together. "So I have. This had driven that out of my mind. I shan't be
here."


"Could we take them till
you get back? They're such engaging kids. I'd take them permanently if nothing
else happened along, but it could be a bit much for Joy. Though she'd never let
them go if she thought it meant a home."


Judith said: "The
responsibility is mine. If only I hadn't let my flat! And I think I'll need the
money from theirs to keep them. Then I don't know how Lorette would react if I
didn't go now." She came to a sudden decision. "I'll take them with
me. It might do them good to get away, poor lambs. There's a township at Argyll
Hills. Lorette was rather sneering about it. Said it was full of empty pioneer
cottages that people seemed to find romantic. Maybe


I could rent one of those very
cheaply. Modern conveniences wouldn't matter, I was
brought up without at Parnka. And I think New Zealand living is cheaper than
ours.


Lennie put his hand on her
shoulder. "Don't let's decide anything till the first shock wears off. You
can't saddle yourself with a couple of children without thinking it out very
carefully—you've had more than your share of burdens now, and you're only—what
is it, Ju? Twenty-three? We— we shall have to go down
and tell Maggy and Danny now. Oh, God!''


Somehow they got through the
next three days. Danny was as incredulous as any small boy of six might be.
Maggy took it with a stoicial acceptance that pierced Judith and Joy with an
anguish unbearable. It was so mature, so indicative of having already accepted
uprooting and hardship and sorrow. They could cope with Danny's outbursts of
sobbing so much more easily than with this withdrawn look, the veiled, stricken
expression in her eyes.


Judith moved down to Joy's with
them, somehow man- aged, with Lennie's expert help, to see to all that must be
seen to. The authorities were most kind, moved quickly to enable her to take
the children with her. Other flat neighbors helped with the packing, the
storing. Judith was glad they were going away, from the unconcealed curiosity
of their schoolmates, the emptiness of the flat without their mother's
presence. She hoped the sea voyage would be enough of a novelty to take their
minds off it.


"I think it will,'' said
Joy, washing and ironing their little clothes with a speed born of much
practice. "After all, children, even Maggy, live
in the present. That's why the first poignancy of bereavement is always so
acute for children. They haven't a philosophy to help them, haven't learned
that 'this too will pass.' But equally, time heals more quickly for them."


Judith lived in such a whirl she
hadn't time to write and tell Lorette. Lorette would be furious anyway. She
didn't like children. As for the Argyll's, she'd rather explain to them
personally. Perhaps she could ring from Wellington or Christchurch and explain
that she now had the guardianship of two children and would stay at an hotel in Oamaru till she could arrange quarters for them.
She certainly wouldn't take them to Koraputai.


Meanwhile Lorette was finding
it hard to touch on the subject of Judith's coming. She'd said to Judith in one
letter that the Argylls had said once what a pity it was that she had none of
her own to be with her, had even hinted that it was so strange she seemed to
have no family background. Otherwise Judith might still not have come. But it
was untrue.


So now she must work round to
the subject somehow. But how? Then one night
inspiration came, though she was wily enough not to broach the subject
immediately Craig gave her the opening.


They were alone on the patio
and Lorette had been studying him covertly. If only she had realized that he
owned Koraputai! Pity she had antagonized him from the start. She'd thought him
merely a sort of liability, tacked on to the family.


However, men were usually easy
to disarm. Perhaps a show of candour would make him feel a little sorry for
her, a little ashamed of his churlishness.


She lifted up the long tawny
eyelashes tipped with gold. "Craig? I'm afraid you're all disappointed in
the girl Michael has chosen for his wife."


Craig had been standing
against a pillar, looking out over the green paddocks to the sea. He looked at
her squarely, dourly.


"You're dead right,
Lorette. It's only natural we hoped that when he did marry he would find
someone more suited to his way of life. You're discontented already, not the
type to settle down here for ever. It would be for ever, you know. This is a
pioneer homestead. Argyll marriages art for life. And for better or for worse."


Lorette gave a little tinkling
laugh. "Dear Craig… you sound so patriarchal—about twenty years older
than you are. And you've got me wrong. I didn't plan this marriage as a
short'term one with divorce the natural out' come if it didn't work out."


"Didn't you? I'm not
altogether convinced of that. I think you thought Michael was first and
foremost a racing driver, spending most of his time overseas. You built up a
sort of glamorous future… the Targa Florio, Le Mans, Rome, Berlin, Florida… and newspaper photos, featuring 'Michael Argyll's attractive red-headed
wife.' But you found it's just a hobby with Mike, that he keeps it in its
proper place, that he's first and foremost a sheep farmer.


"You got a quite false idea
of our position. Michael showed you those slides—you knew this place had been
honoured by being used for a week's respite for the Royal couple—you've openly
shown amazement and disapproval that we don't keep a retinue of servants, that
we ourselves work longer than any of our staff. Those we had at the time of the
Royal visit were purely temporary and supplied by the Government. It just
happened that this place was a convenient midway rest halt in the South Island
and we were asked to vacate it for a few days. It didn't go to our heads. You
also thought Koraputai belonged to my cousin and her husband and therefore
would be Mike's some day. I've added these things together, and I don't like
what it makes.'


Lorette's color rose, so did her
voice. "But is it anything to do with you? You're not Michael's guardian,
only a sort of cousin. The day is past when young men were guided by their
families in their choice of a wife."


"Not here. Not with the
Argylls—we're a united family. And we care very much what happens to young
Michael. We don't want him to spoil his life—and I'm convinced he would spoil
it with you. He is enchanted—but when that enchantment goes… what kindred
tastes have you? None at all. I don't expect you to
understand the bond between Mike and myself. You seem singularly lacking in
understanding of family life. You don't seem to have any roots of your own or
any sense of responsibility towards anyone else."


Lorette flung her control
overboard, said: "You're quite impossible! Just because you have a family
behind you, you seem to think I'm not quite respectable, an adventuress…
you don't know what it is to be orphaned, lonely."


His voice was quiet. "I do,
you know. I was orphaned long before you were. I lost my parents suddenly, at
eleven. I believe you had your mother till your late teens. Michael's parents
brought me up, selling their home to live here. No wonder I have a strong
family feeling; but for them goodness knows what would have happened to me.
Because of that I want their son to be happy. This isn't just blind prejudice.
We were delighted, Lorette, when Michael came back, obviously in love. He
showed us his colored slides of you. We hoped you would be as fine as you were
beautiful."


Lorette was fighting to keep
some control—there was so much at stake. With an effort she kept silence.


His remorseless voice continued:
"Instead of which you're bone-lazy, selfish, petulant.
You won't even take an interest in local racing fixtures. You even called them
tin-pot to Michael. Being photographed at Le Mans is one thing, isn't it? But
watching all day in a cold east wind is another, or hanging over oily car pits.
Yet Michael sees to it that he takes you to your sort of pleasures more often that
he has time for. And you're giving his mother a hell of a time. She has tried,
but her patience has given out. It's your own fault."


"Are you hoping to drive me
into giving Michael up? Because you won't."


"I'm trying to make you see
how incompatible you are. Argyll Hills is no place for lilies of the field. You
won't be happy. Why don't you go back to Sydney? I'll see to the expenses.
You're a city girl born and bred."


Lorette clutched at her dignity.
She rose. "You're forgetting one thing, Craig. I love Michael."


"Do
you?" he asked unpleasantly, and his laughter followed her.


In the days that followed
Lorette became aware in a very real way that Craig Argyll was master here. If
she was going to stay, if Michael was to benefit at all by his relationship to
the owner of Koraputai, she would have to change her tune.


It was hateful to have to stir
herself to make the effort, but she must, there was a lot at stake. She would
do anything to get the better of Michael's mother. But first,
to disarm Craig.


She found an ideal opportunity.
Michael was away at a Young Farmers' Club meeting. His mother and father had
gone to visit at a neighbouring township, Heatherleigh, and the housekeeper was
in her room.


Craig had retired to his own
quarters after his cousins had gone. She guessed, seeing it was such a lovely
evening, that he would be sitting out on a partly-open porch that led off his
study. It had folding doors that were open all day in fine weather, and it led
into the garden.


Lorette wandered about the front
garden singing softly to herself, gradually working towards the side garden.
She had picked some late ranunculus, holding them against her as she came,
making a vivid splash of color against her white frock with the broad green
belt. She looked cool, attractive, unaware, there in the twilight of the
charming old garden.


Craig lowered his paper, watched
her. She bent to a hedge of rosemary, picked a sprig, crushed it between her
fingers, sniffed it appreciatively, cupped her hands about a spray of lilac,
leant forward to savour that too, turned, came toward him, stopped short and
achieved an air of complete surprise.


"Oh,
sorry, Craig. I'll go round the other way. I didn't know you were here.
Just having a spot of peace and quiet?"


"Oh, it's all right, I've
finished the paper. Care to have a look at it, or did you see it earlier?"


She said (quite untruthfully,
for Lorette preferred fashion-papers), "Yes, I had it when the mail first
came up. But—but if you have time to spare I'd like to discuss something with
you."


He looked at her sharply, then said: "Of course. Take that chair."


Her movements were all studied,
graceful. She clasped her hands together. "Promise you won't swallow me
whole —it makes me so nervous."


He sighed. "Depends what
you want to discuss. I'll try not to be impatient."


The deep blue eyes looked gratefully
into his tawny ones.


"Thank you, Craig. You see,
I've never had much of a chance to explain myself. You said the other night I
lacked roots, had no responsibilities. That isn't quite correct. I have—a
stepsister. But you seemed to find me so much of a nuisance I—you seemed to
despise me so—I—dared not."


"Why? I knew you had a
stepsister—artist, isn't she? Young Michael mentioned her. But she lives in
Sydney. What do you mean you dared not tell us?"


"She—she wants to come
here." She made a pretty, fluttering movement of her hands. "She's
somehow always needed me. Not that she isn't a thousand times
more efficient than me, but she's the tpye who needs someone to look
after. You know the kind. You see it sometimes in sisters who become possessive
about their brothers, who mother them—almost smother them. Judith is that way.


"I know you regarded me
as a lily of the field, Craig, but perhaps it hasn't been altogether my fault.
We're so much victims of circumstances. First Mummy
spoiled me. I admit it. But she lost Daddy and—well, it just happened. Then
Mummy married again—Judy's father. Judy has a forceful character. Must have someone to dominate. It doesn't make you very
self-reliant. She can do everything so much better than I can it gave me an
inferiority complex.


"It took away my
initiative, destroyed my confidence. And her father was never fair to me. Mummy
treated Judy and me equally. And she died first, so her money went to him. But
ne left it all to Judy. Perhaps that made me a bit mercenary. Maybe I did seem
disappointed that Michael didn't own this property or that his people didn't… but you see, it was like a castle in Spain to me… I had a quaint idea
fate was making things up to me for all I'd been deprived of.


"But despite all Judy's
efficiency, she just can't live alone. She needs someone to boss. And somehow,
in spite of everything, I can't cast her off, can't say she must make a life of
her own now. I'm afraid she may go entirely off the rails."


Craig Argyll was conscious of
immense astonishment. He'd never suspected Michael's fluffy fiance might have
this in her. Could he have misjudged her?


He said rather curtly:
"What do you mean… go off the rails?"


"Well, living where she
does—King's Cross is the Bohemian part of Sydney—I feel it would be so easy for
her to fling convention overboard if she lives alone. I never liked living
there, but she had her own way about that. She paints —you know what artists
are. She's such a mixture. Does all things effortlessly, yet beneath a sort of
smooth exterior there's a wild, lawless streak. A gipsy ancestor on her
mother's side, I believe. She has her ears pierced. Always wears those round
gold earrings…" Her voice trailed off; she thought she had said
enough.


Craig Argyll drew in a deep
breath. What was Koraputai coming to? Where was their once orderly, peaceful
existence? If only Michael had never gone to Australia.


Not
that you could wrap him in cottonwool. But he had to hand it to Lorette, there
was more to her than he had thought—must be.


"If you don't want her here
you can easily say I forbid it. But if it's going to worry you if you refuse,
then we'll make her welcome. After all, it must be a bit lonely for you;
perhaps it would be nice for you to have her till you get married. I'll see she
doesn't outstay herself after that."


Lorette was conscious of inner
satisfaction. That was the first time any of the Koraputai people had been as
definite about the wedding. Perhaps this was a step in the right direction.
With careful handling perhaps Craig Argyll would settle something on them.


Craig was speaking again.
"Care to have a game of chess or something, Lorette?"


She spread her hands out in a
deprecating gesture. "I'm such a duffer at it." She looked at him
appealingly. "I suppose you wouldn't like to take me for a spin, it's such
a lovely night."


"All
right." Craig stood up, broad, tall, in tussore- colored drill
trousers and shirt, a green-spotted cravat tucked carelessly in at his tanned
throat. "I'll take you along the sea road, it's
breathtakingly beautiful by moonlight."


Lorette went to bed that night
easier in her mind. She had impressed Craig with a sense of her own relutcance
to invite Judith. That meant she could have the comfort of Judith's presence
without the fear of Craig being too im- pressed by her efficiency. She would
tip Judith off not to give her away. You could rely on Judith for that. She was
intensely loyal. It was very useful


CHAPTER THREE


As the Wanganella neared Wellington
Judith was conscious that she had done the right thing in bringing the
children. The novelty of the sea-voyage had distracted their minds from their
grief. True, Maggy had occasional patches of deep silence, but they were
becoming less frequent, and the crew on board, knowing the story, had set
themselves out to entertain the children.


Judith knew a pang or two for
the orderly, well-defined existence she had so recently planned, but schooled
herself to look forward instead. She was going to see a new country, a place of
great beauty, she had heard, something to inspire the artist in her.


When she had told the publisher
she did her illustrating for, Nicholas Wilmeston had rubbed his hands together.


"Capital, capital. We've
just drawn up a contract with a New Zealand writer of children's stories—ones
requiring numerous illustrations. You can absorb the countryside, get around
all you can—I believe you can't call the scenery typical there, they have
everything. Saw a Cinerama recently that called New Zealand 'a world in
miniature.' There are glaciers, mountains of great height, hot springs, active
volcanoes, impenetrable bush, semi-tropical growth, a tuatara that is a
survival of a prehistoric animal—the sort of thing this woman writes
about—Diana Jeremy really writes enchantingly, but gets facts over too. These
books could become nursery classics embodying natural history. This is a
godsend, your going there."


Judith had realized her
travelling—with the responsibility and education of two children to deal with—would
naturally be limited, but believed in taking opportunity where it offered and
promised to do her best.


No doubt all problems would
resolve themselves. It would satisfy Lorette to have her near for a while, and
if she could get a cottage in the township it would get her away from too-close
contact with the Argylls. It might even be possible to stay on, if she managed
to secure her own quarters, to see the four seasons, which was the only real
way of getting to know a country.


Meanwhile she was glad of the
interlude at sea, some thing that was timeless, sandwiched between the sadness
of the last days in Sydney and the apprehension with which she approached the
situation at Argyll Hills. If the Argylls disliked Lorette they would—at first
anyway—probably view her, Judith, with suspicion.


Judith planned to spend her
first day ashore at Welling' ton, the capital, and see her car safely on to the
all-night inter-island steamer ferry to cross over that night. After landing at
Lyttelton, which she found was the port of Christchurch, she would drive over
the Port Hills to that city, have breakfast, and then make over the Canterbury
Plains till she crossed the Waitaki River which was the border between English
Canterbury and Scots Otago.


When she had seen her car safely
on the Rangitira she would ring Koraputai and tell Lorette that as she now had
the guardianship of the children, she would book in at an Oamaru hotel and see
her the next day.


It was not to be as easy as
that. They breakfasted in the dining room of the Wellington Station,
window-shopped up and down Lambton Quay and Willis Street, then
returned to the wharves. The officials were most apologetic; such things didn't
often happen, insurance would take care of all expense, but they were most
sorry she wouldn't have her car with her that night,
it had been damaged in the transshipping. It was a panel beating and ducoing
job so couldn't be hurried, but they would deliver it wherever necessary in the
South Island as soon as it was repaired.


Judith found herself assuring
them it didn't matter, but she was a little dismayed she wouldn't have
transport right away. The car would have been so handy while hunting for
quarters. However, it couldn't be helped, and Lorette would have to get Michael
to bring her into Oamaru.


The business connected with the
mishap took up a lot of time and, though the children remained remarkably good,
how long it would last she didn't know. It wasn't till after lunch that she got
to the Post Office to put her toll call through and then she had an
exasperating half hour to wait before it was connected. The children got very
impatient and restless.


A voice with a Scots burr
answered her. "Ay, it's Koraputai a' reet, but if it's any of the Argylls
ye're wanting ye're oot o' luck. It so happens they are all awa' at the stock
sale in Waiareka. I'm the only one hame. Oh, it's that Lorette's sister, is it, noo? We'el, she's awa' in too. Not that
she'll be at the sale—they'll ha' ta'en her into the toon. Ay, they're
expecting ye all reet." (That had rather a grim sound, Judy thought.)
"If ye gie me ye're message I'll pass it on.


Judith was set back. She
didn't feel like having her news relayed. She'd rather have spoken to Lorette
direct or to the grim-sounding master of Koraputai himself, to assure him that
she would not be expecting to trespass, complete with family, on his
hospitality.


She said hesitantly: "It
was just that my stepsister is expecting me to drive down from Christchurch,
but my car has been damaged so I'm coming by express. They tell me it gets into
Oamaru by one. Would you tell my stepsister I don't want to be met, as I won't
be coming out to Koraputai but staying at an hotel in
town. I'll ring her from there."


The voice then sounded
surprised and disgruntled, mentioned that a room had been prepared for her.
Judith realised that though they were probably put out that she was coming,
they would also resent her independence, robbing them of a grievance. But she
couldn't explain, except to the family, about Maggy and Danny, and in any case
could have said very little as the two children were
cramped into the booth with her. She dared not risk them straying in a strange
city. Judith said goodbye and hung up.


The crossing was as calm as a
mill-pond, but Judith didn't sleep well; her mind was too full of chaotic
thoughts. Now that she got nearer to the situation she thought things could be
very complicated. So much depended upon her finding
accommodation.


The children slept well but
woke early, so Judith got them dressed and the cases packed and took them up on
deck, complete with Pinky and Poochy, their inseparable companions, a battered
doll that always dangled from


Maggy'8 hand by one arm, and a
scrufiy-looking Teddy bear dear to Danny's heart.


The sun was rising on the port
side, a ball of fire coming up from the seaward horizon, a sea of amethyst,
turquoise, rose and pearl. On the starboard was the coastline where a flat
curving sand shore ran from snowy mountains in the far north, that they must
have passed that night, to a brown- hilled peninsula where a winking buoy still
kept vigil.


An early traveller told her they
were passing New Brighton, a suburb of Christchurch, but that they were making

for the Heads in the Peninsula and they would slip into a harbor that had once
been a volcanic crater, guarded now by peaceful'looking hills, still
residential only in tiny clusters.


A steward came to Judith's
elbow. "Two radio-tele- grams for you," he said. Judith was touched;
one at least would be from Lorette. Nice to have a word of
welcome on landing. But the other—she tore that open first, noting that
it was addressed Miss Judith Neill. Someone who didn't know she was a Manx
Kneale, not a Scots Neill. It was quite brief.


"Meeting
you at Lyttelton wharf. Craig Argyll." Judith knew a flutter of
nervousness. That would be in less than an hour and she would have no chance of
explaining about the children—they would be there with her. She tore open the
other. From Lorette—longer. "Craig is meeting
you. I told him you asked to come. Please don't give me away. Have sprained my
ankle so can't come with him. Will explain all later.
Love, Lorette."


Judith felt sick. Lorette had
told Craig Argyll that she herself had asked to come. Why, for heaven's sake
why? Only Lorette would have found that necessary, Lorette who could not be
straightforward, simple, uncomplicated. That meant she herself would meet
Lorette's future in-laws under a false impression. They would regard her as a
gatecrasher… and to calmly turn up with two children in such circumstances
would be regarded as sheer nerve.


Quite unheeding Maggy's shocked
"O-oh, Judy, you've always told us don't be a litter-bug!" she
crumpled up the two telegrams and flung them into the churning foam-green water
coming back from the bows.


Maggy had a little frown between
her brows. "What is it, Judy? !


Judith made her tone light. "Just a welcome to New Zealand from Lorette and the people we
re going to meet. One of them, Mr. Craig Argyll, will be at the wharf.
Isn't that kind? So that we don't have to go by train."


Danny had all a modern boy's
interest in cars. "What kind will it be, Judy?"


"No idea, pet, except that
it will be a big one : : : quite fabulous
probably."


You wouldn't associate the
master of Koraputai with a small car. But perhaps she was doing him an
injustice. Lorette disliked him, but could one really blame the Argylls for not
being impressed with Lorette as a future in-law?


The ship turned about to come
into the wharf. There were crowds of people on the quay, and somewhere amongst
then would be Craig Argyll.


"Come, children, we'll go
down one deck to get lined up near the gangway. I've told the steward not to
take our luggage to the train now but to leave it on the wharf."


Presently they were standing by
their bags watching the hurrying crowds boarding the train that didn't seem
nearly big enough to accommodate all. Others were being met by drivers of cars,
greeted by handshakes, kisses, delight and welcome.


Judith's eyes were searching for
someone who might be Craig Argyll, someone who would be a little uncertain,
trying to pick out a stranger from all these people. He would be looking for
someone on her own, too. Maybe he would wait till the
crowd thinned out a little as it would when the train moved off.


The whistle went, doors were
slammed, there was shouting and some last-minute boarding, then the train with
its electric engine backed into a siding before gathering speed and
disappearing into the hole of the tunnel that was bored through the hills out
to the city of the plains.


There was still much activity
going on round them so the children weren't anxious for anyone to take them
away, taking a great interest in the cars and horses coming off. It looked as
if Mr. Argyll was going to be late. Judith asked an official how long it would
take a car to come from Oamaru.


"About
four hours to Christcburch, then half an hour over to Port. Depending,
of course, on how law-abiding you are. But this chap may have come up yesterday
and stayed in a pub in town. He'll turn up… may have had a puncture.
Cheerio for now… see you some more.'


Judith hid a smile. New
Zealanders were as friendly and casual as Australians. She'd heard Maoriland
once described as "the land of see-you-some-more." As if it was quite
likely you'd meet again. A sort of reluctance to pass in the
night and never pass again. It was endearing.


The
ferry had berthed at seven. So if Mr. Argyll had left this morning from Argyll
Hills he'd have had to get up about two. She wondered how loss of sleep might
have affected his temper;


Craig Argyll was feeling
liverish. After getting up early to make sure of being on time to assess this
presuming step- sister of Lorette's, it was the foulest luck to have been
involved in that car accident, though as far as the other driver was concerned it
had been lucky for him. What a shrew of a woman that had been—seeing just a
young lad driving, the careless mother had taken advantage of it and stormed at
him, no doubt with an eye to future damages, though it was quite evident the
child had no more than a graze.


Craig had given her what she
deserved. Told her the fault was entirely hers, that
if she lived on a main road she had a duty to see her gate was latched on the
outside, that she knew where her child was, and that it was only the lad's
lightning reaction that had saved the child from serious injury, perhaps death.
Then he had gone to the police station to see that justice was done.


And now it looked as if this
blasted girl had skipped it. He supposed she was a nitwit like Lorette and
impatient to boot. Instead of reckoning that you can always be delayed when
travelling by car, she'd taken the train. He'd have to hop over the hills and
try to contact her at Christchurch railway station. He hoped she'd have
breakfast on the station and not go wandering about the town in the hour before
the express left.


There was certainly no one here
answering to the description Lorette had given him. No one
with long gipsy earrings, with odd pseudo-arty clothes, which was what he
supposed. He ought to have checked more fully with her. This was only
remembering her remarks when the subject was broached. This girl would probably
have an untidy ponytail, or a jagged urchin cut, top-heavy with some sloppy
knit jersey three sizes too big, and tight, uncomfortable- looking pants.


He looked at a young woman
standing by a huddle of cases, two children at her knee. Why couldn't this
Neill girl have waited like that, unruffled, dignified, cool-looking?
The girl wore a blue and white striped suit in a cool crisp cotton, her head was
bare and her hair, smooth and glossy like a thrush's wing, was swept up into a
neat coil enclosed by a latticed band. For some reason it made him think of
Shakespeare's Juliet.


She looked very young to be the
mother of those two children—but of course it was hard to tell these days.
Perhaps like Juliet she had fallen in love early. His eye dropped to the
suitcases. J. K. were the initials. He wondered
whimsically could it be Juliet? Odd
if it was, but of course he would never know.


For some reason the inconsequent
wondering had calmed him. She had obviously crossed last night,
there was always the chance she might know something of the girl he'd expected
to meet. He went across.


Judith was squatting now,
fastening Danny's shoelace and saying, "Just a moment, Danny… yes,
you can go across to look at that cage of monkeys in a moment, but I must tie
this. You might trip. See he keeps away from the edge, Maggy."


She released Danny, looked up,
saw a broad, tawny- haired man in a light suit above her. His eyes were tawny
too, and his hair was bristly, standing up in a quiff. Everything about him
seemed tawny and aggressive.


"Excuse me," he said,
"I don't suppose for a moment you can assist me, but the long arm of
coincidence does happen at times to be helpful. You came over last night? Well,
I'm meeting someone I've never seen before. A girl in her
twenties. I rather gather she's—er—a bit noticeable. Flamboyant type
rather from all accounts. Thought you might have seen her, especially if she
boarded the train just at the last. Gipsy type, arty-looking,
with pierced ears and long dangling gold earrings." He grinned.
"Not a very good description, is it, but it's all
I know, except that her name is Judith Neill."


Judith was erect now,
stiff-backed. Her grey eyes under their soft brown brows looked directly into
his.


"I'm Judith Kneale,"
she said. "Sorry to disappoint you about the gipsy look… my ears are
pierced, certainly, but——— " She gestured with long creamy hands
towards the most shell-like ears Craig Argyll had ever seen. The gold rings
were scarcely noticeable, just a fine, thread-like circle of gold at each tiny
lobe.


Craig Argyll was rarely set
back, but he went brick-red. To cover his mortification he spoke harshly.
"But what's the set-up? I took you for a young matron with two children!
Even your initials are wrong. J. K. I expected J. N."


Judith said distantly:
"Haven't you ever heard of a Kneale spelt K-n-e-a-l-e?"


"No, never," he
returned crisply. "Never heard of it till now.
Well, it seems I made a faux pas. My apologies. But———— "


"But the children?"
anticipated Judith. She turned a little so her back was to the children and
spoke in a low tone. "Believe me, I had hoped to speak direct to you
yesterday, but it wasn't to be, and I didn't feel particularly like explaining
to the woman who answered the phone. She wasn't exactly… welcoming."


"Beenie!"
Craig Argyll's face actually softened as he said it and his lips twitched.
"No, she'd not be likely to be."


"I wanted to explain that I
had to bring my wards with me. Their mother suddenly died. They have no one in
Australia. They were refugees from the Hungarian revolution. They've known much
of sadness. I do beg of you not to let them suspect you're displeased—that
they're unwelcome. I don't intend to bring them to Koraputai. That was why I
said what I did to—to Beenie—that I'm going to an
hotel in Oamaru, and I'll try, if possible, to find an empty cottage in Argyll
Hills township or somewhere else near till my stepsister is married."


"And after
that?'


"I don't know."


"I think you do. You probably
have the same ridiculous idea that Lorette had. That I will allow her and
Michael to have Hawthorn House and you will stay with them. But I shall prevent
that. Young couples need to be on their own, anyway. Lorette needs a chance to
prove herself."


Judith gazed at him bewildered.
Then she laughed, a short, unamused laugh. 'That's
ludicrous, coming from you. How much alone will Lorette and Michael be? Living
on the estate, smothered by relations and old family retainers? That's rich.
And you're quite wrong about me."


"Then why did you come,
uprooting yourself and these children?"


Judith hesitated, a hesitation
he put down to having posed her an unanswerable question. But Judith was
remembering Lorette's wire. She couldn't give her away. After all, she had come
to try to better the situation, not to worsen it.


She said wearily, "Mr.
Argyll, in a moment those monkeys will be into those railway trucks and Maggy
and Dan will come back to us. They have known sudden loss and disaster, not for
the first time in their short lives. Please refrain from discussing this
further—now. It seems as if I shall have to accept your company and the
hospitality of your car as far as Oamaru. I'm not looking forward to it, but
rather than explain any lack of welcome to the children I'll put up with your… with your boorishness, your uncongenial company.
But when we get to Oamaru your responsibility ends. Lorette can come to see us, she needs someone of her own at hand. I don't envy her
at all, in the Argyll stronghold. You sound like feudal chiefs. Besides those children are hungry. If you had only left me
to make my own way down, they would be having breakfast by now, in Christchurch
station. Is there anywhere here we can eat, at this hour? You turn up late,
without apology, and proceed to insult me. How ironic that I bustled
the children up because I was so sure that you would be a demon for
punctuality."


Maggy and Dan came running up,
pouring out informa- tion about the monkeys. Craig Argyll bent to the baggage.-


"I've made arrangements for
us to eat in Sumner, over the hills." He straightened up, looked down on
the children, and said in a voice from which all fury had fled, "Hullo,
oungsters, welcome to New Zealand. I know you're angry, come on."


' This,"
said Judith coolly, "is Maggy and Danny.'' Craig put down the cases as
Maggy offered her tiny hand, shook hands gravely with both children. Judith
picked up the lighter case and a grip and the children picked up a couple of
travel bags.


"Judy said you'd have a
really fabulous car," said Danny with the greatest satisfaction.


Judith's
eyes and Craig Argyll's met. She felt rather cheap, as if she had
over-emphasised his wealth.


One thing, Judith reflected, the presence of children bridged the gap left by this
unfortunate beginning. Quite unaware of undercurrents, they kept the
conversation going, Dan chattering madly of every car that passed, Maggy
talking in her serious precise little way.


They took the road over Evan's
Pass, cut through the hills and suddenly looked down on the other side with
Sumner lying in a green triangle, bordered on both sides with hills and on the
other with the open sea.


It was quite a small seaside
resort some eight miles or so from the city. Craig Argyll pulled up at a
boardinghouse on the sea front. The dining room had a row of french windows
opening out on to a pleasant garden bright with geraniums and daisies and
looking out on to the curving shore where an immense rock was stranded.


"Cave Rock," said
Mr. Argyll to the children. "See the big opening. Actually you can go
right through, there's a small hole at the other end. I'll let you see it after
breakfast, but I have a phone call to put through first."


Judith, easing grapefruit
segments out of the skin for Dan, met his eyes. No doubt he would be warning
the Koraputai folk what to expect.


It was a delicious breakfast
and they were famished. Craig stood up, laid his napkin down. "Now, if
you'll excuse me, I'll telephone. Children, you may go out into the garden.
Round to the side there is a miniature play-park— slides and swings. But you're
not to go to the beach till I take you—Cave Rock is tempting and dangerous, the
tide swirls in."


Judith said, an edge to her
tone: "It's quite all right, Mr. Argyll, I know how to look after
them."


He strode off without a word.


Judith went out in the sun
with the children. She sup' posed this man was so biased that if she as much as
let the children skin their knees he would think she was neglecting her duty.
She hoped desperately that the ride down would be uneventful. One thing,
neither Maggy nor Dan was ever car-sick, though as there was always a first
time, and the thought of that beautiful car being so abused gave her
palpitations, she resolved to have a towel handy. Thank goodness they were such
obedient children.


She heard her name being
called. Craig Argyll! Why in the world couldn't he come to her? She came with a
reluctant air and a raised eyebrow, cool and slim in her blue and white, with
the sapphire of the sea and sky behind her. Her air of resentment was not lost
on him.


"I wanted a word with you
apart from the children," he said.


Judith looked at him. "So
you've informed the folk at Koraputai that not only has the unwelcome
stepsister arrived but also—of all things—two small children.!"


His lips tightened. "Miss
Kneale… spelt with a K… you give me little credit for decent, normal
feelings, do you? You told me these children had recently been orphaned. I
shouldn't like to explain that in front of them when we arrive. I was merely
preparing my cousin so she could extend a warm welcome to them."


Judith bit her lip. She
swallowed. "But, Mr. Argyll, I told you I wanted to stay at a hotel in
Oamaru."


He folded his arms, standing
there with his Iges slightly apart, unyielding, impatient, sure of himself.


"You're coming to Koraputai.
We are noted for hospitality. I'd certainly not have you going to an hotel. People would think it extremely strange."


Judith
shrugged. "That sounds to me like a form of snobbishness, and as I don't
happen to care what people say, nor to avail myself of a
hospitality not sincere, I shall ——"


"It may not matter to
you—you'll be here, then gone—- but it could possibly matter to your
stepsister, who will become one of the community in North Otago. Argyll Hills
is not exactly as impersonal as King's Cross."


The cool grey eyes looked into
his hot tawny ones. "You rather surprise me. I had gathered you were
trying to prevent this marriage.'


She looked for a flash of the
eyes to show the shot had gone home, but looked in vain. He said instead,
rather desolately, "I so want Mike to be happy."


Judith looked swiftly away.
She had liked Mike too, and since it was she who had brought him home where he
had fallen for Lorette's vivid beauty with no realization of the shallow nature
beneath, she felt responsible.


So she said wearily,
"Very well, Mr. Argyll, we'll come for tonight, but I must look about
immediately for somewhere for us to stay. Surely folk would understand if I say
that since I suddenly became guardian to two small children, it's only natural
for me not to saddle Lorette's future in-laws with them? Two children in a
household make a deal of extra work—and noise—and someone of Michael's mother's
age is probably past little ones."


He chuckled. Judith stared.
"You'll not find that an excuse in our district. My cousin is renowned for
her passion for waifs and strays. It extends to children, cats, dogs, birds and
hedgehogs, even tramps—I should say swaggers, but I'm afraid my people never
adopted that Colonialism… Australians say swaggies, I believe… well,
she takes them all in, feeds them, spoils them… so it's not likely that two
little Hungarian refugees would daunt her, and folk know that. Well, you may
not be best pleased that your plan hasn't come off, but you must make the best
of it."


"What plan? What on earth do you
mean?"


His answering drawling tone
brought the flush of real resentment to Judith's brown skin.


"Oh, come, weren't you
trying to impress me with a show of independence?"


Judith clamped her lips on all
she wanted to say. She would not give this man a chance to be scathing about
her temper, and once she let go———————


Instead she said calmly:
"Australians are supposed to be outspoken. It appears to me New Zealanders
leave them a long way behind. Suppose we call the children and continue our
journey?"


"I've promised to show them
Cave Rock first. Are you coming with us?"


"No, thank you. I shall
wait in the car. After all, the sooner this journey is behind us the better I
shall like it."


He laughed, and the genuine
amusement in it flicked Judith on the raw. "Meaning the sooner it's over
the sooner you will be rid of me? Well done! That's as devastatingly frank as
any Kiwi, Miss Kneale."


He leapt down the steps,
shouting for the children. They came running, Maggy looking a little less prim,
her sailor hat hanging down her back on its elastic and strands of her curly
black hair, escaped from its Alice band, blowing about her face.


Judith watched him take a hand
each. Perhaps she ought to be glad that he wasn't taking it out on the
children. Well, she was for their sakes, but for her own she resented that. It
underlined that he only detested her.


He insisted on her being in the
front. She only consented because it could be that he didn't want to be
bothered with restless children in front. The drive into Christchurch was a
lovely one, with small craft bobbing at their moorings on a rising tide, the
sandbanks in the estuary, where the Heath- cote and the Avon met, gleaming like
dented pewter and the far shining shore curving symmetrically to the Seaward
Kaikouras, snowcapped, in the distant north.


They ran through suburbs full of
brightly painted wooden homes in spacious, flat gardens. It was a large city,
cool, green, girdled by trees, with the inner city enclosed neatly in four
avenues a mile square, planned by the pioneers of over a hundred years ago. All
the streets—or all Judith saw—were squared and straight, with only the winding
stream of the Avon to give curves to the ruled effect; a gracious, very English
city.


Then they swept out through the
wooded lush spaciousness of Hagley Park where a few late daffodils still
bloomed under English trees to the Main South Road.


At a small suburban house in
Riccarton Craig Argyll stopped the car, said briefly: "I won't be a
moment," and went to knock at the front door.


A woman answered it, talked for
a few moments, and Judith gained the idea from her demeanour that she was
decidedly unfriendly. As Craig came away his voice reached her.


"Well, I'm glad the child
is so very much uninjured. That was all I cared about. But I'd put a catch on
the outside of that gate if I were you, till your son reaches the age where he
won't harm himself—or endanger other people's lives. And you might as well know
I reported it very fully to the police ; i . including your despicable attempt to make capital out of
something that was your fault and to take advantage of the fact that, failing
other witnesses, people might very easily believe that a lad so young was
speeding. Good morning, madam."


He said as he resumed his seat,
"Another woman with an eye to the main chance. She lives on the main road,
has an adventuresome toddler and hasn't the wit to keep her gate fastened or
her eye on the child. I was coming along behind a young lad driving at a very
moderate pace—this child shot out between a parked car and a truck—the lad's
reactions were the quick ones of youth, fortunately, he made a wonderful
attempt to miss the child altogether, and on a road lined with telegraph posts
like this it's damned dangerous.


"He swerved out in front of
me—no time to signal, of course—all but turned his car over, went into a spin,
grazed my front mudguard, while I spun round and collected the rear wheel of
the truck. It jammed my door, so it took me a bit of time to get out, and by
this time the wretched woman was giving the boy the tongue-bashing of his life
and finishing up with I'll see you pay through the nose for this.


"It wasn't just shock
either—the boy was more concerned over the toddler than she was—and when he
protested she said quite calmly: 'It's only your word against mine.' Then I
appeared. Gave her the scare of her life by saying I was not only a witness to
the accident but also to the fact that she used what amounted to a threat. I
took the lad round to the police station and squared things up there.
Incidentally, that was why I was late. Your guess was right, you know, I am a
demon for punctuality—when circumstances permit. Which is
another reason why your stepsister and I don't see eye to eye."


Judith
said in a low voice, "I wouldn't have twitted you about being late had you
explained, and if you hadn't made such an unfortunate approach to me I would
have overlooked your lateness. I was stung into it."


She sat,
pondering the beginning of his explanation… "Another woman with an
eye to the main chance."


CHAPTER FOUR


At Templeton they left the
outskirts of the city and headed across the plains, riding over what seemed an
infinity of macadam with never a bend, with squaredoff paddocks on either side,
wire-fenced or gorse-hedged, bounded on the east by the sea they occasionally
glimpsed, on the west by the Southern Alps, mountains as high as Judith had
seen even on the Continent, sixty miles away though they were.


The countryside seemed lush and
green to her after Australia's bright, forceful beauty. Here the tender green
of young corn was showing, there were huge rivers with wide, sprawling
riverbeds intersected by streams, sometimes running bank to bank, Mr. Argyll
condescended to inform her, when the snow melted in the hot nor'west winds that
ravaged the plains three parts of the year.


Yet today it was as still as a
dream even if, with this antagonistic man beside her, Judith felt it had some
nightmare quality.


When they crossed the two
bridges over the mighty Rangitata, where the river divided to make two streams
and where there was an island in the middle where British Pavements were
crushing shingle, the road began to wind and and the country to become more
undulating. Wooded, too.


A car passed them, tearing along at
excessive speed.


"Crazy young fool!"
said Craig Argyll. "That's what happens on these country roads—that's
where most accidents happen———- Good lord, what's he doing?",


The car ahead had suddenly
swerved madly over to the other side of the road. They got a brief glimpse of a
huge hawk feeding on the carcase of some rabbit or hedgehog,
saw the heavy wings endeavour to lift the large body as the avenging fury bore
down on it, but there wasn't a chance. The next moment the bird was crushed
into the road and the car lurched on, regaining its own side.


There was a pitiful flapping of
wings, a rearing head, and all that had been graceful and full of life one
moment lay a tortured fragment on the tarseal.


Craig brought his car to a stop,
leapt out, said quietly, "Look the other way, children; I'm going to put
it out of its misery."


His face was set. He opened the
boot, got a tire lever out of the tool kit, went across and with one swift blow
despatched the wounded bird. He bent down, lifted it up, put it into the ditch
by the hedge. He returned, and with his foot kicked the carcase the hawk had
been feeding on into the long grass at the verge.


He got back in, drove on.
"I'd like a word with that driver," he said quietly. "That's
wanton cruelty. I've seen it before."


Then he changed the subject.
Five miles further on they came upon a stranded motorist who held up his hand.


As Craig slowed up Maggy said
suddenly: "That's— that's the car that ran that bird down." Her voice
was indignant.


' It
is, too," said Craig. He got out, went forward to the young fellow, who
began: "I'm in a spot of bother. Do you think you could—————
"


"You ran that bird down
deliberately, didn't you?"


"What the—yes, I did. So
what? They're only vermin. Birds of prey."


"And what do you think you
are? Vermin just about describes you. That was sheer cruelty. You didn't even
kill it, but left it there struggling on the road. I put it out of its
misery."


The young lad sniggered.
"Good lord, one of these bleeding hearts! A real sissy so help me."


Judith, herself hot with
indignation, saw Craig take hold of the youth by the scruff of the neck, there
was a powerful quick twist and next moment Craig, one knee crooked, had the offender
across it, and was administering a sound spanking. He was thorough but not
prolonged. Seemingly without any great effort he had the boy back on his feet
again, ludicrously astonished and angry.


He spluttered, "Why,
you—you—I could have you up for assault! I——— "


Craig Argyll's voice was cool in
comparison. "Save it. Don't be a fool. I've given you what you didn't get
enough of in childhood. I'm a member of the S.P.C.A. and I made sure you were
punished in the only way louts like you can understand. But by all means have
me up for assault. I'll give you my name and address. I'd count it worth
it."


The youth flung off his jacket,
doubled up his fists. "You took me by surprise just now. I'll have this
out with you— come on!"


Craig Argyll gave him a contemptuous
look. "No. I won't take you on."


"Afraid, are you, you great
whacking bully?"


"No, not
afraid, sonny. I'd better tell you the name is Craig Argyll. Mean
anything to you?"


The youth lost his air of
bravado, of toughness. He gulped. "Craig Argyll? Oh! Then———— "


"That's right, better to
let it go. Now, what's the trouble with the car?"


The youth's amazement was no
more than Judith's. Well, of all things! Her knees were trembling. That had
been an ugly scene for the children to witness. She hoped they'd not be too
distressed. She turned around.


Maggy was kneeling on the back
seat, eyes shining, her hat pushed to the back of her head.


"Served him right,"
she said with relish. "Gee wallopers, that was good. D'you think the hawk saw that, Judy? From up in
heaven?"


Danny joined in. He started to
laugh. "Didn't he get a surprise! Boy, oh, boy!"


Judith tried not to laugh,
failed. Her shoulders began to shake. How worried grown-ups get about children… and all the time they can stomach more than adults—in the main! It was
all perfectly natural and satisfying to the child mind, law and order. Action and consequence. An acceptance of the Mosaic law, an eye for an eye. In this case a good tanning and
humiliation as punishment for a bit of senseless cruelty. The goodies are
rewarded and the baddies pay!


She watched while Craig Argyll
delved into the innards of the car, an ancient one, came back for his own tool
kit, took out a pair of pliers, fastened a connection
up. The lad pressed his starter, his engine whirred to life.


Shamefacedly he looked up,
grunted in embarrassed fashion, "Thank you. So long."


Craig Argyll said: "And
next time you want a bit of sport, use a gun. Cleaner and
quicker. And for your education let me tell you those self-same hawks
fulfil a useful purpose. We've got to have carrion eaters,
they get rid of our rotting carcases. As far as stamping out pulpy kidney is
concerned they're invaluable. So long."


He came back, got in, started the engine.


Maggy's prim voice from behind
him said, "Thank you so much, Mr. Argyll, I enjoyed that."


Craig Argyll gave way to a
great gust of laughter. "Well, that's honest, Maggy. Perhaps I should
admit so did I!"


A few miles further on, under
cover of some arguing going on in the back, Judith said to him, "Just one
thing didn't appeal to me about that incident, Mr. Argyll."


He shot her a swift glance.
"Yes, Miss Kneale?"


The way you
used your name to quell a natural desire in that boy to fight back. It
savours of feudalism, snobbishness. One musn't fall out
with the lord of the manor! The big shot. We don't
have much of that sort of thing in Australia. I would have thought New Zealand
would have been free of it too."


To her chagrin he laughed.
"You've got it all wrong. I didn't use it as a family name. Come to think
of it most of the folk around here would never have heard of the Argylls. I
didn't say 'I'm an Argyll,' I said 'I'm Craig Argyll.' Meaning I'm fairly well
known as an amateur boxer. It would have been murder to have taken on a lad
like that. I felt the earlier punishment was quite enough."


"Oh." Her voice was
small. "I must apologize… again.''


He grinned hatefully.
"Goes against the grain, doesn't it? You would much rather have had the satisfaction of calling me a snob." Judith
did not deign to answer.


They pulled up in a small
village for lunch, at a long, low, white wayside inn. They had an excellent
lunch and Judith was thankful the children's manners were so good at table,
though she was all on edge in case they suddenly fell from grace. Craig Argyll
made no objection to Pinky and Poochy occupying half their owners' chairs, and
Judith was quite proud the children had stayed neat during the trip.


The room was crowded. Craig
nodded to one group of people as they sat down. This group
were finished before they were and the elderly couple came across before
they left the dining room. The woman was smart, kindly, talkative.
She beamed on Craig as he rose.


"Why, Craig, how many years
since we met last? We always mean to call in some time when travelling north,
but we're always running late. Argyll Hills is just a little off the beaten
track. But I'm so glad to have seen you. You're ten years or so older, of
course, but looking so well. And this is your family… well, well! As soon
as I heard you say 'Maggy' to your daughter I realized you had called her after
Magda. She's very like her too—in a way, which is odd, isn't it? because of course it was Magda's first husband who was your
cousin, wasn't it?" She paused for breath, then leaned forward to Judith
and said, "I'm so pleased to meet you, dear… I was always so fond of
your husband when he was a little boy, but tell me… how in the world do you do it? Look so young, I mean."


Craig grinned. "I'll tell
you. She looks young because she isn't my wife, because she isn't the mother of
the children. Come to that, they aren't my children either. This is Miss Judith
Kneale of Sydney and these are her wards, Maggy and Dan Vernon. But I don't
wonder you thought Maggy was like Magda, Mrs. Thurley, she has the same
Hungarian cast of features." He turned to Judith, who was looking puzzled.
"I've not got round to telling you yet. My cousin's name is
Magda—Michael's mother. Did he not say? I suppose he just said Mother. My
cousin's great- grandmother was a Hungarian." He smiled at the two
children. "She'll probably make you lots of Hungarian dishes while you're
staying with us."


That cleared up, he made the
other introductions and Judith met the Reverend Duncan Thurley. Mrs. Thurley
was in no wise set back.


Craig said easily, "Miss
Kneale's stepsister is going to marry young Michael, so Miss Kneale is going to
stay with us a few months."


Mrs. Thurley beamed, "Well,
if she's as nice as you are, Miss Kneale, then Michael will be a very lucky
young man. Really, it doesn't seem possible Michael should be getting
married—he's stealing a march on you, Craig. If you aren't careful you'll turn
into a confirmed bachelor. Let me see, you must be all of thirty-two, musn't
you?"


"Dead right," he said
cheerfully. "Maybe I am a confirmed bachelor."


She patted his hand. "Not you, dear boy, you're not cut out for it. I was
watching you with the children. You can always tell. You looked so paternal.
Well, we'll hope to be hearing some happy news about you before long." She
cast a speculative, bemused look upon Judith, who disengaged her eyes quickly.
Mr. Thurley said, "Dear, we really must be on our way, the others will be
waiting." To Craig he said, "We're hoping to get as far as Kaikoura,
perhaps even Blenheim tonight."


Craig said, "See if you can
spare the time to drop in at Koraputai on your way back, Mrs. Thurley. Did you
say you were going to be away a month? How about spending a night or a couple
of nights on the way back? Cousin Magda would love it. So would Finlo. Let's
make it a date."


After they had left he said,
"They used to be at the Manse at Heatherleigh. Argyll Hills is one of the
preaching stations of the Heatherleigh Parish. She's a great talker, but has a
heart of gold." He looked at her quizzically. "Just as well she
didn't hear any of our acrimonious exchanges on the way down—she'd certainly
not have thought we were married."


"Well… not happily
married, anyway," conceded Judith.


He looked at her sharply.
"You sound prejudiced against marriage—a bit cynical. I've no use for
cynical women."


He had a knack of putting her in the
wrong. She sighed.


He took her silence for consent
to that. "Living at Koraputai should cure you of that. Magda and Finlo are
so ideally suited.''


Judith got up, removed the
children's napkins from their chins, wiped their mouths, gestured
to them to run ahead. She turned to her tormentor. "I don't expect to be
long enough with you to have it affect my opinions one way or the other."


He shrugged,
picked up the bill, thrust his hand into his trouser pocket for money.


They qime out to a
flat tire. Craig surveyed it ruefully.


"Blast the thing, it's just one darned thing after another. More delay.
Never known a journey so ill-fated. Haven't had a
puncture for a couple of years, I reckon. No garages here either, it's just a
crossroads. I'll change it and we'll have to wait in the next township to get
it repaired. Can't risk driving far without a spare.
Sure to pick up a nail or run into glass."


Judith stood near him as he
undid bolts and nuts, holding out her hands for them as he removed them,
handing him tools as he needed them, without comment. He looked up into her
face, somewhat surprised, but took her aid.


The children played happily by
a tiny stream that cut across the lovely garden of the wayside halt and
meandered about among some very fine trees. Judith took a quick survey of the
stream, saw it was so shallow it probably dried up altogether in summer, and
beyond warning them not to fall in and get tiresomely wet and, dirty, left them
to it.


Craig got the tire replaced,
looked ruefully at his hands and Judith's, and said, "Let's wash them in
the stream. I don't feel like going back through the dining room like this, do
you?"


"Good idea," said
Judith, feeling cheered for some reason. He took a duster from the pocket of
the car. "We can use this as a towel."


As they came down to the
stream the children ran away from it, playing some game. Maggy evidently had
Pinky stuffed down her little plaid jacket that matched her frock, and it was
straining at the buttons. She had her arms folded tightly across her bosom.


"Don't stretch your
jacket like that, Maggy… take that doll out immediately and get into the
car."


Maggy, flying past, said,
"Righto, this very minute." She sounded suspiciously good. When the
two adults came back the children were sitting side by side on the back seat,
looking most sedate, Pinky and Poochy sitting up too.


Three miles on they stopped to
have the puncture seen to. This time the youngsters didn't want to get out.


"We are having a game of
'I spy with my little eye' and we don't want to stop it," said Maggy.
Judith smiled at them indulgently. At least Craig Argyll would feel she had
good control of the children, they had been exemplary.


They were nearly to Timaru when
a remark from the back seat, in Maggy's voice, floated out and mystified the
two in front. It held real consternation.


"Oh dear;" it said,
"I don't think it can be house- trained." The last syllable was
rather muffled as if the speaker had clapped a hand over her own mouth.


There was a puzzled silence.
Judith and Craig Argyll looked at each other, lines
between their brows, then as a duet: "What did you say, Maggy? What on
earth——"


Craig cast a quick glance over
his shoulder and at that moment a distressed and unmistakable
"Miaow!" sounded plaintively.


"That's torn it," said
Maggy.


Craig came to an abrupt stop,
swung round. Judith turned too and gazed reproachfully at the small sinner in
the back seat. She was holding a bedraggled, squirming sandy kitten in a corner
of the seat.


"Maggy!" said Judith
in horror, "where on earth did you get that animal?"


Maggy's lip trembled.
"It—it was down by the stream." Her voice lost its uncertainty,
became indignant. "It was in a bag… someone had tried to drown it. We
let it out and brought it along."


Judith's sympathies were all
with .Maggy and the kitten, but in what way would Craig Argyll react? And the
back seat of his beautiful car!


She began: "Maggy darling, we
really can't expect——— "


The kitten gave a piteous howl.
Maggy said, "It's just starving. It's skin and
bone. It might have been in that bag for days."


Craig suddenly opened his door,
"There's only one thing to do," he said. Judith held her breath, Maggy would break her heart if he carried that
unsavoury-looking kitten by the scruff of its neck and dumped it over the
hedge. Yet she could hardly——-


Maggy clutched the kitten to her
with wild and piteous revolt. "You aren't taking it," she said
defiantly to Craig. "It's just a baby, it can't
hunt for itself yet."


Craig smiled, reached under his
seat for the duster he and Judith had used for a towel.


"I'm only going to mop
up," he said mildly, proceeding to do so in expert fashion and with no
hint of outraged fastidiousness. "It's all right, Maggy. Plenty of room for stray kittens in the barns at Koraputai.
Cousin Magda will think you're a child after her own heart. It's a sure
passport to her affections." He got back into the driving seat after
casting his duster into the ditch.


"Miss Kneale, reach into
the pocket in front of you, will you, and fish out that spare duster? Put it on
Maggy's lap and she can nurse her kitten without fear of dire
consequences."


Maggy gave him a radiant smile
through her unshed tears.


They came to Timaru, a seaport
city with a winding main street that had probably been a meandering bullock
track in pioneer days. Craig pulled up outside a most glamorous-looking
tearoom. He went round to the back door by Maggy, opened it, reached
in for the kitten.


Before he could explain Judith
said, "Whatever do you intend to do with it now?"


"Get it some meat and milk
of course. It's obviously starving. Only hope it's not sick after it, that's
all." He seemed to view the likelihood with little apprehension, though.
"We've still got about seventy miles to go. Come on, Maggy. Do you want to
come too, Danny?"


Danny did. Judith, bemused, got
out and followed them in. Craig Argyll held the kitten gently, sitting it in
one great hand, the other holding it against him. Quite unconcernedly he made
his way through the occupied tables, with the three following him in single
file.


He came up to the cash desk. The
presiding cashier, young, blonde, very much made up, gave him a dazzling smile.
"Oh, hullo, Mr. Argyll, what can we do for you?"


He indicated the children.
"They rescued a half-drowned kitten a few miles back. It's starving. I'd
like a saucer of milk and some sort of meat chopped small for it, please.


The girl reached out a finger
tipped with plum-colored nail varnish and tickled the kitten's chin, "Poor
mite," she said, and lifted the flap of the counter. "Come into the
kitchen."


Craig Argyll looked behind him.
"Come," he said, and they all trooped after him. Judith still felt
bemused, unreal. The kitchen staff didn't seem in any wise put out. Judith said
to herself cynically that was probably because—if you cared for that
over-masculine masterful type—Craig Argyll was what some of them no doubt would
term a heart-throb. That, added to the fact he was a sort of landed proprietor,
made everyone kowtow to him. No wonder he had an arrogant air.


She admitted that he had a
pleasant way with him…- no
doubt it paid. He waited till the little kitten had lapped till it could lap no
more, polished off some raw mince, returned to the creamy milk but could manage
no more than a few half-hearted licks.


He picked it up, tried to pay,
was refused, laughed easily and thanked them again and with the kitten
comfortably tucked into the crook of his arm, made his way out again. It was
left to Danny to have the last word on the subject, Danny whose cheeks and
knees hadn't lost their baby chubbiness yet, but who tried so hard to be a
toughie.


"Gee, he's sure a swell guy,
isn't he, Maggy?"


The golden kitten, its sides
tubbed out and drowsily replete, made a valiant effort to clean its whiskers,
but fell asleep doing it. Dan's early rising was catching up on him now. He
snuggled up to Maggy's shoulder, and began sleepily twisting his forelock;
Maggy put an arm about him with a gesture that was wholly maternal, rested her
chin on his fair hair, and presently her lids dropped too.


So, in silence, but not a
companionable silence, they covered the miles, Judith and her unwilling host,
crossing over the Waitaki into Otago, driving through Oamaru, a small clean
town with white buildings of the local limestone, mainly with tiled roofs which
made it look predominantly white and orange, a town spread in leisurely fashion
on its gentle rolling hills fringed about with an opalescent sea.


They crossed the railway line
and came up the South Hill to an undulating countryside that melted into grape-
blue foothills in the west that were like footstools for far, white mountains.


Judith broke the silence.
"Real sheep country this, I would say."


"Yes." He glanced at
her. "You'll probably think it incredibly lonely. It will seem absolutely
the complete contrast to Sydney to you, as it does to Lorette."


Judith's cool grey eyes swept up
to meet his. "You're quite wrong, you know. Instead of that, it appears
incredibly closely settled to me. Look at the number of farms you can see at a
glance… look at the number of sheep this can carry to the acre.'5
Her lips twitched at his look of astonishment.
"You really know very little about me, and you seem to have a genius for
wrong impressions—I was brought up on a sheep-run where our nearest neighbor
was seventy miles away. The world of tele-radio, of correspondence school
lessons, of the Flying Doctor service… a self-sufficient world, my dear Mr.
Argyll."


He was silent from sheer
surprise. Then he said: "But you left it."


"I had my reasons," said
Judith.


He waved towards the coast on
the left. "The Argyll Hills township lies in that
direction. A few miles southeast of here." The
white Ngapara gravel road, so typical of North Otago, left the macadam main road
and curved towards the sea. A long shoulder of hill ran out towards the coast,
heavily wooded with totara and a few late-flowering kowhai trees looking a
little like English laburnums, and ribboned here and
there with the silver of tiny watercourses.


Judith
caught her breath with delight. Each side of her now were
hawthorn hedges, ivory and rose, and it took her mind back to her years in
England. Clover and daisies bordered the roadsides, with here and there a
glimpse of blue in early-flowering borage. Above the noise of the engine she
could hear strange birds singing, birds she would come to know, to draw. There
would be the little silent creatures of bush and fern, valley and mountain, to
set her searching for her sketching pencil… a whole new world opened out
before her… what was that line?


"Here be all new
delights, cool streams and wells, Arbours o'er grown with woodbine, caves and
dells."


A new world,
Cinerama's "world in miniature", shadowed only by the antagonism and
distrust of this man beside her. Judith shivered suddenly. Was she never
to be free of Lorette, of the memory of Lorette's mother, her father's
disillusionment? It had been so long.


The years before the Flemingtons
had come into her life seemed so far distant now, the happy, careless years
before her own mother died, with her little solitary world bounded by horses,
dogs, sheepyards, the friendly jackaroos who worked on the station, the
affectionate aboriginals, the great station itself that stretched far inland
but also down to the sea. She closed her eyes the better to see it with the
color slide of memory… the bare brown paddocks dropping suddenly down into
cliffs fringing the shining sea, the tumbling surf, the
soaring sea birds. Then no one would ever have classed her with Lorette, or
tarred her with the same brush. She hadn't even known such people as Lorette or
Maisie existed. She shivered again involuntarily.


"Are you cold?'' Craig
Argyll's voice dragged her back to reality. "If so, it
would be best to shut the window."


She shook her head.. "No, a goose walked over my grave. No one could be
cold on a day like this. Tell me, does your property go down to the sea?"


He nodded. "Yes, right to
the edge. Most of it's very rugged, too dangerous for children alone, with
great reefs of rock and kelp, but we have one very lovely, very safe bathing
beach. Actually, the full name of our place is Whare-o- Koraputai… with the
Maori meaning, 'The House of the Shining Tide'"


In her delight Judith forgot
their enmity, looked up with sparkling eyes. "Oh, not
really? Our place was Parnka… the aboriginal word for shining
water."


"Quite
a coincidence." His tone was so dry, it
made her rapture seem schoolgirlish and dried up any further confidences.


They slowed up a little. The
children sat up, rubbing their eyes, and there, open, were the gates of
Koraputai, carved with immense Scotch thistles. To the right, tucked into a
fold of the gentle hills, was a gracious two-storey Tudor type of house, white
with black battens. The garden was overgrown and the house had an unlived-in
look, but it had a charm of its own, and immense hawthorns, sweet with sprays
of deep rose blossom, sheltered and guarded it.


"That must be Hawthorn
House," said Judith.


Craig shot her a shrewd
glance. "Yes." His voice was smooth. "Vacant now for some years,
but reserved for the day when my cousin and her husband will retire to
it."


She took that as it was
meant—no designs on Hawthorn House. I don't intend that you and Lorette shall
occupy it! Nor Lorette and Michael. He might just as
well have said it.


She said, ignoring his
innuendo, and striving, since in a few moments they must meet other strangers,
to keep her talk light, "I suppose your own home will be an older type of
homestead."


"It was once. We had a
disastrous fire, caused by a guest falling asleep smoking, years ago, when I
was a child. We saved the contents and records, but the place was gutted. So
Mother and Father built a new place. Much more convenient, not so large, no
narrow stairs and sloping roofs and dormer windows… but how I missed
it!" He looked at her sideways. "That's why it's a strict rule that
no one, no one, smokes in bed."


"I don't happen to smoke
at all, so that's one thing on which you can set your mind at rest, Mr.
Argyll."


"Pity your stepsister
isn't the same. She has no conscience at all about butts. Even outside—odd in
an Australian—she just drops them in the dry grass, and doesn't bother to tread
them out."


Judith said nothing.


They swept round a bend
between tall trees, and there on a small plateau, terraced in green lawns and
colorful rockeries, lay Koraputai, a wooden homestead, dazzlingly white against
the green of the wooded hills beyond and the blue shining tide to the east. It
had a welsh slate roof, unusual here, quaintly designed, and spread out, two-
storeyed, but so wide it gave a long, low effect in front, and to the side,
wide patios and loggias were wreathed with wistaria and clematis.


Garden furniture was sprinkled
about, brightly painted, inviting leisure, purple alyssum sprang from crevices
in the irregular paving, tubs of hydrangeas, budding, stood about and against a
tall white trellis a bank of salmon and flame- colored azaleas set the hillside
aflame.


Dogs barked, cows lowed, there
was a general air of bustle and arrival, figures began
to appear on the patio.


Almost, thought Judith bitterly, as
if they wanted me.


Craig came to a perfect stop
in front of a set of wide, shallow steps, came roynd,
opened Judith's door. Most punctilious, she thought.


She turned, helped Maggy and Dan
out, plus the kitten clinging to the front of Maggy's frock. She found her
heart was thumping madly. Despite what Craig had said about
his cousin who kept house for him, how terrible if they were all as outspoken
and critical as he.


A middle-aged man and woman
hastened to the top of the steps, the woman's arms outstretched in eager
welcome. From behind them Lorette rose indolently from a long cane chair and
limped across.


Cousin Magda was like small
Maggy—the same racial features, high cheek-boned, beautiful. Her husband was
neat, small, rather spare, with a trim little
moustache and the bluest of eyes.


Magda was sparkling. Judith was
conscious of surprise. After all Lorette had said—Magda, once she had greeted
Judith, stooped to the children. "So this is Maggy and Danny. Lovely to have you. Good gracious, how did you get that
kitten through the customs? I thought they had to be quarantined. Isn't it a pet!"


Maggy beamed. "No, it
wasn't ours. We found it half- drowned in a stream where Mr. Argyll was mending
a puncture, so we brought it along. He said we could."


"Well, how providential you
had a puncture right there. It must have been meant to happen." She
scratched under the kitten's chin.


Craig saw she was quite
absorbed, finished the introductions. "My cousin's
husband, Finlo Quayne. Where's Mike?"


Lorette reached them. She made a
little face. "Still in the milking shed. They had
a power break. Darling Judith, how lovely to see you."
She gave a peck in the vicinity of Judith's ear, and then, said more coolly,
"Hullo, Maggy and Dan."


"Hullo," they said politely
but without enthusiasm.


Lorette said: "I was most
surprised when Craig rang Magda to say you had the children with you."


Judith said hurriedly,
"Well, they're living with me now. I had a good offer for the flat,
sub-letting it, so I took it."


"Of course," said
Lorette softly, "you caouldn't let anything so advantageous go, could you?
It's a good thing Magda is fond of children, though, isn't it? I mean… not
many places where you could arrive at a moments notice with two strange
children, I imagine."


Magda swept the children away
with the kitten. She said, over her shoulder, "Back in a moment. I must
get the most important guest settled first… with a saucer of cream. Craig,
get Judith a drink, I think everything's there. There is some home'made
lemonade for the children."


Finlo Quayne led the way to a
marble-topped table on the patio. Lorette and Judith sat down on the covered
swing seat. It was heavenly to relax after the long eventful day. The children
were going to be all right with Magda Quayne, and Michael's stepfather was the
type you would instinctively trust.


Craig poured glasses of cider,
handed them round. Judith looked at Mr. Quayne seated near her and said:
"You're from the Isle of Man." It was more a statement than a
question.


The vivid blue eyes lit up.
"Yes, how did you know? By the name? So few people recognize Manx names."


Judith smiled. "My father was a
Manxman."


He looked at her sharply.
"Then you're a K-n-e-a-l-e, not a Scots Neill."


She smiled, a sudden dimple
cleaving the smooth brown cheek. "You know considerably more than Mr.
Argyll did." Then, just as Magda reappeared she said softly:
"Carinas' Tha-Shu,?"


"Braoo, Braoo," answered
her host delightedly.


Magda's eyes were wide. "Isn't that clever! I can't make head nor tail of it. Really, Finlo, won't you have fun with her?
Whatever does that mean?"


"Quite
elementary, my dear. Miss Kneale asked me how I was and I replied I was
fine."


"I still think it's clever
to know it. Most of us know the odd word of Spanish or French or German, but
Manx——!"


Craig had sat down by Lorette.
She turned her head to meet his eye, said softly. "Clever is the right
word. Didn't I tell you Judith had a genius for striking the right note? She
arrives with two little Hungarian children for Magda, and knows a few stray
words of the old Manx language to impress Finlo with."


Craig was surprised to find
himself saying, "Well, you've got to hand it to her, she isn't shirking
her responsibilities to these children. I daresay she could have found someone
to take care of them, while she had this holiday here."


Lorette's sapphire eyes
surveyed him over the rim of her glass. She shook her head sadly. "I might
have known. She does give one an impression of integrity and right-doing. If
you knew her as I do you would soon realize that there must be something in it
for her. She does nothing without very good reasons. I
daresay money is tied up with it somewhere. And I very much doubt if she means
it just to be a holiday."


"What do you mean?"
demanded Craig a little too loudly for Lorette's comfort.


She said "Shush!"
pouting her lips charmingly. "Not here—now. I must put you on your guard
some other time. I feel most responsible for her being here. But I quite
understand your being pleasantly impressed. Men are impressed by Judith, poor
lambs."


Craig reddened a little.
"I'm not impressed. I reserve judgment—that's all." He moved away,
conscious of anger. No man likes to have his judgment questioned. Lorette was
well aware of that.


Michael leapt up the steps,
still in his workaday things, to greet Judith, seizing her hands and dropping a
brotherly kiss upon her cheek. Judith, who till now had seen him only in city
clothes, or at the wheel of his Cooper, thought he suited them.


"Good to see you, Judy.
Hope you can stay for ages. Where are the kids? I saw quite a lot of them in
Sydney, remember?"


Told where they were, he made
a dive into the house, en route for the kitchens, where Maggy was telling the
indignant tale of the half-drowned kitten to Beenie.


Beenie was clucking her tongue
and shaking her head. Such goings-on! Nothing short of a scandal to treat a
poor wee kitty like that!


"Well, dinna fash yersel'
any more aboot it, bairnie, all's well that ends well… and there's aye
room for anither cat aboot my kitchen. I don't hold wi'
these moose traps. What did the guid lord make cats and kittens for, say I!
Even the smell o' a cat keeps them oot the cupboards. It can sleep in the
laundry the night. See, just off here. There's an old Moses basket here, at
least the lid o' yin. It's the vairy thing an' all. And I've got… noo,
where would I be puttin'it? Oh, ower yonder.'' She bent under a row of tubs,
fished up a piece of tanned sheepskin, fluffy and soft, care- fully lined the
lid with it, lifted the little golden cat in.


"There noo, it'll be fine,
my cushie-doos… we'll shut the door so it can go sniffing round, and come
evening I'll help ye butter its paws. Wi' lard, mind
ye, no1 butter. Lard is better anyways, besides being more thrifty. Then it'll no stray. My, but it's scrawny!
We'll soon have it looking fat, though, like all the Koraputai cats."


Maggy and Dan were her devoted
slaves from that moment, bearing her scolding and praises alike. Michael took
them out to the patio again. Judith was feeling more at ease. Some time she
would explain to Magda and Finlo Quayne that she would not trespass on their
hospitality for long. It was sufficient that they were accepting her with none
of the hostility that Craig Argyll had shown her. It was inexplicable.


How ridiculous to extend to her
the same contempt they evidently felt for Michael's fiancee. And Lorette had
put her in a false position by saying she'd been the one to want to come. She
would have it out with Lorette tonight. Ask her why in the world she wanted to
make a mystery out of a simple invitation to her stepsister to be with her till
the wedding. Judith sighed. Lorette's ways were tortuous and complex, making
sense only to herself.


In most respects dinner was a
very pleasant meal. Delicious odours from the kitchen wafted through long
before they sat down, and when they did it was heart' warmingly evident that
Magda had been delighted with news of her small guests… she had a Hungarian
dish for the main course, a delicious blend of diced chicken and good ness
knows what, flavored with paprika, and for dessert was a novelty to please the
heart of any child.


She had made individual dishes
of chopped-up green Jelly representing fields, and with moulds of colored jelly
turned out of tumblers to shape into Dutch windmills, com' plete with sails
made from wafers. Not just for the children either, each adult was expected to
take full delight in them, and the jelly was supplemented with a wedge from a centre'
piece of trifle decorated with realistic mushrooms and toad' stools,


"However did you get the
red spots on the toadstools, Cousin Magda?" asked Maggy, her usually
serious eyes shining.


Craig grinned. "Never ask,
poppet. Magda has weird and wonderful ideas of her own. Her decorations always
look wholesome, but they're achieved in so unorthodox a manner it's better for
our peace of mind to dwell in blissful ignorance."


Maggy wrinkled her small nose at him.
"I don't know what half
those words mean, but I think I get the idea——— "


She turned to Judith and said
indignantly, "You needn't look like that, Judy, she asked me to call her
Cousin Magda."


"Of course," said Mrs.
Quayne. "It's pretty awful being a youngster and meeting all these folk,
without having to use formal names."


Judith reflected that if only
Craig Argyll wasn't here, this place would be heaven for the children. There
was just one doubt remaining about the Quaynes. It was one thing welcoming
children so cordially at the start, but their welcome might wear thin as the
children's company manners wore off, or the novelty of being here. Even
well-behaved children became quarrelsome or boisterous at times. Tomorrow she
would certainly seek a place of her own.


After dinner Michael, a great
favorite with the children, set out with them to explore the place. He said to
Lorette, "Coming for the walk? Your ankle seems practically right."


She shook her head decidedly.
"No, thank you, I feel it would be foolish to overdo it. Besides…"
She sighed and let the rest go. Judith interpreted the sigh as: "Not with
a couple of brats, thank you."


Judith turned to her hostess.
"Might I be excused to do their unpacking? When they come back I feel they
ought to go to bed. It's been a long day, and they've had all the excitement of
a sea voyage on top of the shock of losing their mother."


Magda Quayne rose with her.
"Beenie said she'd attend to all the chores tonight. Craig and Finlo, give a hand with the dishes, won't you?" She
swept Judith upstairs.


Magda said: "I decided,
just for tonight, to let you use the room I originally made up for you. It has
twin beds in and Michael put up a camp-bed for Danny; I thought they would
like to be with you for their first ni^ht anyway; it's all so strange, poor
pets, but tomorrow———- '


Judith put a hand on her arm.
"It's been so good of you to make us welcome like this, but please don't
make any- future plans. I didn't intend to saddle you with three of us, but
everything happened so quickly. It—it looks as if I'll have to stay for a
little while. If I can take advantage of your hospitality for a few days, Mrs.
Quayne, I'll see if I can find some place for us in the township. There seemed
to be a few old stone cottages empty. It would be such fun. And
handy to school for the children. If not, I could take rooms in Oamaru.
But I have no intention of invading your home with a readymade family."


Magda stopped and stared at her,
then pushed open a door. "Let's go in here, my dear, and discuss
things." It was a small room, used mainly for writing, probably a relic of
more leisurely days when Koraputai had a hgue staff,
and entertained more. Not the sort of room you found these days when even
wealthy homes in Australia and New Zealand contained only the needful rooms.


The light caught a familiar
portrait on the opposite wall, a much-used photographic study of the Queen. The
Royal signature was written across the corner. A delightful thought impinged on
Judith's mind: had the Queen herself sat here, writing letters to her children
at home, lifting her eyes now and then to the wide windows with the curving
horizon that bounded the Pacific, now amethyst and faintly rose in the
afterglow of the sunset?


Magda noticed Judith's
appreciative appraisal of the scene.


"Lovely, isn't it? I never tire
of it."


Judith nodded. "When I was
a youngster we had a sheeprun on the New South Wales Coast. Our windows looked
down to the sea too. There was a different light about it, though, stronger,
more—more challenging, perhaps, more ruggedly Australian. This is more gentle, more English. Yet there is something
fundamentally alike about both places, a freedom that fenced-in places never
know."


Magda came to the point.
"My dear, I'm going to be candid. If Craig could hear me he would be most
apprehensive." (Judith hid a smile. Craig Argyll could be devastatingly
candid himself.) "I wasn't a bit pleased when Lorette said
her stepsister was coming. You'll probably think I'm like all mothers of only
sons, thinking no girl good enough


——— That's not so, but I can't
expect you to believe that, till
you get to know me. But I don't feel Lorette is the wife for Michael. It is
only attraction and I'm devilishly afraid that when it wears off they will have
nothing in common.


"I don't mean I believe
in a cold-blooded weighing up of mutual advantages and likes—and there must be
a spark between two people if they are going to survive the ups and downs of
life—but you need something kindred as well, a basis for friendship to last
through the years. However, I don't mean to discuss that now—but I did feel
that if you were another like Lorette it would be tough going. But I can see
you aren't. I couldn't see her taking on the guardianship of two children. I
would so love to have them here, to help you. Please?"


Judith found her eyes were
misting over. She swallowed, touched Mrs. Quayne's hand. "It's wonderfully
sweet of you, but you know children can be very trying. I feel it would make
for a more harmonious relationship if we were not all together. Just before we
left the township I noticed a couple of cottages standing empty. I could
furnish one with the bare necessities and Lorette could come to live with us.
It might be better all round—I'll be candid too, without being disloyal. I know
Lorette doesn't pull her weight. I feel marriage may be the making of her—but
meanwhile it would ease the situation for you."


Magda Quayne looked at her
young guest shrewdly, saw lines of fatigue under the
grey eyes, the slightly nervous tension of the clasped hands. "But how
will Lorette like that? She likes luxurious living. She's like a cat for
comfort."


Judith grinned. "I'll be
able to persuade her. She'll be free to use my car for transport."


Magda laughed. "Poor Lorette! She's a woeful driver. Michael is quite
besotted, but he's so mad on cars, regards them with a doting care, and when
she bashed his Cooper up, he lost his temper. Then Craig refused to let her
have even the little Anglia, said he had a responsibility for other people's
lives.''


"I know. I had to stop
her driving mine. Lorette doesn't like that, but at least I could take her
where she wants to go. It would make her more contented with the country.


Michael won't have time. So she
would probably come to us.


"She's not going to be
pleased. I think she's furious already because you've brought the children,
though she pretended it was on my account when Craig rang up, but I saw through
that. Perhaps I shouldn't talk to you Like this about
your stepsister, but I'm no good at hiding my feelings, and I liked you as soon
as I saw you. The very fact you were taking on these children warmed my heart.
Before that I was really mad to think we were going to have another girl, of
Lorette's type probably, lolling about smoking all day, putting cigarette butts
on antique furniture and leaving wet rings under the glasses. That was another
thing. I watched you hastily move an ashtray near her tonight. That made up my
mind about the east wing."


Judith blinked, looked
enquiringly. Magda went on, "There's a wing here, not big, but quite
self-contai.ied— tiny kitchenette, bathroom, an all-purpose sitting room with a
dining table, two bedrooms and a sun-room. The sun- room is off the main
bedroom. It would do for the children, and Lorette could have the single
bedroom. Please say you'll take it and give up this other idea?


"My dear, I'll go on being
candid and say it would be heavenly to have her out from under my feet, yet
this idea wouldn't cause as much talk as if you took a cottage at Argyll Hills.
She doesn't even sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam. She does nothing, and
I've never been a patient woman. And as for trying to keep the peace between
her and Beenie… well! Beenie's got even less time for drones than I.
Please say yes!"


Judith felt a weight lift off
her heart. It would be ideal, these lovely surroundings for the children, the companionship of men, something they had lacked so long…


Magda Quayne, watching her face, said, "And the school bus stops at the gate to
pick up the children of the married couples. It's quite a good school too;
small, but with splendid teachers."


That settled it. Magda beamed,
said, "Now come and I'll show you the room you have tonight, and the east
wing."


Judith said hesitantly, "I
only hope Mr. Argyll will approve."


Magda raised her beautifully marked
brows. "Craig? Of course he'll approve. I'll see that he does."


Judith's laugh held real merriment.
It took a little of the fearsomeness out of the formidable Mr. Argyll to have
him spoken of like that by the woman who had brought him up.


The guest room was delightful, in
pastel tones, with the muted colors of an Aubusson carpet underfoot and snow
white terylene curtains billowing softly at the
floor-to ceiling windows that overlooked the sea. There were soft lilac towels,
a quaint reading lamp in just the right position, glossy magazines, and
hailstone-spotted muslin bedspreads and dressing table drapes.


Danny's little camp bed had a green
fluffy coverlet and on top of the bed were heaped a pile of children's books
that had apparently been Michael's.


They came downstairs into the big
lounge to find Craig and Lorette still on the patio. Seemingly Finlo Quayne had
gone with Michael and the children. Craig was leaning forward to Lorette, his
hands between his knees; they were talking quietly but intently. They broke
off, looked a little startled, even embarrassed as Judith and Magda came
towards them. Judith had the uncomfortable feeling they had been talking about
her.


Magda said in a tone of immense
satisfaction, "We've got everything settled. Judith had some quaint idea
she was going to look for quarters, but I've solved everything."


"You
would, Magda," murmured Craig.


She accepted that as a tribute,
smilingly. "Yes, of course, it was obvious… I admire Judith's
independence. Naturally she had tremors about landing two children on us; we
mightn't have been good with children and that would have been horrid for the
little darlings, but this would mean she would have them to herself most of the
day but I'd be ab*le to have them a little too—I'm giving her the east
wing."


"Only if you approve, Mr.
Argyll," said Judith firmly. It had the air of a challenge.


His eyes met hers. "I approve.
It sounds an excellent id»ea. Let me congratulate you,
Miss Kneale. You've made your gesture of independence, thereby impressing my
cousin —— she's very independent herself and admires it in others— yet you
haven't rejected our own gesture of hospitality.


It was
smoothly said. Perhaps only Judith was aware of the gibe, though Magda looked
at him sharply.^ "That sounds a very precise
speech for you, Craig. What's come over you?"


His lazy
tone held amusement. "Oh, I have my flights of oratory, even me, a
horny-handed son of toil."


Judith
looked at him. "You look very far removed from that," she said, and
there was a bite in her words too.


He was
sitting back, sprawled, elegant in a careless way, very much the master of the
House of the Shining tide. She wondered what he and Lorette had been
discussing.


Had she known, the slackening of
tension she had experienced with Magda would have been very temporary. The
children came back then, looking much like any children, full of excitement
over country things.


Danny was tripping over his words.
"The puppies, Judy, all fuzz, and lots and lots of kittens and a piebald
horse… not a piebald… what did you call it, Michael? Oh, a skewbald,
brown and white and black. An' calves and baby sheeps and grandma sheeps and
lots of fowls and a goat called Clorinda. I'm goin^ to feed the hens
tomorrow."


Maggy said slowly, "Its
luff'ly." She sighed with content. Then she said slowly. "It's much
bigger than our farm back home."


Judith caught her breath. Back
home. Not Sydney, not Australia, but Hungary. Her mother had thought small
Maggy's memories of Hungary had faded altogether. But this had revived them.


Maggy herself caught the look of
surprise on Michael's face. "Not 'stralia, Mike, but
Hungary."


A shared silence fell on the group.
For a moment this circle here in the welfare state of New Zealand, safe,
secure, untouched by tragedy, was shadowed by a rebellion, a lost cause, in the
Old World. Perhaps not a lost cause for ever.


Judith stood up. "Come on,
pets, time for bed." She looked at Magda. "Is there plenty of hot
water? They could do with a bath after travelling."


Magda got up,
eyes shining. "I may help, mayn't I?"


Finlo Quayne, getting up in search
of his book, said: "My wife is in the seventh heaven." Michael went
out with him.


Lorette turned to Craig.
"Isn't it wonderful how she does it? Anybody else would have been handed
the frozen mitt, arriving out of the blue with two children. Not Judith. She
mesmerizes geople."


Craig said, 'I did say to you
earlier that at least she didn't shirk her responsibilities."


Lorette's lip curled. "She
wouldn't have taken it on unless there was something in it for her."


His brows drew together.
"What could there possibly be in it for her? It's not easy to take on two
young children."


"There'll be money in it
somewhere for Judith—if not now, then the expectancy. She's a wizard at
considering advantages. I daresay she's getting a fabulous rental for
sub'letting the flat, plus our own. I must see she doesn't think this is a
cheap way of living on you."


Again Craig was conscious of
surprise. He'd thought Lorette the type to take all. He was still wary of this
incredibly lovely, spoiled and petulant fiancee of young Michael's.


"She could have stayed in
Sydney, having the children in her own flat and subletting the other," he
pointed out.


Lorette
said, almost as if unwillingly, "Not the same chances in Sydney as here——— " She broke off, as if she felt she had said too
much.


"What
do you mean? What chances?"


Lorette looked appealing, as if
she hated being cornered. She leaned forward, put a hand on his arm.


"Craig, I feel so—so
responsible for her being here. I'd hate to think that she—that you—oh, I don't
know how to put it. I hate to say things about Judith, yet in fairness to you——- "


His voice was dry. "Suppose
you come to the point. I was never one for shillyshallying."


The deep blue eyes looked into
his, faintly ashamed, embarrassed. "When she wanted to come I couldn't
turn her down. She's only a stepsister, but all the family I've got left. I—I
know I'm not popular here myself—mothers just don't like parting with only sons
in marriage—but I'd hate
to be unwittingly the case of more trouble. I——————
"


"Come on, come on. Exactly
what do you fear from Judith?"


She made every show of reluctance.
Then shook her red curls as if making a decision. "But I must also be fair
to you, I know. You see, Judith is calculating. Always has been. She gets it
from her father. How he treated my mother! But let that go—it hurts even to
remember. Judith was always jealous of me, of my looks, my popularity at
parties, and so on, and she can never bear me to have more than her. Yet she
likes to boss me, to have someone to order round.


"She was furious that
Michael fell for me. And . . i
and after I got here… to make her less jealous, I wrote saying Michael did
not, after all, own Koraputai, that you did. I didn't dream she would straightaway
make up her mind to come here. I said you were unmarried, you see. So—so I
think it only fair to warn you to be on your guard."


Craig Argyll's chair made a harsh
scraping noise as he pushed it back impatiently on the rough grey flagstones.


"Good lord!" he said
disgustedly; "what a bright pair you are."


He strode off down the steps,
feeling in his pocket for his pipe. Lorette watched him go, a little smile on
her lips. Even though he had included her in that she was not ill-pleased. She
had to be careful; it was only after Judith had consented to come that she had
realized she was exactly the type to appeal to Craig. She had already appealed
to Magda, to Finlo, even to Beenie, but as long as she and Craig were at
loggerheads, Lorette would feel easier in her mind. She had a feeling that she
would disarm Craig yet. There were ways and means, and she supposed that, like
most men she knew, he wasn't impervious to a little flattery. She must find out
how much money Judith had with her. Money just melted, and it could be Judith
had got an advance from the children's solicitor.


The rest of the evening passed
quite pleasantly, Michael and Finlo at least seeming unaware of any
disturbances below the surface, though Judith was aware of Craig watching her.
She found out a few things. That Finlo was an author and naturalist, but not
above lending a hand on the sheep'station when needed, that Magda's passion was
gardening, outdoor and indoor, that Beenie's hobby was entering for competition
in the monthly meetings of the Women's Division of the Federated Farmers.


Nevertheless it was with a sense
of relief that she at last found herself going to their own rooms. Lorette's
room was next to hers, in the main part of the house.


They
paused at Lorette's open door. Judith said firmly: "I'm coming in for a
few moments. There are one or two things I want to ask you."


"If
it comes to that," Lorette retorted, "there
are some I'd like to ask you.'' She shut the door, limped to the bed, lay down.


"For
instance, what in the name of fortune made you bring those two wretched kids
here?"


"Common decency," said
Judith quietly. "That's nothing to do with you, Lorette. You could use
threats to bring me over here, to act as a buffer between you and your future
in-laws, but you have no influence to make me give up a responsibility that's a
real challenge. I feel those children need me far more than you do, and you
waste time trying to make me give them up, for one hint of that, my girl, and I
go back to Australia with them and you can dree your own weird. And now—what in
the name of goodness made you tell Craig Argyll that I wanted to come here?
It's bad enough not to feel welcome—as far as he's con' cerned—but to have him
think I actually insisted on coming is too much."


Lorette, alarmed, sat up. "You—you didn't tell him?'


Judith said wearily, "No.
Serve you right if I had, but I didn't want to make a bad situation worse.
Besides, I thought I'd better find out exactly what you're up to this
time."


Lorette looked sulky. "Well, I
was just fed up with him—with them all—thinking I was out for all I could get,
that I was just a butterfly type, that I had no family re sponsibilities. So I
said you weren't much good at living on your own, that you needed somone of the
family, and I was all you had left so I didn't like to turn you down."


Judith was speechless. This picture
of herself, as pre' sented to Mr. Argyll, momentarily took her breath away.


Lorette seized her arm.
"Judith, promise you won't give me away. It's the first good impression
they've had of me. I do hate to live in an atmosphere of disapproval. I'm not
strong'minded like you are. Besides, they aren't going to be your in-laws. They
don't matter to you." She shook the arm she held. "You won't give me
away, will you?"


The outraged
Judith did not answer.


"Judith, Judith, please! After
all youH be here just for a few weeks. Its probably
your one chance of getting rid of me permanently. Please help me to create a
different im' pression on them.?' She smiled up audaciously,
coaxingly, into her face.


Judith would not allow herself to
smile back. Those tactics had been effective when Lorette was a little girl.
Not now. She'd seen through them too often.


She said, "I'm not doing any
more promising. I won't tell Craig Argyll unless I have to. But don't try me
too far. If I don't like this set-up I'll pull up the tent-pegs and go back to
Sydney."


Lorette's eyes were on her face,
searching for the weak spot in this. "But where would you live? Especially
with two children, with both flats let?" she asked triumphantly. "And
Sydney is so hard to find accommodation in."


Judith looked at her levelly.
"I might stay in New Zealand, but not here—if you make it too hot for me.
I've a couple of New Zealand books to illustrate. Oh, Lorette, why did you have
to complicate things? Why didn't you just say you were lonely and would like
your sister here? Why try to turn everything to your own advantage? I can see
now I was a fool to come, even despite your cruel— probably empty—threats. But
let me tell you these are real people—sincere people. If you don't turn over a
new leaf and stop your abominable selfishness even Michael will turn against
you."


Lorette laughed. "Michael? Oh
no, he won't. He's still madly in love, my dear sister. You don't know a thing
about men. You set far too much store on the virtues. Men don't care a
rap."


"Don't they? Then why are you
pretending to Mr. Argyll that you have some family loyalty towards me? Lorette,
sometimes I think you haven't the intelligence to be crafty. All right, I'll play
it your way… probably… but hands off the children. One hint that
you're making them unhappy and I'm off."


Judith walked out of the room, her
back uncompromisingly straight, her knees a little
shaky. She meant what she had said. In the past she had given in so often to
Lorette, to Lorette's mother, because she had so hated friction, but she would
have nothing to shadow the children's lives. When it came to yourself you were
vulnerable, but now her first duty lay towards those children whose lives had
known so much loss, and it would put steel into her resolve.


She came face to face with Craig
Argyll. He noticed her set face, her unyielding mouth, her
clenched hands. He went to walk on, changed his mind, came
back just as she put her hand on the doorknob of her room.


"Miss
Kneale?"


She looked
over her shoulder. "Yes, Mr Argyll?"


The tawny eyes searched hers.
"Miss Kneale, you have the air of one who has been quarrelling. No—no, I
don't want to hear about it. I just want to tell you our home has always been a
harmonious one. I would like it to continue that way. It's quite obvious that
you and your stepsister clash. Be good enough to discipline your enmity while
you're in my home. I haven't much use for women who are always at each other's
throats, bickering and slanging each other. That's all."


It left Judith with nothing to say.
You could offer no explanations in the face of that.


She swallowed. "Good night,
Mr. Argyll," she said, and went into her room, holding back tears.


CHAPTER FIVE


She woke to a smiling October world, a spring world
in the Southern Hemisphere. It was dewy-sweet, with the tang of the open sea
coming through the windows and somewhere a bird calling on a repeated note like
a chime of bells. Bell- birds! But somehow different from the
Australian bellbirds.


She woke to the remembrance of
Craig Argyll's words the night before, to the realization of the impossibility
of the task ahead, fitting two strange children into this household, being
caught up, as inevitably she would, in the devious petty deceptions with which
Lorette cluttered her life, and knew nostalgia for her Sydney flat, for the
new-found peace there.


Judith rose, went to her window, looked out on the rolling green paddocks, the bluff
headlands, the shining tide, the like horizon.


"Give me strength, God, for
this next little while§" she prayed.


She turned round, calmed,
refreshed by opening her heart to find the children rubbing their eyes. She
must get them washed and dressed.


Magda had said last night,
"We no longer bother with early morning tea. We get straight up for
breakfast. I do send Lorette's breakfast in, she takes such a time, and
Beenie's got so cross keeping things hot."


Judith had laughed. "I know, it saves time. But we'll be down. What time? Seven-thirty? Actually I'll probably find it hard to keep
the children in bed till then, they'll want to explore."


She took a quick shower,
supervised the children's ablutions, brushed their hair till it shone,
carefully wetting down Dan's recalcitrant cowlick, dressed them in linen shorts
and striped shirts in green and white, put plastic sandals on their brown feet,
clipped a white Alice-band in Maggy's hair.


She hesitated over slacks for
herself, remembered Craig Argyll's certainty that she would be arty,
flamboyant, gipsyish… what Lorette had said she could only guess at—and
decided on a skirt. She picked a green sailcloth one, banded with heavy
stitching giving a tailored effect, tucked a crisp
white cotton blouse into it. She smoothed back a couple of short strands of
hair that didn't quite reach her topknot, fastened them securely with two white
clasps, used a light coral lipstick sparingly. Plain and neat.


She hastened downstairs, left the
children in the dining room, told them not to talk to Finlo, busy with his Otago
Daily Times, and went into the kitchen to enquire, not without trepidation, if
there was something she could do.


She felt Beenie's little curranty
eyes rake her from head to toe; she evidently decided she would do.


"Ay. If ye tak' yon ovencloth,
ye can get the hot plates oot the oven there. Dish oot the bacon an' eggs and
put them all on the rack o' the old fire range. It won't dry them up same as if
we put them in the oven. I've just taken through the parritch. I can hear Craig
and Mike coming doon."


Magda appeared through another
door. "Oh, good, you're helping, Judith. Fine.
I'll take the coffee through. We don't waste much time over breakfast; the
day's on you before you know where you are, though to compensate we always
dawdle over dinner unless the men go back to the paddocks. Come through as soon
as you've dished that out and bring the toast, will you?"


Judith felt a little easier. At
least they would let her help.


The three men were sitting,
waiting, ready to start work. Their good mornings were polite, not effusive.
Craig seemed taciturn, Finlo quiet, Michael obviously preoccupied.


Then Michael came out of it.
"We're doing a bit of drafting this morning, kids. Had
the sheep in the pens overnight. You can come and watch. Okay by you,
Craig?"


"Long as they do what they're
told." He looked at Judith. "They're bound to get dirty. Any objection?"


"No. They can put khaki
dungarees over their shirts. But if they'll get in your way, Mr. Argyll, they
would be quite happy here in the garden or helping me move in to the east
wing."


"Far better
for children to be outside. Hoani Nuku's boy will be down. He's tough as
a nut, though he's only four. The other youngsters will be off to school, but
young Pekka knows the ropes and is very obedient."


"Well,
if they become a liability, send them back. I'm making arrangements today to
get them started at school tomorrow. I suppose I can contact the schoolmaster
by phone?"


Michael
said: "You can take my car if you'd prefer to see him personally,
Judy."


Craig
laughed. "Lorette would appreciate your saying that, I'm sure."


Michael grinned ruefully. "She
can go with Judy if she wants to. Be an outing for her. Been awfully boring for
the poor kid tied in like this while we've been so busy. Judy can handle a car
well, even in the Sydney traffic.''


As the men rose Judith said
nervously, "Are there any creeks about where the children will be?"


Craig shook his head. "No, I'd
not have proposed taking them otherwise. IH drill it into them that the river's
out of bounds unless a grown-up accompanies them. And we have no sheep dips, they've all been filled in. We use mister
sprays."


He sounded a little more cordial. No, not that, less hostile.


Magda said, "You need not
worry, dear, Craig had it drummed into him when small that farms are dangerous
for children and he's a demon on training our employees' children the same way.
You can get your things settled with a clear mind."


Judith was enchanted with the wing.
It was completely self-contained and even had a fenecd-in garden of its own with
flowers and vegetable sections, with shady trees and a lawn for a drying-green.
It was overgrown a little, but Judith could soon set that right.


"In Craig's mother's day they
had a couple living here— the woman helped in the house. Hoani
Nuku's parents. Very fine Maori couple. They are retired now, in
Moeraki, but they often come to see us.


"Hoani's family is larger, so
he took on one of the cottages, and this has been empty since. Nice to have it
lived in again. One of the Nuku children mows the lawns and cuts the edges, that's about all we can manage."


Judith said, "I love
gardening, and the last few years it's been just window-box gardening and
roof-top. You know the sort of thing… cacti in teapots with broken spouts,
cyclamen in pudding basins… no trees to sit under."


Magda caught her breath in.
"Oh, Judith, you're such a kindred spirit. Once in London, long ago,
homesick for Maoriland, I found great comfort in a roof-garden. And I found a poem ,by Joyce Owen Starr, in an Australian Mirror, and I
kept it in my scrapbook—I keep dozens of scrapbooks. It was called Apartment
Gardener. It finishes up:


"She's coaxed crab
daisies from a hollowed shell, She's even grown a
Canterbury Bell, With violet, cherry pie and mignonette.


Her home's a perfect paradise, and
yet—-


Poor soul! She weeps in spite of bud
and bloom, She has no trees because she has no room,
Yet I believe she is the counterpart Of Mature and a tree herself at hearth "How
lovely to find you saying the very same thing. I must tell Finlo. I'll show you
the whole poem some night."


Judith looked at Magda. She just
bubbled over with inward joy, yet Lorette couldn't appreciate the fineness that
was in this woman.


Judith
felt tears prick her eyes, turned away a little, said hastily,


"I can't tell you how
grateful I am for this, a real haven, a corner of our own. I must make out a
list of groceries and whatnot and get them tomorrow when I take the children to
school.'


Magda looked startled. "But
you can just draw on the store-room here for what you want. We may be short of
domestic help, but never of provisions."


Judith was adamant. "No,
it's sweet of you to insist that we have our dinner with you every night, but
the rest of the meals are up to us. Even then, if you feel it's too much every
night to have the children, I can give them theirs here. It's more than enough
to have quarters provided."


"You
couldn't be more different from Lorette, could you? It's all right,
I won't start criticizing her, but———————


Anyway, we kill our own meat, so there will always
be plenty of that for you, please don't refuse that, and we'll supply you with
eggs and milk."


Judith
smiled. She wouldn't hurt Magda with over' independence.


"Thank you, but would you
let me return that generosity by assisting as much as possible? I can see the
house is much too large for the amount of help you have. Would you let me
assist with the ironing—a job I love? Perhaps I can peel vegetables and so on—I
quite realize Beenie may not like anyone butting in on actual cooking, but I
can surely do some chores, and perhaps some of the vacuum cleaning.'


"You can certainly do the
ironing. Nobody here likes that. It's all yours, this very moment. I ought, of
course, to be the perfect hostess and say oh no, it's far too much for you, but
I just couldn't turn down a heavenly offer like that. Besides, I like people
with energy. I've always had to come to terms with work myself, and there have
been times in my life when I've been glad of the need to work at frantic pace,
shutting out all thought. And just now, it would be a godsend. It will be
easier later when Fran comes home."


"Fran?"


"She's at university. A
little girl we used to have here every school holiday from the Presbyterian
Children's Homes in Dunedin. Finlo thought she ought to have her chance. She's
like a daughter. She and Michael——————— "


Magda came to an abrupt stop, then
went on. "She and Michael are like brother and sister." Her voice had
gone flat.


Magda went on, "She'll be
taking a position next year teaching in some secondary school—English and
history are her subjects. But she always helps out at the busy time—
harvesting. Now, I'll help you turn these rooms out."


Judith wouldn't hear of it.
"I'm not here to make more work. I'll fix them by lunch time, and in the afternoon
I'll do the ironing if there is any, or other chores. I'll get Lorette up now
and she can help."


Magda went away smiling. Perhaps
this Judith with her calm efficiency would manage to make even Lorette work.


Lorette
said her ankle was very sore this morning, it gave her
a watertight excuse for lying out on the patio with a batch of new magazines.
Magda insisted they all eat together for today, anyway.


The men
didn't take afternoon tea with them but came back to the big pleasant kitchen
for it: Hoani was with them and a hired boy, Ron Templeton, who boarded with
the Nukus.


Beenie had a huge batch of girdle
scones ready, buttered hot. Judith heard the men come on to the back verandah,
scrub up there. It had a nostalgic sound. Heavy boots, farm
talk, and, as they came in, the odour of sheep, horses, leather, good honest
sweat.


Oh, years so far away, and herself a small earnest girl, brown as a berry, with limp
pigtails, and wearing faded drill jeans and khaki shirt, helping to round up,
draft, dip…


She looked up from her ironing,
wiped her sleeve over her hot face. Craig Argyll stopped so suddenly in the
door' way as he saw her that Hoani cannoned into him. There was a sudden amused
flicker in his eyes as he noted the respect' ably high pile of ironing beside
her. The dresser was hung about with shirts on hangers.


He didn't address one word to her
during the snack. His sole interest in the changed circumstances of Koraputai
was that he asked where the children were, but asked it of Magda.


"Fast asleep, the pets. I
think the excitement has caught up with them; I'm taking them down to the creek
afterwards. It's too early for bathing yet, but they can paddle. I'll take
lemonade and scones. With Judith doing this I can take time off with a clear
concience."


"And aboot time ye did an'
all," said Beenie, buttering herself another scone. "It's a real
blessing Miss Kneale was here the day, it being Rita's day off."


Judith, unable to stop herself taking a swift glance at Craig, saw one eyebrow lift
sardonically. If I didn't pull my weight, she thought resentfully, he'd despise
me; since I do, he thinks I'm trying to worm my way into the good graces of his
household. He can think what he likes! I like these people. I'll just be myself
with them.


She had a small triumph over him
during dinner. Craig finished his dessert, pushed his plate away, said with a replete sigh, "Well, old Beenie excelled
herself tonight with those custard tarts. I much prefer short pasty to flaky.
They're not her long suit as a rule, she nearly always gets them soggy on the
bottom, but those were darned near perfect."


Judith looked down at her plate,
busied herself scooping up her last mouthful of cream.


Magda said, delighted, "Judith
made them. Beenie was running late and asked her if she would."


The master of Koraputai looked
genuinely amazed. He recovered himself, looked across at Judith and said,
"Con' gratulations, Miss Kneale. That was indeed a success."


She took his
meaning. "The tarts, Mr. Argyll?"


"No, your
conquest of the dour Beenie. As a rule she'll not let anyone near her
stove."


Lorette's voice was soft like a
cat's purr. "I told you Judy had a way with her, didn't I, Craig? It seems
I was— ouch! The little horror!" She thrust her
chair back, ex- amined her nylons hastily. "Maggy! Get that—that blessed
kitten out of here! He stuck his claws right in me."


Maggy grabbed the kitten hastily,
said with dignity, "I expect you trod on his paw," and retired to the
window seat with the kitten, who was now rejoicing in the unsuit' able name of
Mimosa.


Judith said, "I really think,
Maggy, you'd better keep it in our quarters. Lorette, you and I are going to do
the dishes tonight."


Beenie, removing dishes, gave a
loud sniff. "Maggy bairn," she said, "take
Mim into my kitchen. I'm one who likes a cat under my feet."


Lorette got up with a martyred air
and a pronounced limp. "But she won't want me in her kitchen," she
muttered under her breath.


Lorette was sulky when she knew
Michael had offered Judith his car.


"It's a
direct insult to me," she grumbled.


Judith sighed. "It's more like
a direct outcome of you not opening the gate fully and backing through it.
Listen, I could hardly say that if you aren't allowed to drive it I won't take
it. And you know, Lorette, I'm not as car-proud as Michael is—women aren't—but
out of sheer financial con' siderations I had to stop you driving my car."


Lorette's eyes were fierce blue
flames. "Tour car! Dad ought to have left it to
the two of us."


Judith kept
quiet. No use going into that again.


Her voice when she did speak was
crisp. "Well, what are you going to do? Come with us, it'll be a change
for you."


Lorette's voice was scathing.
"A most exciting change, going to Argyll Hills… two shops and a dog
sort of township… waiting while you interview the
master… unless you'd like to take me into Oamaru after? It's a dead hole,
but we could have lunch and go to the pictures."


"Not today; I've got to
finish settling in and I'm going to make jam—there's some rhubarb ready in that
little garden."


Lorette
flounced out of the room.


Judith came to see how Maggy and
Dan were progressing, helped them pack their school bags, slipped in their
packets of sandwiches and took them downstairs.


Magda kissed them goodbye.
"I'll be dying for you to get home," she told them, "to have you
tell me all about it." As if only nice adventures awaited them instead of
what must be an ordeal, starting a new school. A good line to
take.


The children ran out to sit in
the car. Judith met Craig Argyll in the hall. He stopped, put out a hand as she
went to pass him.


"Miss
Kneale?"


"Yes,
Mr. Argyll?"


His scrutiny seemed close,
unwarranted. "Aren't you feeling well?"


Judith was
amazed. "What? I mean why?"


"I noticed you at breakfast;
you've got no color, you look strained."


She hesitated. "Oh, just
something you'd probably have no patience with.”


Try me.


"It's much ado about
nothing, I suppose, and I wouldn't let the children see I was all worked up,
but I'm just wondering how they'll get on—their first day in a new school in a
new land. They have very little accent left and I'm
glad their mother changed their quite unpronounceable name to Vernon, but there
s something a little different about them. Children can be so very cruel to
children. It wasn't so bad in Australia. There are so many immigrants there one
accent more or less doesn't matter."


Craig Argyll nodded. "Yes.
Australia's immigration policy is much better than ours. Hope we'll relax ours
a bit more soon. We don't take half enough for a sparsely settled country, in
view of the world's population. Children do accept strangers unwillingly
sometimes, especially in country districts where there are few changes. Tell
you what, Miss Kneale, I'll come in with you. I'll
just change this shit and put a tie on. If the children are sponsored by one of
the landowners rather than appearing with a stranger it may help."


Judith was almost struck dumb.
"I—I—oh, thank you, Mr. Argyll."


She still
wore an air of surprise as he reappeared.


He looked down at her. "Of
course, don't get any wrong ideas, Miss Kneale. This is not a desire for your
company, believe me. It's merely that I remember very vividly myself what it's
like to be a child and alone."


The color flowed upwards into the
pale cheeks. She lifted her chin. "Mr. Argyll, you really don't need to underline
these things. I know perfectly well you desire my company as little as I desire
yours."


There was a hint of mocking
amusement in his voice as he answered. "Then we do understand each other
perfectly well. Mutual forbearance."


In silence they walked to the car.
Judith went to the passenger side.


"Aren't
you driving?" Craig asked.


"I thought you were the type
to prefer driving yourself."


"I want to see if you're as
good a driver as you claim to be."


"You
mean as Michael claimed I was."


His eyes challenged her. Judith
hoped her hands wouldn't shake as she got in and put them on the wheel. She was
thankful that Michael had earlier explained this particular gear change. She
prayed she wouldn't crash the gears out of sheer nervousness, stall the engine.
She switched on the ignition, pressed the starter, and with the engine
springing into purring life, she went into low and they were off to an easy,
noiseless start.


One thing, it would be a quiet
country road. Later she was thankful that so many hazards unexpectedly tested
her. A dog ran out almost under the wheels at the first gate they came to,
barking furiously. Judith avoided it, yet did not swerve madly, endangering
human life.


Craig Argyll, lips tightening,
said, "I must have a word with that chap about his dog. It's young, and he
could break it of that habit. It'll cause an accident yet."


They met a mob of sheep a mile
further on, unfortunately moving the same way as themselves
and not very well managed by dog or drover. Judith noticed Craig Argyll said
shepherd, not drover. The ewes with lambs were inclined to panic and race.
Judith got through very nicely.


Well, if the drive had been
uneventful perhaps the sneering Mr. Argyll might have remarked that even
Lorette could have managed that.


"Quite tricky for a Sydney
driver," commented Craig Argyll as they got past.


She said smoothly enough, "I
learned to drive a Land- Rover, mainly among mobs of sheep, even cattle."


A short distance on a car came
hurtling out of a side road, driven by someone who had obviously never heard of
giving way on the right. Judith adroitly managed what might have been a really
awkward manoeuvre, snaked in behind the speeding car without more than a lurch,
and regained the road, giving the reckless one an indignant horn.


"I can see I'll have to
watch New Zealand drivers," she said drily.


Craig Argyll grinned. "Well,
that one, anyway," he conceded. "We aren't all like that. I'll have a
word with him on the phone later. He's getting a name for bad driving."


They reached the school with no
further incident save that Judith noticed in the rear vision mirror that a
Government car with a traffic officer in it was right on her tail. He drew to a
stop behind her as she parked it neatly at the school gates.


He came across, stood there, debonair
and smiling. "How do you do? How are you Craig?
Got a good chauffeur this morning, I see. You handled that very nicely at the
crossroads. My congratulations. I'm giving a road
safety lecture here this morning. I'll use that as an instance, and our rash
friend will hear from me later."


"Oh, good show, Wayne,"
Craig Argyll said pleasantly. "Yes, I thought she handled it well. My
heart was in my mouth, I must confess. This is Miss Judith Kneale, Michael's
fiancee's stepsister from Sydney. She's staying with us till the wedding. And
these are her two wards, Maggy and Dan Vernon. Their first
day at Argyll Hills School. Children, this is Mr. Wayne Morrison."


Maggy put out a hand gravely, so
did Dan. She said in a grown-up tone, "We have mounted police to control
the traffic at peak hours in Sydney."


The young traffic officer didn't
give the glimmer of a smile at her precision. "My, do you really! How I would love to see that.''


"Yessir,"
joined in Dan, "it really is something."


Craig took Maggy's hand, Judith Dan's.
A most domestic scene, thought Judith cynically.


After she had interviewed the
schoolmaster she felt happier about them. It had made it easier having Mr.
Argyll with her.


He waved her to the driving seat
again. This time she drove with less tension, but not having to concentrate on
the wheel gave her time to think.


She decided to be straight with
him. "Mr. Argyll, I've been thinking over that decidedly odd remark of
yours as we were leaving the house."


"Yes?"


"When you
told me not to get any wrong ideas. That it was not a desire for my
company that had prompted you to come. What made you say that?"


"Isn't
it obvious?"


"Would I
ask if it were?"


"You might. The ways of women
are quite inexplicable to me. They often follow up things better left
alone."


"I wouldn't. To be quite
candid I'm not particularly interested in your general conversation, but I
realize something lies behind that remark. After our frank exchanges from the
moment we met at Lyttleton, I'd not be likely to desire your company. We took a
complete and utter dislike to each other, so even if I had been the sort of
girl who thinks every man she meets is interested in her, I should hardly have
been likely to imagine you wanted to be with me. So it sounded to me as if you
were being offensive merely for the sake of making things even more
unpleasnat."


His drawl was very pronounced.
"No, it wasn't just an opportunity of being unpleasant. It was meant as a
frank warning.”


"Warning? But—but I've said that we dislike each other,
that I'd not be likely to———"


"Miss Kneale! You're putting
on a very good show, but I'm not deceived, and rather than having to be
bothered continually foiling you I decided to be blunt. I'm well aware of the
fact that had we not got off to an unfortunate start— my describing you
somewhat adversely, not knowing who you were—your
approach to me would indeed have been different."


Judith took her eyes from the
road to meet his briefly, in a look of complete bewilderment.


"Oh, come, come," he
said impatiently. "No use turning that dewy-eyed look
on me. I've already taken your measure… along with Lorette. You're two of
a kind. Too bad, of course, that she didn't realize Michael was not the owner
of Koraputai, but it would still be nice to have it in the family, wouldn't it?
So you decided to come and try your chances."


Judith couldn't believe she had
heard aright. She drew in a deep breath, trying to subdue the tide of temper
that surged up in her. She had managed it, somehow. She drew the car to a
standstill, carefully put on the handbrake and turned to him.


"What are you doing?"
he asked. "Can't you drive and fight?"


He found the grey eyes were
surveying him calmly, contemptuously.


"I expect I could… if I
had any ambition to go on bandying words with someone as conceited as you. But
I would prefer to walk rather than endure your company any longer, Mr.
Argyll."


Before he could realize it, she
was out of the car and walking along the shingle road.


She heard him swear, get out,
slam the door, come after her.


He caught her arm, not gently,
swung her round. "You silly little idiot! How is
it going to look if we turn up separately?"


There was malice in her smile.
"That isn't my worry. I shall leave you to do the explaining. Will you
please take your hand off my arm!"


"No, I won't!" His grip
tightened till it hurt. "I refuse to let you make a fool of me. We go back
to Koraputai together."


"We don't. You made a fool
of yourself. No woman could endure an insult like that. Especially when as far
as I'm concerned, even if you had the wealth of a Maharajah I wouldn't find the
gilding enough compensation to consider marrying a man like
you. Marriage—to me—isn't what a man has but what he is… and I detest what
you are… arrogant, vain, rude!"


She twisted out of his grip, took a couple of strides away.


The
next moment she was caught in a merciless hold, lifted bodily. He strode to the
car, opened the door on the driving side, pushed her in past the wheel, got in,
slid his legs under, revved the engine up, drove off.


In silence they came to
Koraputai. Judith was trembling inwardly but controlling it till she could get
away from this man.


He came to his perfect stop at
the big steps; she got out before he could get to open the door for her. She
was on the gravel as he reached it.


She said: "I've never
admired brute force. It's a very meaningless victory. Ever heard the lines:


'Oh, it is excellent To
have a giant's strength; But it is tyrannous To use it lie a giant'?"


He
surveyed her with pursed-up mouth. "Dear me, what a firebrand… and
what a nimble tongue you have, Miss Kneale!"


Head high,
she walked into the house.


In the hall she met Magda. Judith
had to pause, and then, of course, Craig Argyll caught up with them.


Magda
beamed. "Well, dear, everything go all right? I'm sure it would when Craig
was with you. He and Mr. Rossiter are such friends. Craig is on the school
committee."


Judith's eyes met Craig's and she
kept the shake out of her voice by a supreme effort.


"It certainly did make a difference having Mr. Argyll."


Craig smiled at his cousin as if
nothing had happened between him and Judith on the way home. "And she's a
top-notch driver… got complimented by Wayne Morrison, no less. As far as
I'm concerned she can take any of the cars.


Judith couldn't even manage a squeak of thanks.


He said suavely, "And you
should hear her quoting poetry… so aptly, too. You and she are going to have
a lot in common, Magda."


Judith was saved having to comment
on this by the phone ringing. Magda moved towards it, saying, "I'll take
it," and Judith was left regarding Craig Argyll.


Under cover of Magda's animated
conversation she said in a low voice:


"I find you a hypocrite, Mr.
Argyll. So pleasant to me in front of your cousin merely because you know she
happens to like me."


"Do you expect me to continue
brawling with someone else present?"


Judith said intensely, "That
sounds exactly like an attempt to put me in the wrong. You started that brawl, let me tell you, by your offensive remark. It's
ludicrous in someone who only last night warned me he liked harmony in the
home. Harmony is very desirable, yes. But as I told you it needed a clear
understanding between us. Now I have made my point and spiked your guns we can
carry on like civilized people, I hope. Since your plans are stymied from the
start all should now be plain sailing."


Judith's lip curled. "You said
last night you had your flights of oratory, Mr. Argyll. That last one wasn't
worthy of you. You mixed your metaphors."


She knew that was childish, that
it was quite out of character, but it was irrestible. And she was annoyed when
he chuckled loudly.


She
turned her back on him, went towards the east wing. Magda, catching the
chuckle, beamed beningly as she passed, still talking on the phone.


Lorette
rose up from the couch in the sitting room as she came in, and looked at her
accusingly. "You didn't tell me Craig was going with you."


Judith looked at her, sighed.
"Oh, for pity's sake, what does it matter? I didn't want him with me, believe me, officious, interfering, arrogant type that
he is. Don't you get any ideas into your head that I'm setting my cap at him!"


"Why? Who else has the idea?"


"Who else? Why, Craig Argyll himself! He has just
warned me to keep off the grass. Seems to think we both plan to marry money. Of all the vain, aggravating————- " Judith choked.
"Anyway, it finished up by us driving the last two miles without a
word."


"My poor
darling. What a brute! Really, they're a terrible family… let's
gang up on them, pet."


But for a
fleeting instant Judith had caught the gleam of satisfaction in the brilliant
blue eyes. That of course was part of Lorette's make-up. She wouldn't
want the master of Koraputai and her stepsister to be good friends. Judith felt
trapped—she was caught up in a net woven of Lorette's duplicity, Craig Argyll's
distrust and animosity and the very real kindness of Magda and Finlo Quayne.


She said curtly, "I'm going
into the garden to pick rhubarb. You can sit and cut it up for jam."


"For jam!
You must be mad. There's plenty of jam in the storeroom here."


"Yes, Beenie did offer me
all I wanted, but we'll pay our way. We can't sponge on these people
altogether. As it is they've asked us to share dinner with
them every night."


Lorette shrugged. "Oh, well,
if you must make a martyr of yourself, do. They won't think any the more of
you, though."


In front of the household Craig
and Judith preserved a cool but friendly front. Judith kept as much as possible
to their own quarters when he was in the house, but
managed to help a great deal with the housework when he was outside.


After a few days of strangeness
Maggy and Dan settled in well at the school and thought it much superior to
their Sydney one, loving the novelty of being picked up at the gate by the
school bu§ and seeing ponies tied up under the pines by the school fence. They
played most harmoniously with the Nuku children and accepted this change in
their fortunes with all the adaptability of childhood. Their delight in the
life of the sheep-station was boundless. Even small Dan, who could not remember
their Hungarian farm at all, seemed in his right setting. Judith could not
fault Craig in his attitude to the children.


It had been Beenie's day off and
Judith had helped Magda with the evening meal and the dishes. Lorette,
typically, had managed to be outside with Michael while this was being done.
Judith and Magda shed their aprons, and returned to the big drawing room where
Finlo, because the warm spring day kid given place to a cool evening, had lit
the fire.


Magda and Judith both paused at
the scene before them. It was a beautiful room, harmonious in its skilful
blending of colors, full of pieces of lovely furniture bought through the years
with love for each piece. How much was the Quaynes' and how much Craig's Judith
had no idea.


The fireplace was of
multi-colored Wakatipu stone, in shades of pink, lilac, lavender, greyish blue,
and greens, some worn smooth by the waters of the Lake and of the Shotover
River, some of the split-face stone removed from its embedding in rock faces
around Arrowtown and Lake Hayes. The room seemed built around these colors.


The chintz-covered armchairs with
spreading laps and walnut edges sat on a plain carpet that was neither
turquoise nor grey, there were carved gilt mirrors on the walls, seascapes,
mostly New Zealand scenes, lamps wherever lamps were needed, with soft pink
lampshades. Wall alcoves held antique china, a French
clock suite graced a quaint French cabinet in walnut. Bookcases overflowed
everywhere. Magda's vases were a delight to behold with coppery beech leaves
and feathery sprays and colorful blooms. It was a homely room for all its
elegance. Half-finished knitting lay ready to pick up on the window-seat,
Finlo's portable typewriter and his notes lay scattered on a table. Maggy's
Pinky lay in an abandoned attitude on the hearthrug,


Danny's building set was
a menace to life and limb in the middle of the floor.


Finlo was sitting reading the
paper, his feet on the stone- work of the fireplace, Craig was in a big chair,
with Maggy on his knee, Dan on the arm. Maggy had her head against his
shoulder, her little hand confidently on his wrist. There was an open book of
stories on her lap.


"Which one do you want, Maggy?" Craig was asking.


"Anyone
except the one about the mermaids," she replied promptly.


Craig
cocked a tawny eyebrow at hers ''Don't you like that one, poppet?"


"No. I can't stand mermaids.
They make me feel so uncomfortable. Those tails!"


Craig burst out laughing. "Oh, Maggy, Maggy! I've always thought the same thing.
That's why they're always reclining in that slovenly fashion on rocks, I
suppose. The poor things can't sit."


"No. And even fairies. What
do you suppose they do with their wings when they are in bed? Wouldn't they get
crushed if they turned on their backs?"


Craig considered it seriously.
"Sounds as if they would, but you never know with fairies, they could be
detachable. I suppose in fairyland all things are possible. Anyway, let's pick
a story about boys and girls, then we won't have to
wonder. I always liked stories that could really happen myself.
It seemed a mean advantage if a character could just wave a wand and anything
and everything could happen."


Maggy snuggled down. "Me,
I'm the same. Isn't it good? Let's have the one about the little lost children
who found that dear little house."


Magda's eyes were soft as they
took in the scene." How he loves having the children here. He ought to
have been married long since, you know."


Suddenly Judith was aware that
Magda was looking at her, almost as if she were summing her up. Judith caught her
breath. Magda had a matchmaking look! The implications of that were too
terrible to contemplate.


Judith felt she couldn't advance
further into the room. She said hurriedly, "I'm cold in this thin frock. I
think I'll go up and change into a skirt and jersey."


For some reason that night she was
aware of Craig's eyes upon her clothes, and the expression in them puzzled her.
He looked both annoyed and amused, she thought. Apart from that it was a
pleasant family evening, especially since Lorette was not there to disturb it.
She and Michael had gone into Oamaru to the pictures.


After they had left and Judith had
got the children to bed, Magda said, apparently idly, "Why don't you and
Judith go in to see that one, too, Craig?"


Judith
said quickly, "Not for me, thanks. Lorette would think we were spoiling
her night with Michael. And any way I must let down the hem of Maggy's frock
for tomorrow.''


"Hasn't
she got another?" asked Craig, lowering his paper.


Judith gave him an exasperated
glance. After all, she was helping him out of an embamssing situation. Magda
hadn't a clue as to how they felt about each other and had to be headed off.


"Well, not clean," she
said untruthfully. She began to slit the stitches.


Finlo and Craig began to do a
cryptic crossword. Magda picked up her tapestry. Finlo looked across from the
chair he'd placed close to Craig's so that they could share the book.


"Come on, Judith… you
were really good with this last night." He said to Craig: "When you
were across at Heatherleigh she helped me finish that one we got stuck on the
other night."


Judith said
hastily, "Oh, that was a fluke."


Finlo's voice was surprised.
"A whole succession of flukes, I would say. You know that one 'security
wedding?' She just looked at it and said: 'Safety match,' and 'Does it take the
edge off the clouds?'—remember how we puzzled over that. She said, 'Skyscraper,
I suppose.' Made me feel really small."


Judith said, laughing, "Then
you'll be far more comfortable without me. Sorry, but I must finish this. I'll
help you some time, Finlo, when Mr. Argyll can't."


Finlo took off his spectacles to
look at her better. "I've just realized something, my dear. You call
everyone else by their Christian names, including me, the oldest of the lot,
yet you still call Craig Mr. Argyll. Sounds awfully
formal."


Judith bent over her sewing.
"I—well, I—called him that to start and he called me Miss Kneale, and I
suppose we've just got into the habit.'


She looked up, met Craig's eyes and
was annoyed to see them twinkling.


"Finlo's right, you know,
Judith. It's just damn silly. We'll drop it this very moment."


Judith dared not make an issue of
it. She simply wouldn't call him anything! He was just being mean
taking a delight in pretending they were not at loggerheads.


The men returned to their clues.
Presently Craig said, "I wish I could get what they're driving at in this
clue. 'Sounds like the heir to an estate.' Sounds. That means it's a word with two meanings, same
pronunciation."


"How many letters?' asked
Finlo who was filling his pipe.


"Oh, a lot.
Four words in all. Goes right
across. Two, three, six, four letters. Second
letter in the first word is an o."


Judith hadn't meant to help, but it
flashed across her. To the manner born," she found herself saying.


The two addicts were delighted.
They rose, closed in on her, one each side of her as she sat on the couch.


Finlo's hand came over her sewing.
"You can put that aside. This is a really sticky crossword. Besides, I
don't believe that's the only thing Maggy will have to wear to- morrow. I saw
you doing a huge pile of ironing this after- noon and I heard Beenie say the
other day, There's one thing about Judith, she's never backhanded and rushing
at the last.' "


Magda smiled at them over her
tapestry. "You might as well give in Judith. You've been determined not to
impose on us, to sit over us in the evenings, afraid you'll wear your welcome
out. You'd better just give in and consider yourself a member of the family.
And I'm afraid Finlo regards you as his special property ever since you looked
up all that material for his latest book."


"That's so," said Finlo,
with great satisfaction. "Her only drawback is that she doesn't type.
Otherwise she could take on being my secretary. And she noticed a horrible
discrepancy in my time plan of the murder. I might have noticed it in revising
my manuscript, but I might not. In any case it would have put other sequences
out as I con- tinued with my rough copy, so I'm doubly grateful."


-'So you don't type?" asked
Craig of her. "You surprise me. I thought there was very little the
redoubtable Miss Kneale couldn't tackle."


Judith bent over the crossword
book, began reading out another clue.


Finlo said, ' Magda darling, we
didn't bring our reference books with us… be a pet and move that tea-trolley
with them on nearer, will you?'


"I don't know why you don't
make a movable bookcase for them," said Magda sarcastically, surveying the
pile of dictionaries, lexicons, sources of quotations, atlases, books of poetry
that they deemed necessary to their crossword solving.


Finlo, all innocence, looked up.
"You know, sweet, that's a grand idea. I wonder if you could design one,
Craig. Job for the next wet day.'


Magda burst out laughing. Judith
relaxed and began to enjoy herself. This was so like that life long ago when
she and Daddy and Mother had made a little world of their own in the loneliness
of Parnka.


With great gusto Finlo kept them
at two crosswords till they were solved. Then he got to his feet.


"Magda and I will make
supper tonight. No, sit still, Judith. You've made it every night this week,
dear."


Judith eased herself away from
Craig. They had been sitting close, all three, over the crossword. Craig
suddenly laid his hand on her skirt.


"You know,5'
he said, "I find that amusing. You're now wearing a Campbell of Argyll
tartan. I don't know that I'm keen about people outside the clans wearing
tartans. I know it's done quite a lot—they pick the tartan whose colors they
like best! Of all the reasons. Not that that would be
your reason!'


Judith took his hand gingerly by
the wrist and removed it, placing it back upon his own knee.


"This time you really have
outstepped the limit. And fallen in to boot. If you
looked closely at this you would see it's by no means new. I believe you
actually thought I bought this to curry favor with you. As if I'd want to! And


I'm not outside the clan. My mother was one Kirsty
Argyll. Christina really. My own full name is Judith
Argyll Kneale !"


The most maddening thing about
Craig Argyll was that he rarely looked abashed. As a rule Judith liked people
like that, who could take a joke against themselves, but she didn't want to
find admirable qualities in this man.


He sat forward a little, pinched
her chin. Judith rarely blushed, she had a clear brown skin that did not
readily show emotion, but her cheeks grew warm beneath his gaze and she was
acutely conscious of his touch.


"Touche," he said.
"I'm sorry. But why didn't you tell us you were connected with the
Argylls?"


She gave him an impatient glance
and moved a little further away.


"Why?'1 She sighed.
"You can ask me that! You obviously thought I had genius for striking the
right note… I produced wards who were Hungarian, I knew the Isle of Man and
had a Manx name, got around Beenie—as you once remarked upon sneeringly—it
would have been a little too thick had I suddenly said my mother was an Argyll.
And I imagine the connection is sufficiently remote not to worry either of
us."


He nodded.
"M'm. We're certainly not cousins."


"Not
even fortysecond cousins, I hope," said Judith.


"I hope not. Still, after a
discovery like this it would be very foolish to go on calling you Miss Kneale,
wouldn't it, Judith?"


The telephone on the table behind
them rang. Craig reached back a long arm and lifted the receiver from its ivory
cradle.


"Oh, hullo, Wayne… how are you? Good. Wanting something?"


A pause, a murmur from the
receiver, then Craig's voice, slightly astonished. "Oh, you want Judith?
She's here on the couch, right beside me; we've just finished a
crossword."


It sounded friendly, absurdly so,
thought Judith as she took the phone, a crease between her brows. Wayne? Hadn't
that been the name of that rather handsome young traffic officer? What could
he——"


"Judith Kneale speaking,"
she said into the mouthpiece. "Oh yes, I remember you. We met outside the
school."


"I realize this is rather
quick work, but I wondered if I might take you to a film tomorrow night?"


Judith was silent from sheer
surprise. She looked at Craig. He might have the decency to move away. He might
be able to hear all Wayne Morrison said.


She heard the traffic officer
laugh. "Craig will vouch for my trustworthiness. I guess I've taken your
breath away. I'm almost amazed at myself. I don't usually work at this speed.
Caution in emotions as well in my work is my motto, but—
"


Judith bit
her lip. She said confusedly, "I—————- "
then laughed. "You have taken
me rather by surprise," she admitted, and immediately felt more natural.
She looked up to find Craig's tawny eyes upon her. She thought they held a
censorious expression, so she said instantly into the receiver, "Yes, I
think I will come, thank you, Mr. Morrison. After all, Mrs. Quayne did offer to
look after my wards tonight if I'd wanted to go to the pictures, and I know
she'll be in tomorrow night."


"Oh, good show." The
delight in Wayne Morrison's voice was heartwarming. "I hope you've not
seen this film—you may have, I imagine Sydney gets most films before we
do." He mentioned its name.


"No, I haven't. I've heard a
lot about it, I didn't realize it was on in Oamaru."


He chuckled. "It's not. It's
on in Dunedin. I'll have to call early for you. We'll need to allow a good hour
and a half for getting there. I can't break the speed limit."


"Oh, if it's Dunedin I don't
think I could manage it. You see, the children are my responsibility. I don't
mind asking Mrs. Quayne to look after them until a reasonable hour, but they re
in a separate wing, and she couldn't hear them from her room. They usually
sleep like the dead, but once in
a while might have a disturbed night. I————- " She stopped,
because Craig had laid a hand over hers.


'Just a moment," he said.
"I'll ask Magda. I'm sure it would be all right."


He left the room, called towards
the kitchen, "Magda, if Judith wants to see a picture in Dunedin tomorrow
night it will be all right about the youngsters, won't it? You'll look after
them? !


He returned.
"Yes, go ahead, the kids will be okay."


Judith finished her conversation,
hung up, kneeling to do it, then turned back to him
feeling oddly shy.


Magda bustled in with a tray.
"Pull that table forward, Craig. Thanks, we made some savoury toast. Yes,
of course I'll look after the children. I'll love having them to myself."


Judith said, "But it will be
so late. I thought he meant Oamaru. You see, I don't know if Lorette will be in
or not. She and Michael may be going to that dance at Heatherleigh. And in any
case she's such a heavy sleeper."


Magda said, "Now, don't fuss,
pet. IH move the children into the room next to us. It was once Mike's. It has
a communicating door. Then you can go to Dunedin with an easy mind. And don't
hurry home—you're only young once and you've been so tied with the children.
You and Craig will have a long journey home and it will be very cold. You
should go to the Diamond Grill and have a hot supper there before coming home.


Dismayed, Judith said, "Oh,
I'm not going with Craig, I—I—that was Wayne Morrison on the phone."


"Wayne
Morrison? But————- "


Magda's
surprise was eloquent.


Judith knew embarrassment. She
tried to cover it with a laugh.


"Oh, I know, Magda. I—you mean
I've only met him once. I didn't realize he didn't mean Oamaru when he asked
otherwise I'd have said no—but—well, Craig seemed to think
it was all right and———— " She broke off, aware that after
all she had used his name.


Unexpectedly Craig himself came to
the rescue. "Yes, I did. Wayne is a thoroughly nice chap. Doesn't as a rule rush the girls. I happen to know that. He
was first of all impressed with her driving. Sure way to Wayne's heart."


Illogically Judith resented his
championship. She recognized that, although why she should she couldn't think.


Magda laughed. "Oh, it's all
right, Judith. Wayne is a fine chap. I'll have no qualms about letting you go
with him—it was only that I thought Craig had asked you. I didn't hear the phone."


Her disappointment was obvious. At
least it was to Judith's heightened perceptions in the light of Magda's
matchmaking look earlier. But perhaps Craig wouldn't notice. All in all she was
glad when supper was over and she could escape.


Lorette was frankly curious about
Judith's outing. She said to Craig when they were alone on the patio before
dinner: "Judith must have made a lightning impression on this Wayne
Morrison. They just met at the school, didn't they?"


Craig's voice was dry. "Yes, but she had a great advantage… Wayne takes his job
seriously, and he was driving behind us and saw your stepsister avoid an
accident in the most adroit manner. So he was all set to be
appreciative." He twinkled at her. "She had a flying start on you in
that respect."


Lorette pouted prettily. "Oh,
I know I'm not the world's best driver and that Judith is marvellous. She's
almost masculine in the way she handles a car."


Craig leaned back, his lids
drooping, but beneath them his eyes were alert. "Well, that's generous of
you, anyway, Lorette."


Lorette, more perspicacious where
men's reactions were concerned than with women's, caught the faint note of
admiration. She said softly, "I think I'll be missing when Wayne Morrison
turns up tonight."


Craig
blinked. "Why?"


Lorette hesitated. "It—it
would sound vain if I gave you my real reason, Craig."


He was by now definitely curious.
"Say I promise not to think you vain?"


"We—ell.
It does sound rather self-praising, but I can't help it. It—it's just
that—well, I can't help my looks. It just so happens lots of men fall for red hair and blue eyes. I can't help it, honest. It
has always come between Judith and myself. I get more
partners than she does at dances and— and it has happened that sometimes the
men who were attracted to Judith—if she met them in her own circle—er— fell for
me when she brought them home. It's made trouble before—it makes her mad. I
understand it, I don't really blame her, but it's not my fault. And when it
happened— with
Michael———- " She broke off, as if aware she had said too
much.


"With Michael? You mean he met her first?"


"Yes, he
was at an art show. She picked him up, invited him to
the flat—thought I wouldn't be home. Then————— "


Lorette was a past mistress at leaving things unsaid
yet cleverly underlined.


"I see… so to give Judith a
break for once you're going to keep out of Wayne's way?"


The blue eyes
sought his, like a child asking for approval.


Craig rose, patted her hand. "Very, very commendable. Now let's go in,
Lorette."


She rose, tall and slim in a
deceptively simple blue pleated frock. She said, with an air of wistfulness,
"You know, I often think Judith is more Michael's type than I am. He
worships his cars. That little racing model is his darling."


Craig said, "Isn't he a bit young
for her? She's very mature.


"Not really. Judith likes
young men. Usually I don't. I prefer them more sophisticated, experienced. They
give one a greater sense of security." She laughed deprecatingly.
"But then I'm a clinging vine like my poor wee darling mother."


Craig was standing very straight,
looking down on her. "Why poor? Is that just because she's gone? You know,
I dislike hearing people called poor because they've died. It seems to negative
our Christian faith."


Lorette spread her hands in an appealing
gesture. She put her hand up to her eyes for a moment. "I—I didn't mean
that, Craig, it—it was the manner of her death."


He said
gently, "I'm sorry. You mean she suffered?"


Lorette shook her head slowly. "No-o. At least not physically.
Judith came between my mother and my step- rather. It broke Mother's heart. He
was all her world. Judith was in England and wanted her father with her. She
insisted that he came. She was studying art. Mother was alone too much, he
wouldn't take her. She fretted. You see she was having a baby—not easy at her
time of life. She— she took an overdose of sleeping tablets."


Craig caught a glimpse of tears
dimming the sapphire eves. He felt appalled, embarrassed. He caught her by the
elbows. "Don't, Lorette, I'm sorry. I was generalizing—a habit of mine. I
didn't realize there was all this between you. That there had
been so much sorrow in your young life. Under the circumstances it was
very good of you to have Judith here."


Lorette let her head droop towards
his shoulder. He put an arm about her, drew her against him in wordless,
masculine comfort. She said in slightly muffled tones, "I've never even
told Michael. I've tried to forget it, not to resent it. Don't mention it, will
you? It's over and done with. I've never reproached Judith with it. What was
the use? Please don't ever let her suspect I've told you.''


At that moment, removing her apron,
Judith came to call them to dinner. Craig released Lorette, turned, said with a hint of impatience but no trace of
embarrassment, "Yes, yes, we're coming."


Judith knew an immense disquiet.
What was Lorette up to? She knew the answer immediately. Craig Argyll was the
owner of Koraputai, not Michael. Judith gave herself a mental shake. What does
it matter to you, my girl? After all, if anyone can take care of himself, Craig
Argyll can.


Nevertheless, for some odd reason
she would not examine, Judith was glad she was going out with Wayne Morrison
that night.


CHAPTER SIX


They dined early. Now Magda said briskly: "I
told Beenie to bring in the coffee right after dinner so Judith can leave in
plenty of time. Judith darling, run up and change your frock —you're all ready
bar that and your shoes, aren't you? You can have your coffee when you come
down."


It gave Judith a long-missed
sense of being loved, cared for. She touched Magda's hand in thanks as she
passed her.


She came into the dining room
again, tall and slender in a frock that held all the colors of the sunset, so
different from her usual blues and greens and greys. It had a square neck,
low-cut, a short, tight bodice, heed with black, and about her waist was
swathed an orange scarf whose fringed ends fell to the hem.


Lorette forestalled the
inevitable admiration by saying quickly, "Darling, how you suit the gipsy
touch."


Magda picked up the fringed ends
of the bright sash and fingered it. "This sort of thing always appeals to
the gipsy in me. Only in my case it's real gipsy blood. Hungarian
gipsy."


Judith laughed. "Mine is
real gipsy blood too, Magda. Only not as romantic-sounding as
Hungarian gipsy. My great-grandmother was a tinker's lass. Her name was
Lee. They travelled the roads of Scotland mending pots and pans. Till she married an Argyll."


Her eyes,
steady and grey and at the moment amused, met Craig's. She could not read his
expression. She hoped he was remembering, with chagrin, his description of her,
at their first meeting. She touched her tiny gold earrings fleetingly, to
remind him.


Magda said, "You look so
un-gipsyish. You should have flashing black eyes and black hair."


Judith, her eyes still smiling,
said, "Oh, it comes out occasionally. When I can't bear to be cribbed,
cabined and confined—when I can't any longer bear four walls. That's why I
loved Parnka so much… the unlimited freedom, the stretch of the sands and
the sweep of the sea." She laughed, made a deprecating gesture.
"Goodness, I'm getting all poetical."


Lorette said, putting down her
cup, "Well, I've plans of my own tonight. I turned the dance down
but—Michael, come over to the stables with me. I've changed my mind about
learning to ride. I'm in the mood for my first lesson, how about it?"


Michael looked astonished but
delighted. Perhaps after all Lorette was beginning to identify herself with
life as it was lived at Argyll Hills. Before he could speak Craig rose.


"I pride myself on being a
better riding-master than Michael, he'd love horses
more if they had engines. How about it, Mike, will you trust your bride-to-be
to me?"


They all stared. Till now Craig's
scorn of Lorette had been only too apparent. Michael recovered himself swiftly,
said, "Of course, Craig." He chuckled. "I really think it's
because you think nobody can ride unless they've been schooled by you." To
Lorette he said, "I'll come over later when Craig has got you through your
first paces, darling. I've got to do some phoning for the Young Farmers' Club,
anyway."


Lorette looked towards the drive
where at the gateway she could see a cloud of dust, and said to Craig,
"Well, no time like the present." She stretched up her hands to him,
he took them and brought her to her feet, put his hand under her elbow, said,
"Go and change. We can go out the back way." He looked back at
Judith. "I hope you enjoy the film… and the drive." But his tone
indicated formality, not sincerity.


It was a glorious evening with
the hawthorns a mass of rose-colored blossom, the guelder roses snowballing
their trees and the azaleas and rhododendrons on the far hillside flames of
coral, tangerine, salmon.


Wayne accepted a quick cup of
coffee, picked up Judith's coat, slipped it about her shoulders, escorted her
out to the wide steps where his car waited.


Out across the emerald green of
the home paddocks, past the first white fence they could see Craig and Lorette.
Lorette had hold of Craig's hand, much as Maggy would, swinging
it. Her voice came clearly.


"Isn't this fun, Craig? Much, much better than the stuffy pictures on a night like
this." The shining bell of her copper hair, bright as a
newly-minted penny, fell to her shoulders, touched to burnished splendour by
the setting sun.


Wayne
looked across curiously. "Is that young Mike's fiancee?"


Judith nodded. He said, with a
quick look at her, "I hope that for you the run down will compensate for
the… er… stuffy entertainment I've offered you. Perhaps you're the
outdoor type too?"


Judith
wanted to laugh. Lorette an outdoor type! That was something new—and
suspicious!


"I'm just in the mood for the
theatre tonight,23 she told him, and
suddenly found it was true.


It was an enchanting drive and
Wayne naturally handled his car well. No wonder they called New Zealand the
land of many waters. The streams and rivers came down every where from the
watersheds of the hills, and the gleaming mountains, still with their
shoulder-capes of snow, on their way to the coastline that the road followed.


Judith, relaxed, happy, said
softly: "Now came still evening on…" She stopped rather
abruptly.


Wayne, his eyes on the road, said
promptly, "Don't stop, go on. I think it's a pity
people don't quote poetry more often. You meet so few who do these days. Yet
they sing the most absurdly sentimental songs. You began that very
spontaneously, don't dry up simply because you feel self' conscious."


Judith looked at him
appreciatively. "I didn't dry up for that reason, Wayne. It struck me that
the next bit was rather inapplicable to tonight. You remember how Milton puts
it… 'And twilight grey had in her sober livery all things clad.' It was
probably true of the night he immortalized, but not of tonight."


Wayne nodded. His eyes swept the
landscape before them, the undulating pastures of the large Punchbowl estate
melting into the heather-colored slopes of the foothills, and said, "This
is more a Walter de la Mare evening."


He sensed her expectacy and began, "


'I met at Eve the Prince of sleep,
His was a still and lovely face, He wandered in a
valley steep,


Lovely in a lonely
place. His garb was grey of lavender, About his
brows a poppy wreath Burned li'te dim coals, and everywhere The earth seemed
sweeter for his breath That's the coloring tonight. A blend
of grey and lavender, with poppy red in the geraniums against the houses."


Judith closed her eyes, peace
seeping into her, a peace she hadn't known for so long. There had been the
constant irritation of living with Lorette, the more recent anguish of losing
Magda Vernon, coping with the children's heartbreak, their need of her.


Since coming to Koraputai, even
though Magda was so kind, life hadn't been easy. She was always conscious of
Craig's suspicions and enmity. Lorette had been underhand there, she suspected,
as always making a situation complicated, but she could hardly have it out with
the master of Koraputai without revealing her stepsister in a terrible light.


After all, Lorette was going to be
a permanent part of the Koraputai life; she wasn't. This was just an interlude.
Some day she would be able to return to Sydney, to the bare brown land she
loved. By then, too, she and the children would be used to each other. She
would be accustomed to putting their welfare first just as parents did. At
present, she was honest enough to admit to herself that there were times when
the responsibility was almost overwhelming, when she longed to be free. With
the normal run of family life, there were two parents, ready to share the
decisions, the policy, to relieve the other at times. Still, it could have been
worse. It was good, especially for Dan, to have men about him. Craig Argyll
couldn't help but have a manly, bracing effect upon a boy.


Judith caught herself up quickly on
that thought. He might be a different man when dealing with the children, but
it didn't mean he wasn't hasty to judge, overbearing, tyrannical. You couldn't
imagine Craig Argyll quoting Walter de la Mare, could you? Meanwhile, why, on
this evening of soft zephyrs and a sighing sea turning lilac and turquoise, was
she wasting thought on him?


She suddenly realized that Wayne
had spoken again, but she could not be sure she was hearing right.


"What
did you say, Wayne?"


He gave her a puzzled glance.
"I just said that if you love poetry you ought to get Craig to play you
over some of his recordings."


"Some of his… what on earth?"


"He reads a lot of poetry for
the NZ Broadcasting, takes part in radio plays in
Dunedin, even does the odd com- mentary when he can spare the time for some of
the film unit stuff; you know, tourist glimpses of New Zealand and so on. No
one does it better than Craig. He has a charming voice."


"I suppose he has." Her
voice was reluctant. "I certainly hadn't imagined him doing anything like
that, though. Now I can imagine him in the boxing ring, or as a great big
hulking rugby forward."


"Don't
you like Craig?"


"Not
much," she said shortly. "I find him overbearing."


"He's a grand chap, just the
same. Maybe you've just not seen him at his best." He chuckled. "But
why should I sell him to you?—I must be mad."


They dipped through pleasant
valleys, sweet with blossomy hedges, went up then down the Kilmog, which in
Australia would have been counted a mountain, got glimpses of a stretch of
beautiful inlets—called Blueskin Bay, Wayne said, because it was the tinge of a
tattooed warrior's skin.


Then they left the coast for a
splendid motor highway, crested the hill and dropped down to see all Dunedin
spread before them on her many hills, lights pricking out in the deepening dusk.
An early moon was riding above the harbor, lighted shipping lay at the wharves,
neon lights lit George Street and Princes Street, First Church steeple was
floodlit.


They parked in the Octagon beside
the statue of Robert Burns where he sat mossily, his back to St. Paul's
Anglican Cathedral, looking down to the pub, as Wayne told her, laughing.


"But perhaps we do him an
injustice. Perhaps in the early days before the buildings grew so high, he
could see First Church where his nephew ministered after the Disruption in
Scotland. Did you visit Scotland when you were


Home, Judith? Yes? Well, they call this the
Edinburgh of the South. I believe the old name for Edinburgh was Dunedin."


"1 can well believe
that," said Judith, her trained artist's eye taking in the character and
atmosphere of the grey, solid university city.


Wayne grinned. And to see it on a
foggy winter morning, with the smoke from a thousand fires rising, they could
call it Auld Reekie, too."


They went into the Regent
Theatre. He took her later to the Diamond Grill, run by American folk, had hot
cakes and maple syrup, then took to the hills again.


Judith sighed happily as by
Kartigi they ran close to the pounding Pacific again. The light at Moeraki was
winking, the moon, paler now, was striking an
unearthly light back from the combers as they reared and crashed in a glorious,
uninhibited abandon of foam.


"I so love the sea,"
she said. "I was born by it. I don't think New Zealand has quite the
outstanding surf we have, but this comes very near it, and you have the
inestimable advantage of no sharks!"


Wayne pulled the car to a stop,
well off the road, said, "We'll be late anyway, so why not walk on the
shore for a few moments?"


He glanced down at her feet. "But what about those shoes? They're delightful bits of
absurdity, but could get ruined."


Judith suddenly felt young,
irresponsible, carefree. She kicked off her
slender-heeled, shining shoes, unfastened her stockings without fuss or
embarrassment, slipped them down.


"I
like to feel the sand between my toes," she said.


They ran down to the creaming
surf hand in hand. The moon cut a swathe of moontrack over the waters, it was
mild and idyllic, and if Wayne Morrison looked at Judith's eager face,
delicately concave in the moonlight, more than he looked at the moon, well,
that was all part of the night's enchantment too.


Back in the car Judith didn't
bother to put her shoes and stockings on again. They purred through the velvet
and sable darkness, here and there cottage lights showed, amber and gold, ruby-red
and warm. But apart from that, the world seemed asleep; there were very few
cars on the road, making driving pleasant.


A few miles further north it happened. A car turned a bend and came towards
them. At that moment, a cow, black and white in the headlamps, jumped a fence
and leapt across the road. The driver of the car had no time in which to act.
He swung sharply to the left, almost missed it, but there was enough force in
the impact to swing his car completely round.


There was a sickening moment of
suspense, then it shot over the bank at the left and
crashed headlong down the slope.


Judith was glad she didn't scream.
Wayne had his car stopped and well into the bushes at the side of the road in
an unbelievably short space of time. He leapt out of his door, Judith out of
hers. They rushed across to the edge, peered over. It wasn't as steep as it
might have been, it was partly on its nose. The
passengers might not have been badly hurt, but they were ominously quiet.


They began to scramble down the
bank. As they reached it Wayne said, "His engine's still
running. Good lord, and I can smell
petrol!"


Before he could wrench open the
door to switch off the ignition there was an ominous sound, a sudden
illumination, and with utter dismay they realized it was bursting into flames.


Wayne said in a rush of words,
wrenching open the door on the driver's side, "Can't worry about injuries.
Get them out!"


He clutched at the crumpled figure
over the wheel, began to drag him out, with the only need, the one to get him free.
The man was heavy, a dead weight, probably unconscious. There was no room for
Judith to help Wayne. The yellow greedy tongues of flame were already licking
at the dashboard, Judith tore open the rear door, not without difficulty; got
in.


It was a horrible moment, a
claustrophobic moment, but there was no other way to reach the other passenger.


She could hear Wayne panting and
struggling, making exclamations. Judith realized she was more fortunate; the
woman had partly tumbled into the back seat, she didn't seem to be jammed.


Thoughts
and prayers went through Judith's mind in quick succession… don't let her
legs be caught, don't let us be enveloped in flame, don't let her be badly
injured. She reached in and got a hold under the woman's knees, felt the hair
on her arm singe in a brief agony of burning, a blast of smoke and grit billow
into her face. She gasped, got a firm grip born of desperation, heaved the
woman right over, fell into the back seat with her, gave
herself no moment to recover her breath. Acrid fumes and heat were belching
forth; there would be the petrol tank, the oil sump, any moment they might blow
up. Judith heaved her back against the door, clutching her burden, and fell
backwards just as Wayne got the man free, tumbling too.


He was up
in a trice. "Quick, pull them away from the car, don't waste any time… Judith felt a blinding, searing pain against her forehead and the next moment
Wayne's hand crushing against the pain, beating out her smouldering hair. In
perfect teamwork they dragged the awkward figures backwards, instinctively
going along the small gully, not up. The glare lit the whole hillside now;
there was the sound of brakes slammed on, voices shouting— help was coming.


Judith
felt other arms relieve her of the intolerable drag, heard a voice say:
"Steady now… steady. We've got you. Anyone else in
that car?"


Wayne's
voice, "I'm not sure." Her own, "No. I
was in the back seat getting her out. Only two, I'm sure."


A shaky
voice from Wayne's burden said: "Only the two of us… Is my wife—- ?"


"She's
all right, sir; safe and sound to all appearances, only knocked out."


Then a silence. They hoped he had mercifully blacked out
again.


Wayne,
still breathing heavily, said, "How are those cars parked? Are they well
into the left? Are your lights dipped?—or they'll blind someone coming
up."


Someone
sprang to see to it. They somehow got the injured people through a gate on to
flatter land. There were rugs brought, flashlights, someone went running to the
nearest homestead to phone for an ambulance, for the police.


The two
people began to come round. They were certainly shocked and would be taken to
hospital, but they didn't appear to be mortally wounded, or even nastily.
Oamuru would be the nearest.


Wayne went to work on them with
quiet efficiency. He had a first-aid kit, beautifully furnished, in his car.
Judith acted on his instructions. He bound up gashes and cuts, made them as
comfortable as possible. They brought hot- water bottles from the farm, more
blankets.


Wayne
suddenly said, "Where's that blood coming from? It's dripping on the
bandage, not seeping through.'-


"I'm
afraid it's me," said Judith, for some reason apologetically. "It's
not serious, Wayne, or I'd have said. It's merely gory."


It was
her arm, gashed on a sliver of glass. He bound it up expertly. He shook his
head over her. "You got far more singed than I did, Judith. They'll have
to look at you in the hospital too."


"But, Wayne, there's nothing
here that can't be fixed up at home, is there?"


He pinched her cheek. "Sorry. Can't run the risk of tetanus. You'll need an injection.
So'll I. Got my knee. Ripped my suit too, blast it. Skin will grow again. No,
you needn't bandage my knee—here's the ambulance."


The St. John men were speedy, yet
calm and efficient. Judith felt the two victims were in good hands. One of the policemen
said to Wayne, "Well drive your car—you aven't got off scot free. You two
go in the ambulance too, there are seats inside. You may be more shocked than
you know. And you can give us all the dope tomorrow."


"Just a moment," said
Judith, "I want something out of the car."


They thought it was her bag, but it
was her shoes she was after. Her feet felt horribly bruised and sore now it was
all over, though she'd scarcely felt the stones and thistles when the need was
urgent. Besides, it would look pretty queer to walk barefooted into hospital.
She put shoes and stockings on swiftly while they were getting the stretchers
in, then she climbed in with Wayne.


He looked at her ruefully.
"Our tranquil de la Mare evening," he groaned, "and I bring you
home in an ambulance! One thing, they won't be sitting up at Koraputai, so they
won't be worrying."


She was feeling desperately weary
now. Both patients began to rouse a little. Wayne was received with a jocular
note at the hospital. "Now don't tell us you've gone and smashed someone
up—blight your career if you have, old man."


Judith, who was beginning to
shiver, thought how excellent the hospital touch was—they had a casual ap-
proach. When accidents happened to yourself you felt it was disrupting,
upsetting, but here it was just another part of the day's routine.


She was surprised to find her arm
needed a couple of stitches, Wayne's knee needed three. Their various other
cuts and singes were attended to, swabbed and medicated. The nurse said,
smiling, "I can't re-glamorize you, I'm afraid. Your hair will need
restyling—one side is badly burned, and the front, but I'll wash you if you
like."


Judith shook her head. "No,
I'll do all that at home, thanks." She turned to Wayne. "I'm not
having you drive me home, I'll get a taxi."


He grinned. "What a hope!
What sort of a heel would Craig think I was?"


"I
wasn't worrying about Craig, but about you."


"I never believe in falling
foul of these ring champions. The police have left the car at the door. Step on
it, lass, the night's not too young."


To their surprise there was a
light on in the dining room of Koraputai, and as their car turned in the gates
the outside light came on.


"Uh-uh!" said Wayne in
mock alarm. "I'm to be asked what I mean by getting you home at
three-thirty in the morning!"


They walked into the hall and
through the dining room door. Craig was leaning against the table, his arms
folded, his chin thrust out.


His expression changed as he saw
them, charred, torn, dirty, bandaged, both limping.


'You've had
an accident? Burnt too?"


He came forward, took Judith from
Wayne, sat her down in front of the fire, stirred the
grey logs to a blaze with his foot.


"What
befell?"


Wayne told
him.


Craig heard it out without interruption. "Lucky for them you were
both on the spot."


Wayne said,
"Judith was magnificent. She got right in the car—and it was burning.
She'll find every muscle sore in the morning, as well as her wounds, and I
guess she'll have a few sore places she doesn't even suspect now."


Judith said hurriedly, "You'll have plenty of sore places
yourself, Wayne. I don't think you should delay. I think you should get
yourself home and to bed at once."


Craig shook
his head. "He's not going home. He could have delayed shock. I'll ring his
landlady. He can have a bed made up in my room. We won't wake Magda if you
don't mind; She's only been asleep an hour or so."


"An hour or so! Craig, don't tell me she
was worrying. I did think I might have rung from hospital, only I hoped you'd
all be dead to the world and I could have just sneaked in."


"No, she
wasn't worrying. Just… er… young Dan was bilious. We had a disturbed
night. I don't think Magda even realized how late you were. But I began to feel
uneasy. I was giving you another half-hour before ringing the police."


Judith said,
"Oh, dear, that was sure to happen the one night I was out. I'll take a
peep at him now."


Craig's hand
gently restrained her. "No, you'd only disturb him—and perhaps Magda and
Finlo too. He's in her room. Magda coped. She's used to heaps of kids, you
know." He added, in response to her puzzled look: "She was once
sub-matron in an orphanage."


He rose.
"I brewed some coffee a while back. I'll just switch on again. I guess you
can do with it."


Wayne said,
"The doctor gave me some sleeping tablets for her, said a good night's
rest—what's left of it—would do her a world of good."


The coffee
was good, there were sandwiches too, and the fire was blazing up. Craig ate
with them.


Then he said,
"Well, just sit there a moment." He returned with an immense bowl of
steaming water, towels on his arm.


Judith
blinked. "What on earth are you going to do with that?"


He grinned.
"Wash your dirty face."


She said hastily, "I'll wash
my own, thanks, in the bathroom."


"How?"
He waved towards her hands; only the fingertips were visible, the rest bandaged
because the skin was scorched. "You mustn't get your bandages wet. Much as
you'll hate me doing it, you will have to put up with it, Madame
Independence!"


Wayne watched amused, lighting up a
cigarette, as Craig deftly washed her face, holding back the singed ends of her
hair with one hand.


"You were limping rather
badly when you came in, yet you haven't any bandages on your feet or legs. What
made——"


"Oh, just ran down without my
shoes and the going was rough."


Craig stared at her feet, at her
unblemished nylons. "Wonder your nylons weren't ripped to blazes.


Judith felt the hot blood come up
in her cheeks. "Oh, I had them off too."


Craig said:
"You had time for that?"


Judith felt humiliated. It didn't
sound too good. But she would have to say she already had them off. Before she
could speak Wayne said easily. "She'd taken them off before that. We went
walking on the beach at Kartigi. She couldn't walk in those high heels, and
besides," he gave a reminiscent chuckle,
"she likes to feel the sand between her toes!"


To Judith's surprise Craig merely
chuckled. "I have a fellow-feeling. When I was a kid I loved to feel
Beenie's rag-mat at the kitchen range between my toes. I used to get dressed
there cold mornings."


Judith let out a sigh of relief.
She was grateful to Craig for being so nice-minded about it. Craig went on,
"Well, if you've been paddling about the seashore, my dear Miss Kneale, I
think I'd better wash your feet before you get in between the sheets."


He knelt, folded back the torn and
blackened frock, the bedraggled sash, removed her shoes and stockings as a
brother might have, gently lifted her feet into the benison of the hot water.
But it was only a momentary blessing; she could not forbear wincing as he
rubbed the facecloth over the soles and the hot water began to sting.


Craig felt the withdrawal of her
flesh, her instinctive shrinking from his touch, and looked up sharply into her
face.


"What is
it? Your foot is injured too?''


"Must be
scratched. I thought it would only be bruised. It feels as if the skin
is broken."


He turned her foot up, examined it.
Wayne came across and squatted down, looking at it. They exchanged a glance.


"It will need some attention,"
Craig said, going out to the kitchen. "Keep it in the water
meanwhile."


He was away quite a few moments and
came back with a small pan, steaming, and a white folded towel. Mystified,
Judith saw him take out a pair of sterilized tweezers.


"You've got a splinter; no
wonder it was sore. Pity you'd not noticed it at the hospital. Wayne, hold her
foot steady on my knee."


From the pain Judith realized it
must have been an out- sized splinter. Then, "Got it," said Craig in
a tone of satisfaction, laid something down on some lint, swabbed the cut, and
wound a bandage round it. Then he lifted the lint and said, "There's your
splinter.'' She blinked. It was an inch long and a splinter of glass. It looked
curved too, as if it had come from the headlamp.


Judith felt something tickle her
shoulder. She put a hand up and removed a long tress of hair, parted where it
had been singed.


"Oh,
heavens!" There was real rue in her voice. "I am going to look
a ticket!"


The two men exchanged glances and
laughed. "Just like a woman," said Craig. "Quite stoical about
having a hunk of glass removed from her foot, but capable of going into agonies
over a pimple on the chin."


Judith, ignoring them, hobbled to a
mirror, gazed with consternation, then shrugged. "Only
one thing to be done, and since it must be done, 'twere best done quickly!
Cut it all off—I can't go round looking lopsided. The right side is almost
gone."


Craig said quickly, "Oh, can
nothing be done for it? I can't imagine you with short hair. It's so beautiful
the way you wear it."


Judith's surprise made her
completely forget her aches and pains.


"My hair! It's as straight as a die!''


"It's smooth and
glossy," said Craig, "like a thrush's wing." Then he burst out
laughing. "Look at Judith's face; she's more used to criticism from
me."


"I can't think why,"
said Wayne, and there was an edge to his tone that Judith very properly
appreciated.


"I shall just hate it till
it grows again," she declared, ignoring the compliment. "I don't suit
urchin cuts. I haven't the face for it, and permanent waves go frizzy on
me."


Craig picked up the scissors.
"Well, obviously you'll make a frightful mess of it if you attempt to saw
it off yourself. I'll do it, and if it's too ghastly, I'll take you into town
tomorrow and they can restyle it."


He undid the bronze,
brilliant-studded circlet about her coil, took out the hairpins with gentle but
awkward fingers.


"You're
more adept at shearing sheep," remarked Wayne.


"Don't make it too
short," begged Judith. "Leave enough for the hairdresser to do something
with."


Tress by shining brown tress it
fell to the floor, some singed, some not. When it was finished Judith shook her
head; it felt curiously light. Craig came in with a brush and comb, wielded
them awkwardly.


Judith said mystified, "What
have you brought my dressing gown in for?"


"Well, I imagine you can't
undress yourself, with such sore hands. I don't know much about it, but I fancy
there are hooks and eyes in various inaccessible places. And if I get Lorette
up we'll spend another hour going over what happened. Besides, she'd take a dim
view of being roused tonight… she also has honorable scars, but not where
they show! Your dress is torn and burnt anyway. I'm going to slit it like
this."


He did it before Judith could
realize or protest. He slipped it back off her shoulders, letting it fall to
the floor, and had her into the dressing gown with only the merest glimpse of
her in her white cotton petticoat. He tied the sash about her waist. "Do
you no harm to sleep exactly like that. Given ordinary circumstances I'd have
got Magda up, but though she'll be cross that I didn't, it's been a hectic
night for her too. Wayne, go into my room and get a pair of pyjamas out of my
bottom drawer and turn into my bed. It's warm; I switched on the electric mattress
before. And


I switched Judith's on ages ago. Ill pop a camp bed up in my room for myself when I've seen
Judith to bed."


She looked up appealingly.
"Can't I just take a peep at Danny?''


"Definitely
not. You'd only disturb him. You should know by now I don't brook
argument/' He stooped, swung her off her feet, kicked the door open, took her
into the east wing.


To her
protests he said, "I don't want you on that foot.''


He pulled down the bedclothes with
one hand, laid her gently on the sheet, arranged her pillows comfortably for
her cropped head, tucked the clothes firmly in. The sleeping pill was taking effect, the bed was deliciously warm, soft. She heard Craig
snap the control switch off, go out of the room, and she sank into billowy
folds of restoring sleep.


They did not tell her till morning,
when Craig and Magda brought breakfast in, that Danny's tummy upset had been appendicitis, that he had been operated upon success- fully
at midnight that night and had been in Oamaru Hospital at the very time Judith
had been getting stitched.


"He's too young to be much
upset," said Magda comfortingly. "He was inclined to be important,
told me now Maggy couldn't boast she'd been the only one ever to have been in
hospital. I realized it was more than a bilious attack, so said to Maggy I'd
keep him in my room for the night. I gave her an aspirin and she went off to
sleep. It was Maggy's reactions I was worried about. She has known so much fear
and loss. As it was I could tell her this morning that Danny had had the operation
and it was all over. When you feel up to it, Craig will take you to see him,
Judith."


They had taken it so much in their
stride, with not the slightest hint that it was a pity it had happened when she
was gadding, that Judith did not worry.


Craig said firmly: "You aren't
getting up till lunch time." He added with a twinkle, "Lorette is
having a lie-in too." He even sounded indulgent! "She was quite game,
even though it's evident—though I didn't tell her so—that she'll never make a
horsewoman. No sympathy between her and the animal. Still, if she is prepared
to make the attempt perhaps she has more in her than I gave her credit
for."


Judith lay thinking that over.
Might it be the answer? Might Lorette, for Michael's sake, make an attempt to
fit into the life here? She was uneasily aware she might have been more
confident about that had Michael fen the owner. More at stake
for Lorette to strive for. Of course Michael certainly seemed to have
more money than if he had just been a laborer on the farm… perhaps Craig
worked on a bonus system with his young cousin. He owned a very expensive
racing car, though she had an idea from something Magda had said that it had
been purchased with a legacy from his own father.


Finlo, evidently, made an extremely
comfortable living from writing his thrillers and enjoyed lending a hand with
the seasonal work on the farm. Perhaps Lorette felt Michael had expectations
there, though Finlo was a comparatively young man. Judith made a face of
distaste at her mercenary thoughts… but knew she was just trying to view
the situation as Lorette might view it. If only Lorette loved Michael for
himself. Now that Lorette's mother no longer wielded an influence over her,
though, it was possible, though not probable, that the girl might develop.


Nevertheless, inwardly Judith knew
that Lorette might have put her energies into being the wife of a successful
business man in city life, acting the hostess, having plenty of entertainments
to keep her from being bored; but life at Koraputai, for all its outward
elegance, was the life of the soil… seedtime and harvest, the greening and
the gold, mating and reproducing, endless work for the farm wife, coping with
shearers, harvesters, hired men… to Lorette endless, hard, primitive.


So why this sudden desire to prove herself? Into Judith's mind flashed the remembrance of the
little scene she had disturbed last night on the patio… till now, since so
much had happened, it had lain dormant… Lorette's copper-gold hair against
Craig's shoulder, his cheek against the top of her head, his hand patting her
shoulder… recalling it disturbed Judith so much she realized she had been
purposely ignoring it last night. Why should it disturb her? After all, Craig
Argyll thought he could manage everyone else's affairs, so surely he could
manage his own?


Judith stopped analysing that. It
was something she didn't want to face. And absurd. The
sooner Lorette was accepted here and married off, the sooner she herself could
go back to her own life. What was it Father had once said: 'Always try to
remember in your most impatient moments, Tu, that in twelve months' time this
will seem very small. It will have been absorbed into the pattern of life.'


She must
cling to that. When Lorette and Michael were married she and the children could
go back to the flat with its lovely light studio. If she prospered on the
freelance illustrating, as she hoped, it might be possible later to buy a
little house in the suburbs, even if it meant selling the car to put the
deposit down. Then she could be free of responsibility as far as Lorette was
concerned, free of unjust criticism, free of Craig Argyll .
Free of Craig Argyll?


Yes, of course, of course.


Judith
sprang up, winced as her foot touched the floor, and went into Lorette's room
where she lay in bed, never a twinge of feeling prodding her into getting up to
enquire how her stepsister was feeling.


Judith's voice was crisp.
"Lorette, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you for a little help with my
washing and dressing."


Lorette rose with amazing alacrity
and a pleasant response.


"You poor darling… of course. Want a bath?"


"No, thanks, I don't think I
should wet this foot—and I wouldn't like to have to bother Craig to bandage it
again."


"Craig?
Did he?"


"Yes. I suppose they've told
you all the hoo-ha they had last night—with Danny. By the time the household
got settled he realized we were pretty late, that something must have happened,
so he waited up."


"They should have got me up
when Danny was sick. I told Craig that when he and Magda brought in my break'
fast. But he said I deserved my rest. So I did." She laughed ruefully.
"Craig made me ride that beastie with just a sack on his back at first…
he looked such a plump animal too, but what a backbone!"


Judith stared. This was a new
Lorette, a softer, more agreeable Lorette. One you could admire. One even Craig
Argyll might admire.


Lorette added, "I told Michael
it was all for his sake." All the time Lorette was talking, she was gently
removing the clothes Judith had slept in and getting others out.


Judith felt bewildered, wanting to believe in
Lorette's new attitude, hating herself for being distrustful.


Lorette said, "Pet, what are
we going to do with your hair?"


They surveyed it ruefully in the
mirror. It was black and scorched in short lengths and in a step-and-stair
fashion. It had lost its smooth shining look and Judith had a red forehead from
the burn, slight though it had been, and a bruise on her cheekbone. Beside her
was Lorette's reflection, the bright coppery hair curled in enchanting tendrils
about her forehead, swept back to show her ears, and clustered in shining curls
on the nape of her neck. The contrast couldn't have been greater.


Judith turned away. "Just
give it a good brush, Lorette please. And tie one of Maggy's ribbons around
it—a white one preferably. I'll visit a hairdresser when I go to the
hospital."


She limped out to find Wayne had
gone, leaving a message to say he would call that night to see how she was, and
Craig was busy some distance from the house.


He said at lunch, which they had
with the family today, "Want me to take you in early to get your hair
restyled? And I'm going to ask the hospital to have a look at that foot when we
see Danny."


Lorette said quickly,
"Craig, I'll come too, it will help Judy."


He shook his head. "No,
Magda and Beenie can do with your help. There's a whacking
ironing, I notice. You can do that standing up, fortunately!'


Judith took a quick sideways look
at Lorette. She merely dimpled charmingly at Craig, said, "Yes, of course,
much better for me at the moment than sitting in the car."


Judith wondered what there was
about Craig Argyll that made him so gentle when you were injured, so harsh when
you were not.


He told her to take as long as
she liked over her shampoo and set, adding for her peace of mind, "I've
got business. I'll be back at quarter to three."


"Won't
we miss visiting hour?"


"Doesn't matter, they'll let
me in. We won't want to stay long anyway; he'll be a bit groggy today."


They'll
let me in! Craig Argyll… the big landowner.
Heavens, but these New Zealanders were an arrogant lot.


Judith was
amazed when he came with her into the beauty parlor, greeted the owner as an
old friend, said, "Do your best for her, won't
you?" He touched Judith's jagged ends of hair fleetingly, smiled and went
out.


Judith
thought indignantly: I wish Madame Celia could see how he treats me normally.


Judith
relaxed under the drier, was amazed at the difference.


"Not
an urchin cut or a chrysanthemum cut for you… though either would lend
itself to this particular misfortune. I think I'll loop it high, with a
suspicion of a ponytail, but I'll curl the ends, and also set those singed bits
above your ears into soft curls—I'll part it on one side. You have the most
exquisite ears!"


"Very
nice," approved Craig as she emerged. "Now,
afternoon tea at the National Club and then the hospital."


"What's the National
Club?"


"Club rooms of the
National Party. The Tory gang.''


Judith was
glad they had to share a table; she was oddly ill at ease with Craig today.
They came up to the hospital, were received by the Sister with great
cordiality. Judith had meanly hoped they might have said, "Well, it is
past visiting hour, don't stay long."


But the
Sister called Craig by his Christian name, had evidently heard of the accident
last night, suggested they call on the two people they had rescued and offered
to ring down to Outpatients when Craig said he wanted Judith's foot looked at,
then they wouldn't have to wait down there.


"Told
you they wouldn't make difficulties," said Craig as they came into the
ward.


Judith
sighed. "It reminds me of the divine right of kings… and just as
illogical. I don't see why your path should always be made easy, why rules
should be set aside, simply because you are the one and only, high-and-mighty
Craig Argyll."


He made no
answer because they had arrived at Danny's bed. Dan was lying awake, looking
drowsy, but the look of delight and relief that crossed his face when he saw
Judy stabbed her. It was a big thing for a five-year old to be suddenly torn
from his home and plunged into the white and chrome world of hospital, of
starched uniforms and nausea and pain.


But she sat down easily enough and
took his hand. She musn't show any distress or make a
fuss.


Down at Outpatients they looked at
her foot. To Judith's dismay Craig came into the cubicle with them. She turned
on him. "You could wait outside, Craig."


The doctor laughed. "He
could—but he won't. Never knew anyone with such a ghoulish interest in things
surgical. No wonder they say he's as good as a vet." He examined the foot.
"Well, your bandaging would pass, Argyll, but you made a poor job of the
surgery. There's another bit of glass in it, I think. M'm, yes, there is."


He looked up at Judith. "We'll
have to do a bit of probing, Miss Kneale. I gather you've been through a fair
bit in the last twenty-four hours. How about us keeping you in tonight and
tomorrow we can put you out for it? Not a general—just an
injection in the arm to put you to sleep?"


She shook her head. "You can
do it with a local, can't you?


"Yes, but it's a bit of an
ordeal. We'll want to make sure we get it all. One splinter I can see, but
there could be others, very tiny."


"I wouldn't dream of staying
in for such a small thing unless absolutely necessary. I feel enough of a
nuisance as it is. I'd like you to do it here and now. Besides," she
grinned, "I'm rather like Mr. Argyll; I like to see what's going on."


The doctor laughed. "Okay. Not
that you'll see much. Now Argyll here had the quaint idea when he had his
appendix out that he wanted a view, so plumped for a local. Silly ass… as if
we'd let the patients see! Even asked us if we couldn't rig
up some mirrors for him."


Craig only
grinned. "Biggest disappointment of my life."


They got busy swabbing, injecting,
probing, and finally stitching. When it was over they made her a cup of tea and
took her out in a wheelchair to Craig's car.


Arrived at Koraputai, Craig came
round to the side, opened the door and reached in for her.


Judith resisted him. "I can
limp on tip-toes. No need for this." ' He made an
impatient gesture. "It will pull at the stitches. In a day or two you'll
be able to hobble yourself, but give it a chance, for goodness' sake. It's too
recently done to monkey about with. I had orders from Dr. Lascelles."


Judith said shortly, "Well,
I can see Mike and Finlo through the window, they could chair me in. Not so weighty as for one," she added hurriedly.


Craig
simply reached in for her, slid his arms under her back and knees.


His tawny dark face was close to
hers, she could smell the tobacco on his breath, feel the warmth of it on her
cheek. "I can assure you," he drawled hatefully, "that I feel
quite impersonal about it—even if you don't."


Judith said in a low voice lest
any of the others appear, but an intense voice, "You're quite intolerable… and presuming. It's merely that I hate being under an obligation to
someone who—to someone I detest."


'Too bad—especially when there's
nothing you can do about it. Never mind, Judith Argyll Kneale… this could
be a blessing in disguise. It could give your stepsister a chance to prove
herself."


They were just finishing
after-dinner coffee when they heard a car. Lorette was on the window-seat. With
Craig, not Michael, and Judith had noticed it was Craig's seeking, not hers.
Lorette looked down the drive, put her cup down, looked up appealingly to Craig
and said, "I've things to do in my room… I'll go on up."


His hands caught hers and pulled
her back. "No, don't I imagine what you are avoiding is going to be too
frequent to always dodge—but it was a nice gesture, my dear."


Judith just caught the words
under cover of the conversation Michael was having with his mother. It didn't
make sense. But what was plain was the indisputable fact that Lorette was
making headway with Craig. And that he was meeting her more than halfway.


The next moment Wayne came in,
also limping. He accepted coffee, cheese and biscuits, and sat down by Judith
on the couch on which she was lying. His brown eyes sought hers. "Not
feeling too bad, pal?'


The conversation became general.
Beenie came in and cleared. Wonder of wonders, Lorette rose. "I'll help
wash up. No, Magda, it will take only the two of us."


"Three," said Craig,
seizing the percolator and marching out with it.


"Three is plenty," said
Michael with great satisfaction, lighting a cigarette and offering his case to
Finlo and Wayne. "One to wash and two to wipe.
Time was when old Beenie could keep three going, but not now. I wouldn't for
anything rattle the old dear. Might make her realize she's getting old."


His mother said, laughing, "It
wouldn't be anything to do with the fact that you've never liked doing dishes?
Oh, who's that… ? More visitors. Oh, it's the Buchanans, they've been away in Sydney."


Quite a family.
A tall, dark-visaged man with a hawklike expression, a tiny
feminine figure beside him with unusual coloring, honey-gold hair and
greenish-amber eyes, a little girl and boy, and a baby in the man's arms.


Judith had a moment of amazed but
instant recognition. So had the girl.


^Roberta . ; . Roberta O'More!"


"Well,
Roberta Buchanan now, as you'll guess. Judith Kneale, how come you're
here? We thought we ought to meet young Michael's fiancee… didn't dream it
was you!


Judith was aware that Craig, holding
a tea-towel, had come into the room.


She laughed. "No,
not me, Roberta. My stepsister, Lorette
Flemington."


"Lorette! You mean Mike's engaged to her? Why————- "


Roberta appeared to check her
following comments.


Judith said
quietly, "I came over to be with her."


Roberta wrinkled her brows.
"I'm trying to work it out. I heard someone else was staying here, and
about some accident last night and—but I'm all muddled. There was a little boy
in it whacked off to hospital and talk of a little Hungarian girl staying here
with her mother. My own darling daughter has been back at school only one day,
but we're already overwhelmed with local gossip."


"They are my wards, Roberta.
They lost their parents, one soon after the other."


Roberta's eyes widened. "And
of course you took them on. How like you… you're very like your father,
aren't you, Judy? A heart of butter."


She sat down on a nearby chair.
"Now I've got my breath back I'll remember my manners and say hullo to the
others. How are you, Wayne, after all your wild ad'
ventures?"


Craig was still standing.
"Rob, you knew Judith in Sydney?"


"Yes, though some years ago,
of course. Not well, but in art circles our paths crossed occasionally. This is
delightful, Craig, someone to bring me a breath of the old life."


She sat down and began to talk
animatedly. Magda bore off small Ishbel in search of Maggy, who was putting her
dolls to bed. Small Robert, a black-browed miniature of his father, sat down
with Mim, the golden kitten, and Muir handed Dugald, the baby, to his mother.


Wayne had
moved away to sit with Muir Buchanan.


"I'd not realized, Roberta,
you'd come to this part of New Zealand. I did hear you had married. Didn't your
mother come from around here?"


"Yes, I came to my
grandfather. He died six months ago, so happy to see his great-grandchildren,
and the old names given again. Buchanan—Muir's property—was part of the old
Heatherleigh estate. The homestead has been made into a farm orphanage. You
must come to see it."


"And how
old are the children?"


"Ishbel is five months, Robert
three years five months, Dugald one year five months."


Judith burst
out laughing. "How neat!''


"Yes,
isn't it? Easy to remember. All born
in May.''


"What a
coincidence."


"Oh, no
coincidence, Judy. I believe in family planning. Especially
on a farm where babies can arrive at the most awkward moments. I mean,
imagine producing a babe in the middle of harvest or lambing!"


Muir, that dark-visaged,
stern-seeming man, had turned his head. Judith saw the side of his well-cut
mouth quirk up.


"Roberta, my love, this is not
time for a lecture on your pet subject. It all sounds very informal and
extremely cold-blooded.


"Oh, it isn't at all,
darling," responded Roberta prompt- ly. "I'm sure Judith wouldn't
think that. If babies arrive at a convenient time, their welcome is all the
warmer, so how could it possibly be cold-blooded?"


"We'll
change the subject, Roberta. Will somebody please create a diversion? Where's
my family?—they're the best ever at it. Only their diversions are never timely… not like their arrivals." His eyes crinkled up and they all laughed.


Judith saw his eyes meet Roberta's
in an exchange of glances that held everything any married couple could wish
—warmth, amusement, tenderness, mirth, a hint of secrets shared. Judith knew a
moment of sheer envy. How wonderful to have found just that.


Then
Lorette and Michael came in. Craig's eyes were on Roberta. No glad recognition
there, merely, "Oh, hullo, Lorette. We met a long time ago, maybe you'd
not remember."


The visitors did not stay long.
Roberta said as they were leaving: "Craig, as soon as Judith is more
mobile, bring her to Buchanan. I'd like to show her my
studio. Muir built me a wee room up top with a skylight. I still do some
illustrations. Have you got any of your stuff here? I'd love to see it.


Judith shook her head. "Not
yet, but it will be here soon, when my car gets down. It was damaged in
Wellington, and I had far too much gear in it to bring down separately. I did
bring some of my stuff."


Craig said: "Do you intend to hang it in your quarters?"


He sounded anything but enthusiastic.


Judith
said, "No, I'd not dream of making holes in the wallpaper."


Magda said swiftly, with a look of
indignation in Craig's direction, "Judy darling, don't take any notice of
him. I'd be proud to have your pictures on our walls. What are nail
holes?"


Craig
laughed. "I wasn't worrying about the nail holes, but about the pictures.
I'm conservative about pictures. Can't stand this modern
stuff. Maybe my appreciation is at fault."


Roberta stared, then
she burst into a peal of laughter. "Oh, Craig, wait till you see Judith 1s
stuff. You were brought up on Beatrix Potter, weren't you?"


His turn to stare. "Beatrix Potter? What do—————-
''


"What do I mean? Oh, Craig, if
you had a family like Muir has you'd know. Judith does for Australia's flora
and fauna just what Beatrix Potter did for England's. And for
England's children. Don't you know Katie Kangaroon,
and Wilhelmina Wallaby and so on?"


Roberta was doubled up with
laughter. "Come over to our playroom some time and I'll show you. They're
on their way to being classics. And she illustrates for Aus' tralian
Educational stuff too. Are you going to do some New Zealand scenes, Judy?"


Judith didn't look at Craig.
"Yes, I'm illustrating Diana Jeremy's stuff. I'll have to get round and
see some of the places here first, of course, but goodness knows when. Still,
I'm absorbing the feeling of the New Zealand scenery— this part—and with
Magda's bird-tables and what-not I'm collecting quite a few sketches. Tuis, bellbirds, lizards."


After the Buchanans left Craig said
to Lorette, "Well, how about it? Must keep at it.
Come on over to the stables."


In view of Lorette's soreness and
stiff muscles Judith was immensely surprised to see her assent promptly. She
looked over her shoulder as she left the room with Craig.


"Coming,
Michael?"


He shook his head and picked up the
paper. "No, I'll leave the riding to Craig… I'll give you a few driving
lessons some time." He looked after them thoughtfully. "Pity to butt
in when they appear to be burying the hat chet," he said to his mother.


Magda did not answer, but stooped
and picked up some toys. Wayne came to sit by Judith again. "I suppose I musn't stay long tonight. It will be early to bed for you,
I imagine."


Judith smiled at him. "Yes, I
admit I feel all in now. And I daresay you won't be sorry yourself to turn in
early. Before you go, Wayne, you can help me to my room. Now the local is
wearing off it's rather sore."


Magda helped her undress, tucked
her in, offered a sleeping pill which she refused.
"Nothing could keep me awake tonight," she said smilingly. Nothing
physical, that was. Only the thought that it was dark now,
too dark for riding lessons, and yet Craig and Lorette were still out there,
above the shining tide, under the Otago moon.


CHAPTER SEVEN


It was a Saturday night. Craig came to Judith in the
hall as she finished bathing the children and putting them to bed.


"Well," he asked,
"what's the program for tomorrow? Last Sunday your foot wasn't healed. The
Sunday before it was our monthly evening service and you stayed in with the
children. Are you coming tomorrow morning?"


Judith's chin went up. "I am
coming, Mr. Argyll. But not because you order me to."


"I'm not ordering. I wouldn't
dream of it. To me church-going is essentially an experience to be desired—to
desire to share in worship—not to go as a sermon-taster, or because it's
expected of one. I merely asked straight out because I was interested to find
out if, like Lorette, you would produce one excuse after another."


Judith's eyes met his levelly.
"Perhaps you don't realize, Mr. Argyll, how dictatorial you sounded…
how you often sound. You are rather an anachronism… you sound quite feudal
at times."


She wished he wouldn't always laugh
at her when she answered back. It took the satisfaction away.


"Oh, Judith, you are a bit out
on your facts, aren't you? Scotland never had a feudal system; we left that to
the Sassenachs. We had a clan system."


"Yes… and how much
difference really? The chief of the clan was still a despot."


Amusement was still crinkling the
corners of his eyes. "And it really is absurd to call me Mr. Argyll
whenever we're by ourselves. Perhaps I was rather peremptory just now. I
thought that maybe you'd not been brought up to regular church attendance. You
lived in such a solitary place."


Judith said stiffly: "We had
to go so far perhaps we rated it more of a privilege than you. We went once a
month, to an afternoon service in a woolshed seventy miles away. There was
something about those services—no other service, in however beautiful a place
of worship, could touch
them—sometimes the Flying Doctor dropped in———- "


She turned away quickly, but not quickly enough. He
had seen the glint of tears.


He stepped after her, caught her by
the elbows. "Judith, I cry pardon." He let her go as Magda came
towards them.


Argyll Hills Church was tiny but
the grounds were well kept. It was part of the Heatherleigh parish. The
Reverend Donald Murray was the minister. There were five churches in his
parish, all tiny, but it made a big charge all told, and involved a lot of
travelling; he did fourteen thousand miles a year, Craig said.


People were gathered outside St.
James, the bell tolling on the still air. Most kirks in North Otago were built
out of the local limestone, but this was of smooth river boulders taken from
the gorge of the river where it cut through the hills. It fitted into the
landscape.


Donald Murray came up to them, was
introduced to Judith and Maggy and Dan. "I'm in a bit of a fix," he
said. "Just got a message to say our organist has sprained her
wrist—happened as she was getting ready, and Mrs. Murdo, the only other player,
isn't here."


Maggy said clearly and distinctly,
"Oh, Judith would play—she's organist at our church in Sydney."


Judith could have laughed at the
look on Craig's face* No doubt he was remembering his words on regular
attendance. Judith didn't believe in demurring in times like this— people who had to be pressed into service, cajoled and
persuaded, were a nuisance. She went with the minister into the vestry to look
over the hymns.


As they rose to sing the opening
Doxology she met Craig's eyes fairly and squarely. Neither pair gave anything
away. The service was beautiful, simple, austere, dignified. As they sang
"I joyed when to The House of God, go up they said to me," her
father's favorite psalm, Judith could see again the rough walls of the
woolshed, the deal table with the white communion cloth spread, feel her
father's hand in hers, the rough callouses in his palm, her mother's voice
beside her. The sharp sweetness of wattle-bloom came from a vase near the
organ, set on slatey river slabs that made the windowsill. Light shone down
through more stained- glass windows than she had ever seen in a small country
church.


She played on for a few moments
after the congregation filed out, came to the end and looked up to find Craig
beside her. She shut the book, put it away, closed the
organ, stood up.


"Well," he said, "what do you
think of our church?''


She was in a softened mood, she
knew, and so often when that had happened this man had set her back. So she
said coolly, "It is, of course, very beautiful. So many stained' glass
windows for a country church. But so many erected to so many Argylls is a
little oppressive, perhaps… and not quite fair, I would think, to lesser
inhabitants."


This time he didn't laugh at her.
He said, "You're not wholly right, you know. Some of those windows are to
township people—young men and women who gave their lives in two world wars. If
there are more to the Argyll's, it's because it goes back to pioneer days when,
at first, most of the settlers were Argylls. They were a large family in those days . . ; not now.
Those wars have seen to that."


Judith knew herself in the wrong.
But she didn't want to admit it, so she said, "Well, anyway, the most
prominent place goes to the Argyll family. Yet in this place all should be
equal. Didn't the Duke of Wellington once say that?"


Craig said, "I believe so. But
that window was put there because the person who financed it wanted it there;
no other place would do for him. It's the memorial to my great' grandfather.


Judith hesitated. "Well,
wouldn't it—wouldn't it have been the family who erected it?"


"No. You'd better come and see
for yourself, Judith. I think you've got the wrong idea about us."


He led her to the foot of the great
window. She looked up and read:


"To
Angus Forsythe Argyll, a great pakeha.


Erected by his Maori friend,
Tewhano Naku, whose life he saved, risking his own."


Judith found her lips were
trembling. She stilled them, passed her tongue across them, looked
up candidly.


"You've been big enough to say
sorry to me on occasion, Craig. I must say sorry this time. I'm afraid I was
very petty. Not only that, but it was wrong even to have such thoughts, here,
in such a place."


She didn't know if it was the
sunlight showing through the window, or the smile that lit up the tawny eyes so
much. He touched her hand briefly.


"Very nicely said. Let's leave it at
that.''


Suddenly Judith felt absurdly shy.
She said quickly: "What happened? How did your forebear save Tewhano's
life?''


"Tewhano had been down on the
reef of rocks at the far end of the bathing shore, fishing. Alone.
My great-grandfather found him. No one had known where Tewhano was and it was
pure chance that took Angus to the Blow-hole. Tewhano had been swept off the
rocks, badly battered, but the current, a tricky one in certain winds and
seasons, had returned him into the Blow-hole. Angus had been going round his
sheep.


"He dared not go for help;
Tewhano was in danger of being sucked back. He scrambled down, got him out of
immediate danger, but they got completely cut off. My great-grandfather stayed
with him all night till the tide went down and help came."


Craig and Judith came out together
into the sunshine of the kirkyard. He took her across to the old graves.
Nowadays all the funerals took place in Oamaru. There, side by side, pa'teha and
Maori, lay Angus and Tewhano. Judith wondered if, in
the very early days, they had ever been enemies. But she did not ask.


Late spring slipped overnight into
early summer. Roses began to bloom in the homestead garden, the lambs grew fat
and less frolicsome, the shadow of Christmas killings hanging over them
unawares. Magda spent more and more time in her garden, freed by all Judith
did. Magda was tying down bulbs, lifting some, planting the summer annuals,
rows and rows of them: scarlet salvia, light and dark blue lobelia, petunias
that would flourish bravely in the driest weather—North Otago had a very low
rainfall—phlox drummondü, Livingstone daisies to bloom at the edges.


The golds and lilacs gave place to
reds and pinks, purples and blues. "The mistress is working too
hard," Beenie grumbled. "That has aye been her way when her heart is
no' so gay. She works beyant her strength."


Judith was
peeling vegetables. "You mean—— "


Beenie shot her a quick glance.
"You ken fine what I'm meanin'… she is no' sleepin' well. So she
tires her body in the vain hope o' dropping off o' nights before the worry taks
ower. And ye ken what she's worryin' aboot too. Ye'll no' hae lived these years
with yon Lorette wi'oot ye're ain heartaches, lassie. She's selfish to the
core, that yin."


Judith swallowed. "I—I thought
that lately she'd been trying…" Her voice trailed off against the
look of dis- belief on Beenie's face.


"Tryin',
aye. But for what, do ye reckon? For some deep-laid
plan o' her ain. No' for good. For mischief.
Puttin' on her act the most when the maister's aboot."


The master.
Not Finlo. Craig was Beenie's master. Then she hadn't been alone in imagining
what she had—that Lorette was trying to ingratiate herself with Craig. It could
be, of course, that she was trying to prove herself a more suitable wife for
Michael than they had thought, but— Judith tried to close her mind to the
implications of that reservation. Tried to shut out from her heart the chilling
knowledge that if Lorette thought she had the slightest chance of winning the
master of Koraputai Michael wouldn't count. And Craig?
Oh, surely not. After all he had said about Lorette, he couldn't cherish tender
feelings towards her.


But even as she told herself this,
Judith knew that what she feared in her inmost heart was true… Craig li'ted
the change in Lorette. He was forgetting his early prejudices. Lorette's pretty
ways, her copper-gold curls, the brilliant eyes were having their usual effect.


Magda was thinner,
there were smudges under her eyes. Finlo was aware of it, Judith sensed. He
gave up work on his book, told his wife he was stale on it, worked beside her
in the garden, kept proposing outings, took her to Dunedin to the ballet, the
opera, the repertory shows.


Judith felt bewildered. One moment
Craig Argyll was compassionate, the next harsh and overbearing, now obviously falling
under the enchantment of Lorette's burnished beauty, then with some cynical
remark, when Lorette was absent, hinting that he had no illusions about her.


No matter how Judith disciplined
her mind, it would return to the problem. What did it all add up to? She came
to the conclusion that Craig was having a terrific struggle with
himself—bewildered to find that having despised Michael for being carried away
by glamour, he was now in the same danger and fighting
it.


There was the night when Finlo and
Magda had gone into Oamaru and Michael and Lorette to Dunedin. Lorette had gone
with a laughingly rueful look over her shoulder to Craig, a look Michael had
not noticed. It had disturbed Judith. She got up, went out to the patio, to sit
there in the twilight that was so long here in the South Island.


The scent of good tobacco on the
air made her aware he had come to join her. There was silence between them, but
not a comfortable, sharing silence. Craig broke it,


"Your
foot perfectly healed now?"


"Yes, thank you. I'm glad to
be completely mobile again, and I'd like to help Magda in the garden now. She's
working too hard."


Craig said slowly, "She's
trying to outrace her thoughts, her fears.''


Judith said
nothing.


Craig continued, "Poor Magda,
I tell her time may take care of it. She has always hoped Michael would make a
happy marriage like hers and Finlo's. And she is afraid he is only being wed
for his money."


Suddenly Judith couldn't bear this
discussion. It classed her with Lorette, made her a fortune-hunter too. She
said in a clear, strong tone, "Craig, you Argylls think too much about
money. You distrust people's affections. You look for motives behind every act,
every situation. I can't understand, unless a good deal lies in the fact that
you've always been here. You're insular, prejudiced, provincial… lords of
your own little kingdom. Finlo isn't like that—the only one who doesn't carry
the taint—Finlo has known a far wider life than this one, bounded by the
Pacific and the Kakanuis.


"You've had it too easy
financially, and this appraisal, this setting everything against a background
of money, could be a rot at the centre of this district. It's not only you…


Roberta is a darling, but the other day when she spent
the afternoon here and I remarked on the wonderful bond she and Muir share she
said soberly: 'Yes, and to think I nearly ruined things. Through a series of
misunderstandings I thought Muir wanted to marry me for Heatherleigh. How wrong
I was. Now Heatherleigh belongs to the Social Service of the Presbyterian
Church and I belong to Muir and to the Buchanan estate.'


"That sounded an ideal way of
solving their probelm, but what the solution here would be I don't know. After
all, Lorette knows now Mike is only an employee on Koraputai, but she's sticking
to him! Even trying to help."


"Is she?
Sticking to him, I mean? '


It made Judith falter in her
attack. "You—you want everything cut and dried, you people. You want
someone with the same background, the same bank balance—only that way could you
be sure. But love isn't always like that. Sometimes it comes unawares—doesn't
sit down and do long tots, weigh up the advantages. It's certainly the canker
at the heart of the rose in this place—I can't understand it."


"Can't you? But you would if
you knew it all. I think I'll tell you—tell you why Magda has shadows under her
eyes, why she dreads the devastation of a loveless marriage for Mike. Because she was married for money herself."


Judith's face, delicately concave
in the deepening purple of the twilight, lifted; her eyes searched his. "Magda! Not Finlo… oh, never
Finlo.'


The lines in Craig's cheeks
deepened at each side of his mouth. "No, of course not
Finlo. Her first husband. Donald Argyll. My kinsman.


"It was, unfortunately, all
too true. Magda was blindingly in love with him, I believe. She was the only
child of very wealthy parents, but she never doubted him. Doubts are healthy,
Judith. They immunize you from disillusionment. For a year Magda lived on the
heights. Then—I'll spare you the details, I'm no storyspinner like Finlo—she
overheard Donald with a girl he had once been in love with. This girl accused
Donald of marrying Magda for her money.


"Now, I hold no brief for
Donald, but though he was years older than I, I knew him very well, understood him.
He had no strength of character, was unfailingly pleasant to everybody, couldn't bear to be blunt. That can get you into some
awkward situations. As I read it, he just didn't like to tell this girl he had
stopped caring. He always took the easy way out of situations, smoothed things
over. He admitted that Magda's money had attracted him, and Magda, as I told
you, was inadvertently listening in.


"You know there's gipsy blood
in Magda, a wild, passionate streak, disciplined now into contented living? She
couldn't bear it, felt betrayed. I expect little things had added up; though
she had been so happy, from what my mother told me, she had at times thought
she loved Donald a little more than he loved her. They say there's
always one to kiss and one to turn the cheek… not that I believe that
myself, I shouldn't be satisfied with it.


"Well, Magda simply
disappeared. Left a note for Donald, told him what she had overheard, said
briefly she had paid a fairly substantial amount into his bank. 'It's money you need, not a wife, you will never see me
again.'


"It was only then that Donald
realized all she had come to mean to him. Magda told me about this, years
afterwards, when the sting had gone out of the memory. She said: 'In my
arrogance I thought love could only come one way, my way… mine came like a
sunburst, with trumpets blowing. I didn't realize it could come other ways too,
as it came to Donald, gently, quietly, steadily.' I've never forgotten Magda
saying that.


"Donald wanted to give all the
money away. That was his first impulse. Then it was borne in on him as weeks
succeeded weeks that Magda wasn't coming back. The trail was old by then. It's
hard to believe, but it took him three years to find her. He used all the money
having her traced. Then a friend reported having glimpsed her in a London
crowd. He finally found her in the Isle of Man; she was working in an orphanage
there and had put all her money into charity.


"When he found her she thought
he had come for a divorce, on the grounds of desertion, said she was willing to
give it to him. Somehow he convinced her he loved her and brought her home. But
those years left their mark on Magda. Nobody was a more devoted husband than
Donald. Years went by, they had Michael, then my parents died and they came
here to look after me. A year after Donald died Finlo arrived out of the blue.
I'd never heard of him then. It seems he had been one of the trustees at the
orphanage, had never spoken a word of love to her but had fallen in love with
her at first sight. Michael was eight. I was just a youngster, but even so I
can remember how Magda bloomed. She sort of became beautiful overnight."


Judith's eyes were shining, she
turned to Craig. "Oh, how glad I am for Magda, knowing he'd loved her at
first sight, that someone had loved her with the suddenness of a sunburst, with
trumpets blowing…" She got up quickly, said chokily, "I must see
what Maggy's doing; she could be driving Beenie mad by now."


As she passed Craig he put out a
hand, caught her back. "You don't need to go in search of a hanky; I saw
you fumbling. Here, have mine."


His grip was too firm on her wrist
to allow her to free herself; anyway the tears were falling, so she took his
handkerchief, mopped at her eyes, sat down again.


She said, "Craig, I was too
sweeping. These things would leave their mark. I was too scornful about money.
I've never had very much and have been so happy in spite of it. At Parnka anyway. Since then the troubles haven't been
money, even though we've had precious little of it.''


He said curiously, "Judith, if
you don't want to answer this you needn't, but how is it you didn't have much?
It seems your father had this estate. Didn't it pay? I mean there's been money
in sheep for such a long time."


Judith hesitated. Lorette was on
her way to making a better impression, and men never liked women who decried
other women anyway. How could she say that between them, Lorette and her mother
had got Father to sell Parnka and then they had squandered so much? Maisie's
gambling debts alone—— She said quietly: "We sold
out and came to the city and things just didn't work out."


"I see.
I had wondered. Pity."


Silence flowed between them, but
this time not a hostile silence. Craig leaned forward, his hands between his
knees, bringing his head close to hers. Judith immediately leaned back in her
chair, away from that magnetic presence.


"So
Danny will be home soon," she said.


"Yes.
I'll be glad. I've missed my small shadow.''


Judith got up. When Craig Argyll
talked like that she found it better not to be alone with him


It was the next night that a
recording of Craig Argyll's readings was on the air from Dunedin. Magda said
anxiously: "And if the phone rings we just won't answer it. I'll switch
the extension off here; it can ring its head off in the hall."


Craig grinned, "My devoted
family! Anyone would think it was the Queen's Christmas Day speech! I'll answer
the phone. I'll take it in my study if it goes." He grinned. "It puts
such a strain on everyone if I stay in; they have to mutter formal appreciation
even if they're bored to tears.'5 He left the room as Magda switched
on.


They sat
in silence, a silence that continued as a tribute for a few moments after he
finished.


Judith said, "Wayne told me I
ought to hear Craig's sessions, but I didn't realize how good they were. That
was all too short."


Magda got up. "You might like
to listen to this on the tape recorder. I kept this. Craig was practising at
home before he went down to do this. They used him in one of the sessions for
launching the Corso Annual Appeal last April."


"What's
Corso, Magda? I don't think I know of it.'


"I daresay you've got
something under another name in Australia. It's the Council of Organizations
for Relief Services Overseas, to give it its full title. It's the parent body
of all the societies that work to help the refugees; they organize an appeal
right throughout the country, once a year for money, and once for good used
clothing. They give a lot of aid to under-privileged areas, supply educational
needs, milk powder and so on. Help with irrigation works and village
improvements in Asia. We need to, in this land of plenty with all our space and
produce." She switched on and Craig's voice came into the room again. It
was his closing words that riveted Judith's attention.


"… New Zealand is an
island. We have to guard constantly against being insular in our thinking,
against the complacency of thinking all this space belongs to us. It doesn't—in
a crowded world. Shakespeare, speaking of England, said:


"This fortress, built by
'Nature for herself, Against infection and the hand of
war — that could surely have been
said of New Zealand. We may feel now, in the era of nuclear weapons, that this
is no longer a surety, yet here, southernmost of all, set in the blue Pacific,
lulled into contentment and ease by a superabundance of this world's goods,
cared for from the cradle to the grave by an unsurpassed welfare state, with so
much land that some of it is still unexplored fully, we are in danger of being
unable to recognize, unwilling to recognize that seven-tenths of the population
of Asia goes to bed hungry every night.


"John Donne said it for us a
long time ago. 'No man is an island entire of itself.' He also said: 'Any man's death diminishes me
because I am involved in mankind.'


"This is your opportunity, one
that comes but once a year, to prove to yourself, to your country, that you do
care about that seven-tenths, that it is your
responsibility."


A pause, then Craig's voice again,
"If only all of you could see what I have seen. When I was in Malaya with
the armed forces I took the opportunity of having a trip to Hongkong. I'd heard
in a vague way of their refugee prob- lem without ever realizing the half of
it. Nothing except the actual sight could possibly have conveyed to me how
gigantic the whole thing is, how magnificently the British Government is coping
with it, what a reproach it is to the rest of the world that, in the midst of
plenty, people should starve."


As the
tape finished a voice from the doorway, Craig's, said, "What on earth have
you got that on for?"


Magda smiled mischievously.
"So Judith could hear more of your voice." Despite the mischief there
was a certain simplicity in Magda, a naivete as
inherent in her as in small Maggy.


In the moment that followed Lorette
said quickly, "So we could all hear your voice, Craig. Your poetry session
was charming.'


He pulled a face, sat down by
Finlo, said, "Let's get at the crossword.'


At supper time Judith found herself
next to him. She said, under cover of the talk, "I owe you another
apology."


He looked
swiftly at her. "Yes?"


"I called you insular. Meaning
you were narrow, prejudiced. Said it was because you
had always lived in the one place. Just because I studied in England and
hitchhiked all over the Continent I was… snooty. And you had known jungle
warfare and the East."


The tawny eyes were kind. He patted
her hand. "We were both a bit out in our estimates of each other, weren't
we? Both hasty. By the way, what's happened to Wayne?
Is he away? He hardly seemed away from the place the first few days after your
accident. But he hasn't rung up, or have I missed it?"


Judith hesitated, then the grey eyes lifted frankly to his. "No, he's not
rung up. I—I he was getting serious. I thought it better—kinder—to nip it in the
bud. He might get hurt otherwise.''


"You
mean your own feelings were not involved?"


"Exactly."


"Didn't
give time a chance, did you?"


"I
didn't need to. One knows."


His eyes were on hers, searching,
demanding. They might have been in a world of their own.


"That
sounds very sure, Judith."


"I am
sure. One does know."


"You
speak from experience?"


Judith dropped her eyes; she could
no longer hold that warm gaze, the gaze that could chill so quickly. Yes, she
knew, but the knowledge was so recent.


She nodded, looking at her lap, her
voice low. "Yes, I speak from experience."


Her heart was thudding against her side, she hoped she would not show it by uneven breaths. He
couldn't know, of course, he wouldn't guess, not in a thousand years. He had
been kind tonight and last night, understanding too… but he would never
dream that despite their bitter exchanges, her heart was his.


She did not see Lorette's curious
eyes watching her from across the room, or the calculating expression that came
into her face.


CHAPTER EIGHT


There was a letter with an
Australian postmark for Judith. She picked it up, anticipation of one of Joy's
letters stirring in her. She turned it over. It was not Joy's writing, but a
man's writing. Lennie's? That could mean Joy was ill.
She ripped it open, stared at the signature. Leo. Leo Malone!


His style was
easy, facile, just as he talked.


"Judy,
darling," he had written, "I must write this. Came
back to Sydney to find both you and Lorette gone. I'd not written all
the time I was in the East hoping Lorette might decide she
com Id live on a shoestring with me. I've tried before to persuade her she
would enjoy the existence, moving on from place to place whenever I sell a
picture and can raise the needful. But I came home to find you gone. No one to
tell me anything, no message left. But I ferreted out a few things. One that
Lorette is engaged to a wealthy young sheep farmer from New Zealand. The other that you are there now with the Vernon kids. Gosh,
things have moved!


"Couldn't
find anyone who knew where you were, then thought me
of the publisher you do the illustrating for. Ran him down and he parted with
the address. I want to know one thing and it's no earthly use asking Lorette.
Is she happy, Judy?


'Tell me the
truth, please. If she's really in love with this bloke I'll accept it. If she's
marrying where money is, I'll tell her what I think—in person. I've been
dabbling in photography. You can keep the wolf from the door more successfully
with that. I'm striking one or two good markets, especially in the States. And
I've been commissioned to do up the unusual areas in Z.N. Glow-worm caves,
thermal regions and so on. I'll be travelling about a bit. I can rely on you to
tell me the truth, I know. I would like an answer by return mail as after that
my address will be uncertain.


"Cheerio, Judy,


"Leo."


Judith felt her heart racing. This
was a complication. Leo was unreliable, but she had a soft spot for him. He
wouldn't be good husband material, a born wanderer. Most women would shy off
him, save the odd artist with similar tastes; certainly Lorette would never
consider him. Lorette was like a Persian kitten for luxury. Not that Lorette
pulled any wool over Leo's eyes; he'd always seen her faults, been
devastatingly candid to her on the subject, and loved her in spite of all.


She would have liked longer to
think it over, but time was short. If Leo didn't get a letter before leaving
Sydney he was quite capable of just turning up. She could imagine how the
household here would view Leo. She also knew Lorette wouldn't be able to resist
playing Leo off against Michael… possibly even against Craig. And she
herself would run the risk of being classed with Leo… an improvident artist.


As it was they respected her for
her housewifely virtues but were still faintly surprised she should possess
them. The Bohemian tradition dies hard. Roberta had come up against the same
thing years ago. But by now, with a well-kept farmhouse to her credit, plus
three bonny children, she was respected as well as liked.


Judith sat
down and, striving to be honest, wrote:


"I think Lorette has got what
she wants, Leo. She is working harder than she has ever done—did all the
ironing when I had an injured foot, has learned to ride. She would probably
learn to cook too if one Scots Beenie did not rule the kitchen with a jealous
hand. Michael Argyll is a very fine young man with high ideals and a winning
way with him. He's a racing driver. Ever see him in Australia? His mother and
stepfather are fine people, they gave Maggy and Dan a
great welcome and gave us a wing of the house to live in. You can't say better
than that.


"Craig
Argyll, Michael's cousin…"


Judith stopped there, regarded that
sentence beginning for a long time, then destroyed that page, and rewrote the
letter, leaving out all reference to Craig. She didn't know why. Unless she was
afraid to reveal unconsciously how she felt about Craig. She said instead:


"I think I would stay away,
Leo. I'll wish you all success in this new venture. Hope it will lead to giving
you such financial freedom that you will be abte to paint only those things you
want to paint.


"I was hoping to do just that
with my illustrations, but with coming over here, plus the care of the
children, I haven't much time. But some time I hope to return to my flat and
the skylight studio when all this is over.


"Warmest regards,


"Judy."


She sat looking down at the written
words. When all this is over. When there was no longer
any need for her at the House of the Shining Tide, Whare-O'Koraputai. She
slipped down to the mailbox at the end of the long drive, posted her letter,
hoisted the flag to indicate to tomorrow's mailman that there was mail to be
collected, came back, aware of restlessness, of an
urge for action. A good long walk could be the answer, but she doubted if her
foot would quite stand that yet. Across the paddock she saw the chestnut mare
tossing her mane, shaking her head into the wind. Craig had told her she could
ride as soon as her injuries were healed.


Judith was wearing thin cotton
jeans and a T-shirt because before lunch she had been helping Magda weed one of
the borders. She turned towards the stables.


Halley was caught and saddled with
a minimum of fuss. It was an odd name for a mare, Judith thought idly. She
swung herself into the saddle and the next moment as Halley shot across the
paddock she was in no doubt whatever as to why they called her that. Halley's comet'.


A good thing that the paddock was a
huge one because it was quite evident the mare wasn't going to let a little
thing like a fence stop her headlong flight, and it gave Judith time to gather
herself together, ready for the jump and the landing. Heavens, it was all of
six months since she was last astride, and then it hadn't been a demon on four
legs but a quiet hack from a Sydney riding school.


Judith was crouched low over the
saddle, knees well up, gripping. Her hair, freed from its ribbon by the onrush
of the wind, streamed out over her shoulders, tears were flung from her eyes
with the speed of their going. Halley was fresh all right, though she never
doubted her ability to slow her down in time. There were several paddocks
between her and the cliffs.


She leaned forward, her hand
caressingly on the mare's neck, knowing the glorious rapport between rider and
mount that belongs to those who ride from childhood.


She didn't make the mistake of
trying to check her too soon; then the mare's pace began to slacken, to respond
to that controlling hand on the reins. Judith lifted her gently at the last
fence, guided her down the long track that led to the beach and by the time
they reached the firm, hard sand left by the ebbing tide, Halley was down to a
walk.


Judith took her into the waves,
rejoicing in the sun, hot between her shoulder blades, in the surf ruffling
snowily at the golden sand, the tang of the sea-breezes straight from
Antartica. Suddenly she became conscious of echoing hoof- beats… Odd,
that. Halley's would be muffled by the sea.


She turned her head. Craig was
coming, on Romany, a magnificent chestnut, a dog at his heels. Even the dog was
tawny-coated. Her heartbeats quickened. Only, she told herself, because he
might scold that she hadn't sought more definite permission to ride today.


She reigned in, head erect, waist
slim, the T-shirt clinging to the contours of her body.


He came up with her, smiled, shook his head over her. "You scared merry hell out of
me. If only I'd known you could ride like that I wouldn't have got such a
fright. I saw you coming over the fence of the paddock the wethers are in. I
know Halley so well I thought you'd never pull her up. Didn't dream you'd start
on that one. My mare was two paddocks away, so I'd no hope of stopping you. I'd
gone on foot to rescue a lamb that had fallen a few feet down and I rose up
over the cliff-top to see you coming hell for leather towards me. I thought
Halley would maintain that pace till she got to the edge and would stop
suddenly. I could imagine you sailing over… then I realized you had her
under control. We could use you mustering, Judith."


She let out a sigh of relief,
said, "I thought you were coming to pitch into me."


"That was the original
intention, but I saw it wasn't as foolhardy as it seemed, that you must have
learned to ride as soon as you could walk."


"Just about. Though I'll admit she scared me for about
sixty seconds. One moment I was wondering idly why she was called Halley, the
next I knew, but I was two paddocks distant. But it did something for me just
the same. You couldn't have any tensions or inhibitions left after a ride like
that, could you?"


Her grey
eyes were sparkling, her brown cheeks coral, the smooth, shoulder-length hair
blowing back from her ears.


Craig's
mare had moved so close to Halley that Craig's breeched knee was warm against
hers.


"What
tensions did you have, Judy? What inhibitions are bedevilling you?"


His glance
was keen, searching. Her eyes fell swiftly before the look in his.


"Oh,
I put it a bit strongly, I only meant I needed to blow
the cobwebs away. Too much inactivity of late."


His look
still probed; she could not hold it. She dashed back the straight locks from
her forehead; her eyes glinted mischievously. "Race you to the Queen,
Craig!" She dug her heels in and they were off, racing neck and neck in
the shallow water, flying towards a quaint rock, once part
of the reef of rocks that stretched out an arm from the cliffs at the far end
of the bay. Seen from this angle it looked extremely like a bust of Queen
Victoria. Craig outpaced her by a neck.


"Poor
Lorette," he said; "no wonder she suffers from an inferiority complex.
You do all things so well."


Judith found herself with nothing to
say. It wasn't always an asset to do things well… men didn't always
appreciate efficiency… maybe being too feminine and fluttery had done
something. Craig rather liked teaching Lorette to ride, she was sure. It made
him feel protective and masculine, no doubt. Must be nice to
be lifted into the saddle, swung down… to contact for a moment the virile,
intensely masculine strength and warmth that was Craig Argyll.


Young Danny came home with a superabundance of energy that scared the
life out of Judith.


"I'm sure he oughtn't to be dashing madly round like this,"
she said to Craig helplessly, catching Dan standing on his head.


Craig laughed. "Do him no harm
at all, Judith. You know one of the things that made the medical profession
realize what benefits could be obtained by getting patients out of bed the day
after their ops was the fact that of all patients, children recovered the most
speedily. And nothing is more uproarious than a children's ward. If young Dan
tires himself out he'll flop. But you can't hold him back."


"No, I suppose not. I worry
so, much more than Magda Vernon ever did. But then parenthood was thrust on me
so quickly. I looked after the children a lot, certainly, but oh dear, I have such a lot to learn. I never know whether I'm
being too firm or too soft."


Craig looked at her sideways.
"Quite a refreshing change to find the self-sufficient Miss Kneale—spelled
with a K—at a loss!"


Judith turned on him. "Must
you always jeer? What do you know of me? Of my needs? Of my doubts?"


"I know nothing. I asked you
that day at the shore what tensions, what inhibitions. You brushed me off, What are your needs, Judith?"


The grey eyes lifted to his tawny
ones and for once didn't flinch away.


"The things every woman craves
in her heart… a home of my own, somewhere to belong."


"You mean something more
personal than that, don't you? You mean someone to belong to to?"


"I meant
what I said," she said stubbornly.


"In spite of what you said to me once?"


"What
was that?"


"When we were talking about Wayne."


She wrinkled
her brow, trying to remember.


Craig
prompted her, "You spoke of knowing."


"Knowing
what?" I don't get what you mean."


"All right, I'll cross the i's and dot the't's, Judy. You spoke of knowing you were
in love. You said you spoke from experience."


A tide of burning color swept up
from Judith's throat to her golden-tanned cheeks; she turned abruptly from his
interested gaze.


"Sometimes, Craig
Argyll," she told him over her shoulder, "you are unbearingly
inquisitive. Leave my affairs alone," and left him.


After that Judith thought the
intangible something that lay between Craig and Lorette quickened its tempo. At
times she felt, looking at the seemingly unsuspecting Michael, that she walked
on the edge of a volcano.


She watched the interchange of
glances, the occasional times when their hands brushed in passing, saw
Lorette's growing confidence with him, marked the very determined effort her
stepsister was making to identify herself with life as it was lived at
Koraputai.


Even
Magda said reluctantly, "Well, since your accident, Judith, Lorette has
tried to pull her weight."


There was one thing, it really did
improve Lorette. She had less time on her hands to brood, to plot mischief.


One day
Craig was handing mail out after lunch, flicking the letters across the
depleted table as he sorted them.


"That's an important-looking
one, Judith. I had to sign for it."


She turned it over curiously.
"Oh, it's from the children's solicitors in Sydney." For some reason
they all paused and watched her read it, then remembered their manners and bent
to their own mail. Except Lorette.


Judith said, "Oh, this is
wonderful—now I needn't worry about their higher education. Listen. Long before
the Hungarian revolt an old uncle of Magda's had gone to live in England. They
had lost touch. When they were fleeing the frontier, their father got injured.
He made Magda, for the children's sake, take them on, get
them across the frontier. As soon as she got them to comparative safety, she
left them with kindly people and scribbled this man's name down, telling the
woman that if the authorities could get the children to England—in the event of
neither Magda nor Janos winning through—the Hungarian Embassy in London would
probably be able to trace this uncle for them.


"But she got through, with
Janos, but he suffered a lot from exposure, was never really robust again.
Magda tried to trace her uncle after she got to Australia, but it was no use.
This letter makes me realize he had changed his name. The enquiries she set
afoot long ago finally caught up with him. He tried to get into touch with her,
only to learn she too had gone. He was near his own end, so he made his will in
Maggy's and Dan's favor. This will take care of their future." There were
tears in Judith's eyes and in Magda's Not in Lorette's.


Lorette
took the opportunity of saying to Craig later, "Didn't I tell you she'd
not have taken on those two children if there had been nothing in it for
her?"


Craig,
his voice surprised, said, "Wasn't it a complete surprise to her? A bolt out of the blue?"


"So
she said," said Lorette. "If you knew Judith as I know her you'd
realize she always comes out on the credit side. I could lay a tenner she had
an inkling of this.''


The rest of the family were invited out to dinner at a big estate at
Ngapara. Maggy fingered the letter. "How do you say it, Cousin Magda? Nigapara?"


Magda laughed. No, pet. Nuh-pa-ra. You know the little girl at school you cal
Ny-o—and Jennifer's sister you call Ny-ree? Well, they are spelt N-g-a-i-o and
N-g-a-i-r-e. The G is almost silent. To be quite correct you should practise
saying 'sing again', running the last two letters of the first word with the
first letter of the second word."


Maggy's arms came round Magda's
neck. "I do love the way you take time to explain things."


Magda hugged her. "There,
pet." She looked at Judith. 'This is from the Sinclairs. You haven't met
them yet, but I talk a lot to Nan Sinclair over the phone, and she knows all about
you and has included you and Dan and Maggy in the invitation."


Judith shook her head. "It's
sweet of her, but it isn't a bit necessary. It's really to meet Michael's
finacee, isn't it? Besides, it would be far too late for the children; it's
about thirty miles or so. I'll just stay home."


Magda thought that very sensible,
but was only sorry she could not take Judith to meet them.


She said the night before,
"Judith, you won't be lonely, will you? I mean you're used to Sydney.
You'll be all alone in the house save for the children. Beenie is going off
tomorrow to visit her sister who is in Dunedin Hospital, and I've persuaded her
to stay the night."


Judith laughed. "I'm not
only used to Sydney but also to the bush!"


"She won't be alone,"
said Craig. "I'm not going, Magda. I rang Nan this afternoon when you were
out and told her."


"Why
aren't you going?'


"I've got some bookwork. Some
tax papers I simply must attend to—horrible things to boot."


Finlo looked up. "Tax papers… at this time of year? Surely not, Craig."


Craig grinned. "Oh, don't be
alarmed. Authors can get by with one return a year, theirs is comparatively
simple. Farmers' returns are not, and it seems there's a bit of con- fusion
over what I put in earlier. I want to go over it myself before turning it in to
the accountant."


Magda said, "Oh well, it works
out all right. Judith can give you your evening meal and you can spend the rest
of the time in your study."


Small Maggy was entranced when
told. "Can we have him here? In our own place?
Please, please, please?"


Judith thought how small a thing to
so please a child and reflected that children were naturally hospitable. Maggy
whirled away for some reason, all flying skirts and hair, and returned to say,
"I asked Craig what he'd like for dinner. I thought it would be nice to
give him his favorite food."


Judith laughed down at the small
eager face. "Well, short of caviare and champagne we'll try to please him.
What's he want, pet?"


Maggy assumed an expression of
extreme responsibility, ticking off the items on her fingers.


"He wants soup… it's a
funny name, muggitilawny, I think—do you know it? Oh, mulligitawny. Fillets of
sole with Dutch sauce, pork cutlets with apple sauce and trim' mings, lemon chiffon pie and whipped cream, ice-cream, cheese
and biscuits—it's blue-vein cheese—olives and pickled walnuts."


Judith burst out laughing. 'The poor man! Isn't it going to be a come-down when he sits
down to Irish stew and dumplings!"


Maggy looked horror-stricken.
"Judy, you don't mean you can't cook those things? I thought you could
cook everything. He wants them." Her lip trembled.


Judith hesitated. She'd have to
tell Maggy Craig was only joking. She looked at the imploring eyes, dark like
brambleberries, knew all the hero-worship with which
she regarded Craig, and said quickly, "Yes, of course, Maggy. It was only
that I wondered where we'd get the pork cutlets. We haven't killed a pig for so
long. I'll go into Oamaru and get some. I think the store have got jars of
olives and walnuts."


The tears brimmed back. Maggy's one
dimple flashed out. "And he wants dinner by candle-light and a lace
cloth,'1 she added.


He came in at six, freshly tubbed,
with cool-looking light fawn sports trousers on, a creamy silt shirt with open
neck, a tan spotted silk cravat knotted loosely about his lean brown throat.
His hair, standing up in the short quiff that was reminiscent of a boyish
cowlick, was damp at the ends. He looked lean, sinewy, fit. Judith felt a
warmth of physical attraction that rose in her like a tide and was instantly
subdued.


He came in to drawn blinds; the
candelabrum that Judith had borrowed from one of the main rooms was lit in the
centre of the table. The lace cloth was on the round oak top, and the candles
were flanked on either side by low bowls of mignonette with one pink shot-silk
rose in each centre.


He stopped short and looked across
at Judith. She wore a simple grey frock in a heavy silk; it was the exact color
of her eyes and the material had the sheen of a moth's wings. Around her slim
waist was swathed her gipsy-bright sash, with the fringed ends, looking, since
a trip to the cleaners, none the worse for its damaging adventure. She wore a
red Chinese amber necklace that was twisted about her throat and fell to her
waist, and earrings to match.


She met his eyes across the festive
table. "Maggy made me dress up too," she said rather defensively.


"I'm honored," he said,
the tawny eyes serious. Then they crinkled into laughter. "She took me
seriously? Gosh, I'm afraid I've let you in for something!"


His eyes roved over the table,
noted the rows of silver, the sparkling crystal, his lips twitched.


"Don't tell me," he
begged. "Not the lot? Not the whole rigmarole I filled that child up
with?"


Judith nodded, her eyes dancing.
"Yes, Mr. Argyll. The lot… the muggitilawny soup, the fillets of sole
with


Dutch sauce, pork cutlets,
apple sauce, trimmings, lemon chiffon pie, ice-cream, biscuits, coffee,
blue-vein cheese, olives and pickled walnuts."


He groaned.
"And Magda sent down a huge basket of hot date scones to the
lime-spreaders at three and I did more than justice to them! I was
ravenous."


Judith said
darkly, "You'll do more than justice to this— or else! I only hope it is
your favorite dinner. It serves you right for stringing that child on—to say
nothing of involving me in vast preparations. Maggy could never have been
convinced you didn't mean it. Thank goodness you forgot to mention a wine list.
You can make do with tomato juice."


He said hollowly, "I
can't stand olives. The rest is fine.''


His hostess
said firmly, "You'll have to adore them tonight. Shush… here she
is."


Judith had
bought Maggy a new frock in town when she got the cutlets. It was white, with
red spots, and a deep red hem. Her hair was tied back with a red ribbon; it was
sleek and shining and black and the tresses curled slightly at the ends on her
shoulders.


Danny
followed her, looking unnaturally clean, in crisp blue drill shorts, white
shirt, navy bow tie, his fair hair wetted firmly down.


It was a
delicious meal. "This is excellent," said Craig, of the soup.
"Beenie has no patience with what she calls foreign messes, curries and
such like, but I developed a great liking for them in the East."


"Yes, I
love exciting and different dishes. I used to go a lot to Soho when I was an
art student. And fortunately the children, being Hungarian, are used to
highly-spiced dishes."


She leaned
towards him at a later stage, her eyes demure. "Do have another olive,
Craig?"


He said
hastily, "No thank you… I've really done extremely well." He
shot her a reproachful glance and said, "So you were an art student in
London?"


Judith
almost decided to tell him of her illness there, interrupting her study for
months, the unbearable loneliness, her great joy when
her father arrived unexpectedly, but decided against it. It was over and done
with.


"I
thought you were well trained. Roberta was showing me some of your
illustrations in the books her youngsters have. Haven't Maggy and Dan got
any?"


"We left them packaged up in
Sydney. At Joy and Lennie's."


"And you do quite well with
it? I mean it's well paid enough to keep you?"


"Yes. Free-lancing is chancy,
of course, just as it is in the literary world, till you get established—like
Finlo—but I taught at a girls' school. Never full'time.
I left myself enough time—in daylight—to keep on building up a
connection."


"M'm."
Craig Argyll sounded impressed. "I'd always thought of artists living a
very precarious kind of life, a bit improvident and so on, but you seem to have
tackled it the sensible way. Had you given up the teaching
recently?"


"Yes; when Lorette came over
here I realized I could manage on my illustrative work."


"Could you? But wouldn't you
then have the whole rent to pay?"


. Judith hesitated. She hated to say Lorette had only
ever done enough work to keep herself in clothes.


So she said instead, "Oh,
well, it so happened I landed a new contract that made for security and hoped
to be able at last to get spare time for landscapes—seascapes really, my
favorite subjects." Her eyes went for a moment to the drawn blinds as if
beyond them she could see the shining tide.


Craig said to the children,
"Right, you may leave the table now, and run off and do your lessons. I'll
play with you later."


When they had closed the door he
said, "How about now? How are you managing for money? Are you going to be
able to draw on that legacy soon? I mean you don't get much time for drawing. I
know you keep up with some illustrative work, but the kids must involve you in
a fair bit of expense."


"Not as much as they would in
Sydney. It has been a great help having these quarters, and then you supply so
much."


He waved that aside. "Doesn't
by any means recompense you for all you do for Magda.
She has found things much easier. Finlo and I are quite relieved about that.
But are you using some of their great-uncle's money?"


"I'm trying not to. I don't
know what might be ahead of them. There's only myself between them and being
alone in the world. I'm leaving it entirely till they're teen-agers and know
what training they want. So I'm taking a part' time position teaching drawing
in Oamaru."


"You're what?"


"It was offered to Roberta.
There's a great shortage— she was implored to do it. She couldn't, of course,
with tiny children, but she knows how I'm situated and offered it to me. Only
two hours a morning, Monday to Thursday, and the pay is excellent." She
misinterpreted his look. "Oh, don't worry, I
shall still be able to help Magda a lot. These quarters are easily kept clean.
I shall still be able to cope with the ironing and help Beenie prepare dinner
in the afternoons. I'll be home by lunch time each day."


He said,
quite patiently for Craig Argyll, "I wasn't wondering if you would still
be able to help Magda, I was thinking it would wear you out. You couldn't keep
up a pace like that."


She
said, simply but firmly, "I have said I would do it. I must."


"You could use some of that
other money. That, with the child allowance from Australia, would be
enough."


She shook her
head.


He persisted.
"What would happen if you got married?"


"I'm not
thinking of it.''


"But if
you did?"


"You aren't thinking I'd dump
the children in an orphan* age, are you?"


"No, I'm not thinking that,
Judith Argyll Kneale. I'm thinking you are a very independent, stubborn small
girl. I would like to help, but I can see you're going to be difficult."
He smiled disarmingly. "I've always admired the workers of the world. Let
me make you an allowance for what you do in the house. After all, if you were
working here, you would have your keep and a wage."


"Thank you, but no. This is
already an awkward position for me. Bringing the children as I did, I felt a
cuckoo in the nest thrice over. You have insisted I stay till Lorette and
Michael are married. Very well, I accept that. But you can't force me to take
more help from you than quarters for the three of us. After all, the children
are my responsibilities, my dear responsibilities."


"Till Michael and Lorette are married? I
wonder!"


Judith
turned on him in a flash. "You wonder? You wonder what?"


"Well, is Michael as besotted as he once was?"


She stared. "I've not noticed any difference."


"Haven't
you? But then you have such strength of character, you would refuse to let
yourself hope."


"Hope.?"
Judith was completely bewildered. "Are you mad? Hope what?"


His look was meaning though, to her, unfathomable.


"Isn't it best to just admit
it? Wasn't Michael yours first? Didn't you take him to your flat?"


Judith burst out laughing. "Michael mine? Oh, Craig, I was never even interested.
He's so young. I met him at an exhibition. I was on duty that afternoon, and
showed him round. He wanted to buy a harbor study of mine, 'Red Sails'. It
already had a red sticker on it—sold. He asked if I had any others. So he came
to my studio, bought that whaling fleet one for his mother, The Wind and The
Spray'."


Craig said: "Is that yours?"


Judith went on, "And at my
studio he met Lorette. That's all."


Craig's hand caught hers.
"Then who did you mean when you said that one knows?"


This time Judith didn't flush
angrily. Her cheeks paled under their tan, leaving them a curious color. She
looked down and said with an unmistakable undertone of pain, "I asked you
not long ago, Craig, not to be so unbearingly inquisitive. It doesn't concern
you."


He was not offended. "You
meant… loving and losing, did you?"


Her head was bent, her voice
muffled. "Yes. Loving and losing."


She thought: Yes, in the present
tense, still loving, still losing, if only you knew, Craig Argyll. But you musn't ever.


His hand was still on hers, his
thumb moved over the back of it in a dumb, immensely comforting masculine
gesture.


"Never mind, Judy."


Maggy and Dan came back, virtuously
conscious of having done their lessons and with a puzzle book they had just
acquired.


"Judys no
good at them, Craig. She says they remain complete mysteries to her.
Please, Craig?"


Judith said, "1'll do the
dishes. No, I don't want help. Believe me I'd much rather tackle the dishes
than those wretched puzzles."


It was all very domesticated. She
came back to find all three on their knees, her heart contracting with pity for
the loss of their own father as she saw Dan, his hands clasped between his
chubby knees, eyes shining with delight, regarding Craig as a master magician
as he showed them elementary conjuring tricks.


There was a storytime, then the
children were tucked in and Judith returned to the living room, removing her
apron. Craig was relaxed on the big couch, legs stretched out, drawing luxuriously on his pipe.


She said crisply, "Well, thank
you for sparing the children so much time, Craig. I'll not hold you up any
longer."


He looked at her over the bowl of
his pipe. "What are you holding me up from, for goodness sake?"


"Those
tax papers."


"Oh, those!'
Nothing but a good excuse to have a quiet night at home.
I sent them off this morning. I hate those beastly dinners. I get bored to
tears. Come and sit down; there's a really sticky cryptic crossword in this
morning's paper. I've got all the reference books lined up."


Judith's eyes were wary. She didn't
want to get back to the intimate atmosphere they had shared earlier. It was
dangerous. She couldn't trust her feelings not to betray her. Especially with the enigmatic Craig Argyll in such a softened mood.


She said, "Sorry, but I've
some study to do. I'd like to do it tonight. Perhaps you could just read. Or do
the crossword by yourself."


She took down some books, a
ball-point, a pad, crossed to the table, became, to
all appearances, deeply absorbed.


It was half an hour later that
Craig crossed to the table, put a hand on her shoulder, leaned down and looked
at her work.


"I thought you weren't drawing," he said. "What on
earth's that?"


Judith
looked up. "Hungarian." She added,
"Although Magda wanted them to become real little Australians she also
thought it just as well to keep their own language up a little. Said that some
day it might happen that Hungary was free again and they might want to visit
it. So I've been doing a bit of study on it, but it's
hard going."


"I
should think it was. Though I admire you for it. I
thought you were preparing something for these classes you mean to take."
His hand closed the books. "Just you come over here and be
matey, hospitable."


Mesmerized,
bemused, Judith sat down beside him on the couch. It was impossible to be
distant with a person when you were doing a crossword with them.


They were
halfway through when the telephone rang. There was an extension to this wing in
the hall Judith went to take it.


She was surprised when a male
voice said, "Judith?"


It wasn't
Wayne, it wasn't Muir Buchanan, and she couldn't think of anyone else in New
Zealand who'd call her Judith. Then she realized who it was.


She spoke
very softly into the phone. "Leo! Where are you?"


"In
Oamaru. Is Lorette there?"


"No,
she's out with the family at a dinner party. A long way out, you'd better not
ring her there. And you'd better not ring her here later, either."


"Why
not?"


"It will just disturb
her."


'[Good. I'd like to do just
that!"


"It wouldn't be fair,
Leo. Please don't."


"I
won't if you convince me she's happy. Your letter didn't."


"That's wishful thinking,
Leo."


"I know, Judy, but it's
clear conviction too."


A pause. He continued, "I'll come out and see you if
you're alone."


"I'm
not. The owner is in. He'll think it strange, and I can't rely on you not to
say something outrageous, to involve Lorette."


"Well, I must see you if not
her. Slip out and meet me… what's the time now? Well, say in an hour's
time. Ten o'clock. I've already looked it up on the map. Meet me at the front
steps at ten. Now don't tell me it hasn't any front
steps, Judy darling. They all have them. See you then."


Her low
protests were cut off by the sound of the replaced receiver.


Judith found her hands were
shaking. She went into the kitchen to get a drink of water, carried in a bowl
of fruit and a couple of fruit knives, offered Craig
an apple.


He took it, waved away the knife,
bit into the hard Sturmer, almost the last of the old season's crop. No more
till the Irish Peach ripened late in January.


"Who
was on the phone? One of the neighbors? Who did they
want? One of the rest of the family?"


"N-no. It was for me."


"The
Buchanans?" He looked at her face. "Oh dear, you've got your
haughty, mind'yourown'business look on again. I suppose it was Wayne. Is he
trying again?"


"It was not then! It—it was
someone from Oamaru. He's from Sydney and thought he'd just ring up to say
hullo."


"Then why so
cagey? Anyway, we're hospitable people, as you should know. Why didn't
you ask him to come out some day?"


"I… didn't particularly
want to. Thanks all the same. And he won't be staying long."


Craig laid his pipe down, surveyed
her sharply. "What is it? You're all out of breath, perturbed." The
keen tawny eyes took in her color, her evasiveness, something that was foreign
to her.


"Oh," he said softly,
"I get it… this loving and losing business. But if he wants to come——— "


She said desperately, "It's
not. I—just don't want him here, that's all. Leo's not the type for here. The
kind you'd dislike intensely; he's a roving artist, quite unstable."


His eyes were shrewd. "Poor Judy. And you—despite that gipsy streak, despite
the artistic temperament, also inherited a love of order, of method. Generation of house' wives warring with bohemian tendencies.
You want security, a home, yet you had to go and fall in love with someone like
that."


"I did not fall in love with———— "


"Methinks the lady doth
protest too much. Let it go at that. Poor Leo. What's
his other name?"


"Malone." No use holding out.


"How odd for the poor beggar
to fall in love with another artist only to find her hedged about with
conventions and ordinary dreams. Oh well…"


Judith felt helpless to protest.
The more she did the more he would be convinced she was in love with Leo
Malone. Anyway, perhaps it was better so. That way he'd never guess where the
loving and the losing lay.


She would make supper early, say
she was tired, as well she might be, cooking a dinner like that, and slip out
and tell Leo Malone to stay away, try to convince him Lorette's future was
assured.


It wasn't particularly easy, but
she managed it. Craig seemed loth to move. It was amusing, if you could only
see the funny side of it. Since he imagined her affections were engaged
elsewhere, he felt safer with her.


It was ten past ten when Craig went
to his quarters, persuaded by her manufactured yawns that she was desperately
sleepy. Judith put her slippers on, wrapped herself in a dark coat and slipped
along to the front door. If she went out of the outside door of the wing she
would have to walk on gravel right past Craig's windows. She sped through the
house on noiseless feet.


Then she was down the steps and Leo
rose up from a seat under a ngaio tree. Suddenly
Judith wished that she had let Leo come openly; she hated this. But if he
became a visitor here he would sense all was not well with Lorette and he would
resent Michael's ring on her finger and he just wouldn't be able to resist
trying to break it up.


She said, whispering, "Come
under the trees, Leo. The windows of the house look this way."


Leo said: "What's the matter
with this place—are they very prim and proper? If so how on earth does Lorette
get on?"


She sighed. "Leo, it isn't
fair to try to disturb things. You've got to accept this engagement. I'm going
to appeal to your better nature and ask you not to come. They would think it
strange. You wouldn't be able to conceal that you care for Lorette… in your
way… and she is trying to fit into their way of life."


They argued for about a quarter of
an hour, then Leo reluctantly promised he wouldn't try
to get in touch with Lorette. "All right—I can see by the size of this
place Michael Argyll has too much to offer against what I'd have. I'm off
tomorrow anyway. I'm doing the glowworm caves at Te Anau, then going on through
the rain forests to Mil' ford Sound."


"And after that?"


"I do the other lakes,
Wakatipu, Wanaka, Hawea, Tekapo, Pukaki. I visit Mount
Cook, go over to the West Coast, do the glaciers then go to the North Island.
It's a good line, and while I'm at these places with all expenses paid, to do
photos for American magazines, I can do a bit of painting on the side. Suits me."


Judith said warmly: "I'm glad,
Leo. If you can make a steady living on those lines and still be free to
satisfy your creative urges, you'll find happiness in your work. I do wish you
well and—- "


Leo laid his hand over her mouth.
"Don't say it, You're going to add '—and some day
you'll meet someone else.' I don't want anyone else, I want Lorette. I know
what she is… a little baggage, but for me, anyway, she's got some' thing
nobody else has. Guess I'll have to pack it up, though —short of abducting her.
Do the decent thing. The travel would suit Lorette if only I had real money
behind me. But it will always be on a shoestring. Bye-bye,
Judy darling." He seized her, kissed her, laughed, and was gone
soft-footed on the grass verge.


Judith automatically wiped her
mouth, came quietly up the steps. Well, that had been the best way. She felt
Leo would keep, his promise now and stay away. And she
wouldn't tell Lorette.


She came into the hall, closed the
door without a sound, went past the dining room and drawing room doors,
breathed more easily, then… the hall sprang suddenly from darkness into
light and Craig Argyll stood outside his study door, his hand still on the
switch, his tawny eyes sparkling fire, his brows drawn down.


"We aren't used to our
guests having clandestine appointments at Koraputai, Judith Kneale. Come into
the study."


Judith knew she looked the
picture of guilt. Her hand had flown to her breast,
her breath was coming in jerks, her heart racing. She followed him in.


He leaned against his desk, arms
folded. "Mind explaining why you had to meet this fellow like this? I suppose it is this Leo Malone. I told you he
was free to come here to see you, so why the underhand behaviour? Tell me, is
he a married man?''


Her
head jerked up. "No, he's not. I wouldn't dream of—-
"


"Spare me the heroics. Was it Leo Malone?"


"Yes."


"Why did you meet him like that?"


Judith
moistened her lips. She'd have to explain. "I—I —well, I didn't want him
to come when—when Lorette was here."


She would have said more, but the
look of contempt that flashed into his eyes halted her. "You didn't want
him meeting Lorette? Good lord, then it's true. You are jealous of Lorette.
Huh! The more I see of women the more I like men. Say no more—it's too
despicable for words. But tell me one thing—is he coming again?"


"No.
He's going away."


"Good. But if he should
return he must come here openly. Do you hear me, Judith?"


She was white to the lips.
"Yes, I hear. I—will you let me " She looked
as if she was about to essay explanations, then made a gesture of waving
explanations away. How could she explain without making him think worse of
Lorette? Leo was so cheap, so unpredictable. Craig would think this was the
crowd they ran about with. Better just leave it. What if he did think her
jealous, petty? If Leo came here no good would come of it. She turned on her
heel to go. His voice halted her at the door. "I would just like to point
out that the rest of the family may be in any moment, and your lipstick is
smudged. Do repair it—I'd not like any of them to think I was responsible.


Judith turned, measured glance
for glance, said between her teeth, "Oh, shut up!" and went to her
room.


CHAPTER NINE


She was glad of the work at the High School. It filled
her time to overflowing, left no room to brood. The salary helped; money just
melted over the children's needs and Lorette was spending heavily and making
things unpleasant because Judith refused to give her any more.


The bright spot in the present was
her friendship with the Buchanans. That same bond puzzled Craig, she knew. He
set great store by the Buchanans' opinions. He obviously thought their
discrimination had slipped.


Judith felt he watched all her
doings with a cynical air back to his old amusement at the help she gave Magda,
as if it were all done for a purpose. She stayed out of his way as much as
possible, though since they knew she loved the sheep work it was hard to avoid
being drawn into things.


Finlo said one night after an early
dinner, "Come on, Judith, be a sport. We've got fifteen hundred to put
through the dip tonight, lambs too, and the quicker we do it the better—it
costs ten shillings a minute to run, you know, and if you can be an extra hand
everyone will be pleased.'5 He took her consent for granted and left
the room.


Only Craig was there. Judith said
to him, "He said everyone—you won't be pleased, I know, the less you have
of my company the better you like it—but I don't care to be churlish to
Finlo."


He looked at her fleetingly.
"Oh, we can do with your help, but if you don't feel like it, you needn't.
After all, you don't have to try to impress me, do you?"


Judith said shortly, "I'll do
it to please Finlo, not you.'5 That just
about summed up their relationship these days. She looked up at him. "You
despise us—Lorette and me— think we're on the make.
You sit in judgment all the time. Yet I don't much like the game you're playing
yourself. You affect to despise Lorette, to think Michael hasn't made a good
choice, yet you yourself are not above————————————— " She faltered.


"Come
on, Judith Kneale. Not above what?'


"Not above enjoying her
company yourself. Flirting with her. I sometimes
wonder how much real loyalty you have towards Mike.''


The tawny eyes narrowed. "Oh,
so you've noticed, have you? My sudden soft spot for
Lorette?"


"Yes, and don't put it down to
jealousy. I couldn't care less—as far as you're concerned—but I do
wonder."


He laughed suddenly. It was
maddening. It probably meant he did think she was jealous.


He said softly, "I'm aware
that if Lorette thought she had the slightest chance with me she'd turn young
Michael down flat. It boosts my ego a little—since you're so scathing about
me—or it would boost it if I didn't know it was merely my rolling acres."


Before Judith could flash an answer
back Finlo returned. "Come on, what's holding you up, my boy? Usually
you're rounding everyone up. Feminine company distracting
you?"


"Distracting
is the word. Let's go."


Down at the yards the air was
filled with the dust disturbed by the tiny hoofs, noisy with distressed
bleating, men shouting, waving their arms, wielding sticks, directing dogs.


Despite the exchange of words
Judith knew the incomparable happiness of working with sheep again, guiding
them through the narrow race to bound through the spray, using her crook,
leaning over and upending ana righting the ones who got jammed, being sharp
with those men who bustled the rams through too fast so that their horns got
jammed against the sides.


It was a pity it all had to be done
so hastily, that there was so much confusion and noise to bewilder the sheep. Yet how much better it was than the old method with sheep plunging
madly in reeking dip. It was almost incredible that this could possibly
be as effective as they said, the fleeting instant
that the animals were flashing through the spray, but Michael had explained
that it had a special ingredient in it that clung to the wool and worked
through the fleece right to the skin.


The lambs took longer, were more
skittish and less easily controlled. Then at last it was done and the men were
putting big bowls of clean water in front of the panting dogs so that none of
them were tempted by the pools of dip that had inevitably gathered on the dry
ground. In the earlier days of these new dips, dogs had been lost by drinking
the dip.


They stood there, hands on hips,
exhausted themselves. Suddenly Judith spun round. A movement had caught her
eye. One of the dogs, a huntaway, had lain down in a pool.


She was nearest—scooped him up in
one swift movement, put him on her hip, made for the stream under the willows,
went in, boots and all, flung him in, thoroughly soused the dog, rubbing at his
rough coat.


Craig was with her in a moment;
took Glen from her, carried on with the operation. He looked up at her as she
stood there, feet in the water, dirty, tousled, splashed, great circles of dust
round her eyes.


"Thanks, Judith,
that needed prompt action. Good girl!"


She turned
away; she could not bear his thanks.


Local activity became thick and
fast; all the end:of-year functions began being
advertised, practised for. In New Zealand, as in Australia, the school year
ended the week before Christmas in the hottest weather, and the summer holidays
went on till the end of January. Maggy and Dan had done remarkably well despite
the disruption in their lives.


Life at Koraputai had been good
for them. Sometimes Judith knew a pang at the thought of taking them back to a
Sydney flat. It wasn't good for children to be unsettled again. Maggy was
becoming less serious, more childlike. Craig, despite his personal harshness
with herself, was good for the children, making them
laugh at their small setbacks, not above spanking them when spanking was good
for them. Dan had grown as tough as his small friend, Pekka Nuku.


Sometimes she was tempted to make
preliminary enquiries into the renting of one of the empty cottages in the
township; then she could stay on, always provided she could carry on her
illustrative work at such a distance from home. Other times she knew full well
that when Lorette was married she—Judith—would do better away from Argyll
Hills. No, not from Argyll Hills, not from the House of the Shining Tide, but
from its master! Better for her peace of mind. She
told them at the High School that she would not be able to come back the next
year. Better to take herself in hand, prepare now to
go back to Australia in the new year.


She loved
the teaching work and the contacts it brought her. She became involved in
various activities in connection with it and was asked to give a lecture at the
Art Society.


She did,
but was disconcerted, as she rose to begin it, to encounter the gaze of Craig
Argyll in a back seat.


At supper
time, after a certain spell spent answering questions from interested amateurs,
Craig behaved exactly as if they were the best of friends. He would, of course,
for the good name of Koraputai.


She bit
into a sandwich, turned to him, said in a low voice, "Did you have to
come?"


"No. Curiosity brought
me."


"Was it satisfied?"


"Yes. Now I've seen how
you behave in public."


"I trust I acquitted
myself to your approval."


"You did. You quite
impressed me."


I'm much
more concerned with impressing people who know something about art."


"I
daresay, but you have many facets, Judith Kneale. You're a constant
enigma."


"And a thorn in your side. But never mind, if Lorette
and Michael stick to their plans of getting married after harvest I can fade
out of the lives of the Koraputai people."


"If
they do."


Judith
looked up quickly, but could not read his expression. He added: "Did you
know Magda has persuaded Fran to come home for the tail-end of the holidays,
anyway?"


Judith
blinked. Was he changing the subject? It seemed entirely irrelevant.


"No.
I know she has taken this position on Lake Wanaka on one of the remote
sheep-stations there for experience, till she takes on her first teaching
appointment. She's got an appointment, hasn't she?"


"Yes, if she decides to
take it."


"If?" But Magda told me she was bound to teach for
four years. That although she and Finlo wanted to pay for her, Fran chose to
apply for a studentship when she left high school, and that meant she's in
honor bound to teach for four years to repay the allowance she got for
that."


'Oh, they do make certain
allowances. For illness—or marriage."


"You
mean she's thinking of getting married?"


"No… she's not. But—————- " He broke off.
Judith didn't know if it was because
someone had come up with hot savouries or because he thought he had said too
much. It puzzled her.


Magda entered joyously into the
preparations for Christmas. "How lovely to have little
children in the house once more. Beenie will love it. Isn't it funny,
though she's such a martinetshe's always been good with children; never
worries, if they are rolling out dough or pinching raisins and nuts, will
always stop to show Maggy how to cook. But I'll be glad when school closes down
for you. High school shuts a week earlier than the other, doesn't it? It's far
too much for you. I do wish you'd let Craig make you an allowance for all you
do for me. The estate could stand it."


Judith put a hand on her arm.
"Please, Magda. You musn't. I couldn't. The
children are my legal wards and my responsibility. It helps so being here.
After Lorette is married I may take one of those pioneer cottages. It would be
fun to do one up."


"Judith darling, I've got an
idea about that. It isn't doing Hawthorn House any good standing empty. How
about you moving in as a sort of caretaker? I wouldn't
let anyone have it, but you're different, you've got a sure feeling for old
furniture. The way you've improved that very ordinary stuff in your wing proves
that. Would you? I've always hopes Craig would get married and Finlo and I
would move down, but he's turning into a confirmed bachelor, I'm afraid."


Craig's voice, hatefully amused,
cut in. "I'm not, you know, Magda. I've been seriously considering
marriage lately. Time I settled down. Judith can stay here in the wing as long
as she likes, but Hawthorne House stays empty till you and Finlo live there."


Judith turned on him. "Seeing
you were eavesdropping, I can only hope you'd been at it long enough to hear me
tell Magda that as soon as Lorette is married I'm moving out.


If I don't go back to Australia I'll get a cottage in
the township. You might have given me the chance of turning down Magda's very
generous offer."


"I was only making the
situation clear," said Craig. Magda said, "But, Craig, you've got me
all agog. Are you
telling me you've fallen in love? Who… do you————
"


Craig patted her cheek. "My darling, romantic cousin. No, I don't intend to
tell you. I merely thought I'd better check your generous impulses in plenty of
time lest you rashly
commit yourself—- "


Judith broke in, "Lest she
commit herself to giving permanent houseroom to one of these Australians on the
make! Is that it?"


Magda,
aghast, looked from one to the other. "Have— have
you two quarrelled? Oh dear, you mustn't, now—- "


Craig shook his head. "No,
we've not quarrelled, it's just that we understand each other so very
well."


Magda stamped her foot. "Don't
speak in that tone, Craig. It isn't like you. What has come over you lately?
And especially I won't have you talking to Judith like that. You have had a
tiff. I know you have."


Craig said, "Magda, my pet, we
aren't on intimate enough terms to have tiffs. But I will not have anyone
imposing on you."


Magda's eyes were flashing.
"Craig, might I remind you that I'm years older than you, that I have far
more discrimination—I will not have you insinuating that Judith is tarred with
the same brush as Lorette. You must be mad. Men are completely and utterly mad.
Bar Finlo. How can you not realize Judith's utter worth! I've thought once or
twice lately that—oh, never mind, but what is happening around here, anyway? I
don't like the way you and Lorette are going on; Mike will notice it yet. You
couldn't stand her to
start with, but now——— "


Judith could bear no more. She
slipped out of the door, put a hand to her mouth, ran
for the stables. Only one horse would satisfy her mood. She took Halley.


Not to the beach this time where
you could go no further than the sands, but over the downs into the hills
inland, along tracks where the Land-Rover went at lambing time. Racing, racing,
racing, outracing thoughts and lost hopes and dreams
that were born only to die.


Thank
goodness the children weren't coming home on the school bus but were going to
Buchanan with Ishbel for tea. So she need not stay near Craig. The wind tore at
Judith's hair, blew the scalding tears from her eyes, some- how eased her
feelings.


But tonight
she just couldn't go back to face dinner with the family. She slowed Halley
down, walked her through the shallows of the Wainakarua where it crossed the
track. She came up into a cutting, sweet with native bush, fragrant with mosses
and wild flowers, and suddenly realized she must be on Buchanan land. She must
get away from here.


She was too
late. She heard another rider coming up from the river bed. Muir. He dug his
heels into his horse's flanks, came up with her.


"How
delightful, Judy. Roberta will be so pleased. She said a bit earlier she wished
she'd asked you to come to tea too.


Judith ketp
her face averted a little. "Oh, I'm scarcely dressed for visiting, Muir. I
just went out for a good long ride and landed here by accident."


His horse
moved in close to Halley. "But now you're here you must stay. Roberta will
be cross if I let you go."


Judith gave
in. It would be more pleasant than the meal at Koraputai with Magda aware she
and Craig were at loggerheads.


She noticed
Roberta cast a shrewd look at her, but she simply said, "Go on up to my
room after you've been to the bathroom and tidy up. Plenty of
make-up on my dressing table."


One thing
Judith would have to do, ring Magda to say where she was. Unforgivable to have
them worry about her. Not that Craig would care!


She was glad
it was Finlo who answered. His soft Manx voice reminded Judith of her father's.


"Why
yes, my dear, by all means stay. You don't get out half enough."


At the meal
Judith felt her tensions slipping from her. This^ would overlay the sting of
the other scene. The children's amusingly inconsequent
chatter, their romping with Muir, his white teeth flashing in his dark face,
Roberta still with her little-girl air, depsite years of wifehood and
motherhood.


Dugald woke
up and was brought into the living room too.


"He keeps very regular hours
as a rule," said Roberta. "But you can't expect him to with all this
going on. Besides, it's lovely to be able to cuddle your baby when the day's
work is over and you've time. I was much stricter with Ishbel, poor lamb; I'm
afraid one experiments on the first baby."


Judith held up her arms, took the
baby, sitting him up on her lap so he could watch the children, his downy
flaxen head soft under her chin.


The door opened and Craig stood
there, hat in hand, regarding her. Judith dropped her eyes. Craig greeted the
others. Maggy looked up from the floor where she was sliding plastic bricks on
to the framework of a bungalow and saw him.


She went
like a whirlwind across the carpet and flung herself on him. He stooped,
laughing, and picked her up. "Now, that really is a welcome, Maggy."


"Come on, Craig," she
said. "Help me with this, will you? I can't get the window in."


He chuckled, got down on the floor
beside Muir. Roberta watched indulgently, Judith reservedly. She was glad of
the baby in her arms, she could give her attention to
him. He wriggled, wanting to get down.


Roberta said, "He'll wear you
out; he wants to play chasing. It's his latest craze. Wait till I double up the
legs of his sleeping suit, they're a bit long."


He really was the most enchanting
baby, his eyes unexpectedly dark like his father's. It was most exhausting.
Suddenly he was tired, rubbing his button of a nose, twisting his forelock
round and round. Judith sat down with him and he fell asleep instantly. How
perfect it was to have a baby in your arms, warm, drowsy, smelling of baby
powder and milk, his head fitting perfectly into die crook of your arm.


When the two girls had tucked him
down they returned to the living room where Muir was now seated at the piano
playing Three Blind Mice with much energy while the children acted the parts.
They went on to a game whereby they were ducks, pigs, chickens, all with the
loudest possible accompaniment of quackings, cacklings, gruntings. Dan was
astride Craig's back and Craig was buck-jumping.


Roberta's greeny-brown eyes were
full of happiness- "Isn't Craig wonderful with children? It's so good for
him- Muir says he was such a lonely little boy."


Judith
turned her head away. She didn't want to think of Craig that way. She preferred
not to soften towards him, to think of him as a harsh, unjust man.


Muir caught Roberta's eye.
"You'll be wanting something a wee bit more quiet
now, with Dugald down?" His fingers swept the keys in a Norwegian lullaby.
Judith knew surprise; his touch was knowing,
sympathetic, light. At first sight she'd put him down as a dour Scot, a horny-
handed son of the soil, but there was another side to him, seemingly.


"Now,
my favorite,'1 said Muir, and began to sing softly,


"Tour hands lie open in the long
fresh grass, The finger points loo through lie rosy
blooms: Tour eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms 'T eath billowing
clouds that scatter and amass…”


As he finished, he swung round on
the stool and Judith saw his eyes meet Roberta's briefly, saw the answering
gleam in hers and a faint pink stain her cheeks.


Judith knew an envy that shook her
with its fierceness. That song meant something to the Buchanans, something
shared, remembered, cherished. It reminded her of some poem read years ago, she
didn't know where, couldn't even remember more than a couple of lines but those
had ended:


"And in one loo, one glance from me to you We find in crowded rooms a world of two."


It was something after years of
marriage for a husband to evoke a blush on his wife's cheek by a single look.
Not that these two were the bovine type who could justly earn the Dunmow Flitch
for a year without a quarrel… Judith could imagine them quarrelling
fiercely, with gusto, then crumpling into laughter and kissing to make up. But
this was the sort of marriage Judith herself craved, envied. If only———-


Craig said suddenly, "Magda
sent me across to bring you home, Judith. She was scared you'd ride Halley back
in the dark, and get thrown. It will save Muir taking the kids home
anyway."


There was a howl of rage from
Ishbel. "But Daddy promised us we could go for the ride. You did, didn't
you, Daddy? What did you want to come for, Craig, spoiling our fun!"


"That's very rude, lassie,"
rebuked her father. "Craig has added to your fun. I'll be taking you as I
promised and Craig can take Judy."


Ishbel's face was like sun after
rain. "Oh, goody!" She turned to Craig with
an air of aploogy. "You see, it puts off going to bed a bit longer."


They all laughed, but Judith said
doubtfully. "It means leaving Halley here for the night and coming to get
her tomorrow."


Craig said cheerfully, "Oh,
I'll ride over and lead her back."


Judith wished the children had been
coming, she wanted no'tête-à-têtes with Craig.


They had a light supper, then Muir got out his car and piled them in.


"No need for you and Craig to
go yet, Judith," Roberta said. "This is the hour I enjoy most—when
the shouting and the tumult dies."


Judith said hastily, "Oh, we
must follow, Rob, I've to get them to bed."


Craig rose.
"I'll ring Magda, she'll do it."


"No. I don't like having Magda
imposed upon." Her eyes reminded Craig of his own words.


He grinned—for Roberta's benefit,
she supposed— said, "You can't go unless I take you, so the decision isn't
yours. Besides, you know darned well Magda loves doing it.


Judith sat down on the couch and he
came to sit beside her. She hated him for it, for the fact that his nearness
disturbed her, for the knowledge he was just playing a part, that this was only
to give the Buchanans the impression that all was harmony in the House of the
Shining Tide. She excused herself on the score of picking up toys and returned
to a distant chair.


Judith found later, as Muir handed
her into Craig's car, that her heart was racing. Would he now refer to their
quarrel? She looked back at the Buchanans waving in the light cast by their
door lanterm. She sighed.


"Day
too much for you, Judith?" asked Craig, his tone giving away nothing.


"No… I just thought how happy
the Buchanans looked, what a lovely home that is, though Roberta has to work
hard. But they are so suited."


"Well, they had their moments.
Theirs was a stormy courtship. At one time Roberta was lost in a storm, the
limestone crag above the Pool of the Darkness crashed down on her in a
thunderstorm and no one knew where she was. Muir was almost out of his mind. We
were all out looking. Actually she was lucky not to be lamed for life, but she
came through all right and she and Muir sorted things out.''


Judith said nothing. They rode
through the scented night in silence and came to Koraputai land. Beyond the sea
glimmered beneath the Milky Way, they could see the edge of the cliffs, and
southward the Moeraki light. They dipped down by Hawthorn House, rose again to
the home- stead gleaming whitely among its trees, Craig swung into one of the
garages, switched off the engine.


Judith put out a hand to her door.
Craig's hand came on her wrist in a restraining grip. His fingers were cool,
hard. His touch, despite her resistance, set her pulses racing. She hoped he
would not guess.


He said:
"I owe you an apology, it seems."


Judith moistened her lips.
"That sounds very formal and stilted, rehearsed. No feeling behind it. As if you had been ordered to do it. I suppose Magda said
you must apologize, and because you value her peace of mind—though certainly
not mine—you decided to comply."


His grip tightened till it hurt.
"I do value Magda's peace of mind, and there's precious little she gets
these days, worrying over Mike's future. Yes, she did say I must apologize.
Want to know how she put it?"


Judith sighed. "Not really.
But if you want to tell me you certainly will! I never knew anyone more
determined- get his own way. I expect it's because you were an only child. The only pebble on the beach."


"Only children are not always
spoiled, let me tell you," Something struck him. "… Well, I'll be
damned. You're an only child yourself. A beautiful example of feminine logic!
Sure I'll tell you how Magda put it. She said, 'Craig, for heaven's sake stop
this senseless quarrelling… kiss and be friends.' Magda is the only person
I obey implicitly."


He bent his head. Judith was taken
completely by surprise. She had, if anything, expected a sneering "Imagine
us kissing!" She shrank right into her corner, turned her head from him.
His fingers were merciless, one arm enclosing her like steel. He forced her
chin up, brought his mouth hard down on hers.


Judith drew in a deep breath,
shrinking away in a withdrawal of the spirit that left her lips unresponsive,
icy cold, firmly closed.


He lifted his head, relaxed his
grip; even in the faint light from the dashboard Judith could see his eyes were
amused. She hated him for it.


She said in a tone that knew fierce
control and contempt: "A kiss like that is an
insult and a punishment, Craig Argyll!"


She unlatched the door swiftly, got
out, found her shaking knees would bear her, went into the house, relieved to
find it all in darkness. She had a wry smile for that. Magda had no doubt thought
it wise to leave them together to make up. She had an idea Magda would not ask
her anything about it tomorrow. Magda had known so much trouble herself that
she would never pry.


CHAPTER TEN


It was next morning Judith received word from her
publishing firm that they would like her as soon as possible to visit the areas
Diana Jeremy had described in her book that they were sending by the same
postal clearance, airmail.


Judith studied it closely, felt
dismayed. They were willing to pay all expenses, but all the places were in the
North Island. She rang up Roberta, Roberta who understood the illustrating
world so well.


"So have you any books on
those areas? Could I gain an idea from them? Or should I get
pamphlets from the Tourist Department?''


Roberta said: "But if they are
paying exes why not go? It's very difficult to get the right atmosphere if you
don't absorb it at first hand. Especially the thermal
area."


"It's the children. I'm not a
free agent. I couldn't afford to take them even if they could stand the pace.
Children need a quiet holiday. I was just going to stay here with them, take
them swimming, riding, fishing."


"1 know
the very thing. It will give you a spell too—you were looking very shadowy
under the eyes last night. Oh, come in, Craig. Come for the mare? I'm just
speaking to Judith. Sorry, Judith, Craig's just come in. Here's Muir, too, he
can entertain him. Listen, we've got a crib at Lake Hawea in Central up against
the mountains. The most heavenly place, air like wine, dry, tussocky hills overlooking
a lake of Mediterranean blue… yet a very safe place, Muir has it all fenced
off. We're going up for a couple of weeks at the end of January.


"I'll take the children with
us. Henk is going to run our place. Ishbel and Robert would be thrilled. No,
no, of course it wouldn't be too much. Muir will be there with nothing to do
all day but look after them. Be quiet, Muir, of course you will. You go right
ahead and make your bookings, Judy. Better do it through an agency; they can
arrange buses and planes. I'll ask Muir the best way, he always knows. Now, no
second thoughts, it's as good as settled. Must go, these men
will want morning tea."


Craig came
home fairly soon, turned Halley loose and came into the house in search of
Judith. She was preparing lunch for herself and Lorette in the east wing.


She turned
from making a vegetable pie, her pastry scissors in her hand, one of Beenie's
old-fashioned cooking aprons, with an enormous bib and waistband, tied over her
blue checked gingham frock.


She was on the
defensive. "I suppose that now you think I'm imposing on the Buchanans. I
haven't consented to do just what Roberta suggests… I'm going to ring her
up again to talk it over at length. Muir may not be nearly so
pleased as she is."


"I
don't think you're imposing on the Buchanans. Muir thinks its
a jolly good idea; seems to imagine families behave better when other families
visit them. It's all settled."


It was
rarely that Judith's eyes flashed anger. They did now.


"It's
all settled!" she echoed. "Believe me, it is not. Of all the
overbearing men I've ever met! I haven't even decided to go myself yet. I may
turn the contract down. And it's nothing to do with you."


"It is,
as a matter of fact. Finlo and I have been trying to get Magda away for a
holiday. We've almost finished the hay-making, and the shearing will be done
before Christmas. This is one year when we could get away in January,
especially since Michael isn't racing in the Grand Prix at Auckland this year.
He could manage with Nuku and an extra man. I'd like a holiday myself. I missed
out last year."


Judith
stared. "You? You mean,
you want to come too?"


"Yes. Any
objections?"


"Plenty. It would be heaven, just for a week or two, to
be away from your criticisms, your strictures, your——
"


"My kisses?"
suggested Craig, the hateful glint of amusement in the tawny eyes.


"You're
using the plural," said Judith shortly. "One kiss it was, and if I
have any say in the matter, it's never likely to be repeated. About this trip. I would so much rather be by myself.''


"Would you? Apart from my
presence, wouldn't you love to have Magda and Finlo with you? Magda so needs a holiday but won't do anything about it unless we
make her. If I said you didn't like travelling on your own she would
jump at it."


It was a trump card. Magda did need
a break. And Judith loved her. She said slowly, "For Magda's sake I might.
I'd love to have Finlo too. Finlo, as a writer, could help me immensely. This
illustrating means a lot to me financially."


Craig said suavely, "And
financial considerations mean a lot to you, don't they?"


Judith looked at him levelly.
"They've had to. Only people with as much money as you can afford to
ignore them."


"You could be right there.
Then for the sake of Finlo's and Magda's company you would put up with
mine?"


"Must you come? Wouldn't you
like to take a holiday later… deerstalking or something? More in your
line, I should imagine."


"Thanks, but I'd rather choose
my own holidays. And I happen to want to go north this year. Okay, I'll get
cracking on the phone to the airways."


"Airways?
Won't we go over from Lyttleton, taking the car? I thought if you insist on
coming you'd want the car. I can't see you in a bus at the mercy of other
folk's time- tables."


"How right you are. But that
can be taken care of. Air saves time in the initial stages. There's a new
tourist com' pany that calls at Hilderthorpe, Oamaru's airfield. We can fly to
Wellington and take a rental car from there—go up the west coast of the North
Island, do Waitomo Limestone Caves—you've got to see the glow-worms, haven't
you? On to Rotorua and up through the Waikato to Auckland and on up to the Bay
of Islands."


"Won't
that cost the earth?"


"Not as a party. It would be
expensive for one. In any case it's very costly taking your own car over the
Strait— as you know. Right, that's fixed."


Judith sighed. "You have yet
to talk Magda and Finlo into it—and accommodation may not be easy at this late
hour—for four people—the height of the holiday season."


"Not quite the peak period.
Christmas till fourteenth of January is that. Any other
objections, Judith Kneale?"


"What
about Michael and Lorette? Won't they want to come?"


"Mike
knows we can't both be away together, and anyway, in theory, he's having his
holiday in May—his honey moon. I believe that's the latest date. That should
satisfy Lorette too."


Judith's
voice was sharp. "In theory? I'll ask you to
explain that, Craig Argyll."


"Do I need to? Don't you know?"


"I'm not fond of oblique
statements. I like the i's dotted, the't's
crossed."


"Well then, this has been an
interesting experiment. Lorette and Michael have lived together here at close
quarters. Mike has seen her in the bright light of day, not just by moonlight.
He's realized that she likes to be waited on hand and foot, that she is spoiled,
petulant, always wanting to take him away from his work. She is not the
slightest bit interested in his car-racing, has no respect for a car's engine
or duco and—he is no longer sure of her affections."


"What do
you mean… no longer sure?"


"He has has
observed that she is a little interested in me."


"That
sounds rather—er—rather—- "


"Rather
what? Conceited?"


"No. To use an old-fashioned word—caddish."


"But then I am a cad. Didn't
you know? Only a cad would make passes at his young cousin's fiancee!"


Judith made an impatient gesture.
"How you behave doesn't concern me. It may be a good thing if Michael and
Lorette are free from outside influence for a bit."


"Perhaps.
Beenie will be a sufficient chaperone and will see to it that Lorette does
something in the house."


"She has
done more lately."


"For a
time—but she's tiring. Hadn't you noticed?"


Judith looked at him frankly.
"You're a complete mystery. You're scathing about Lorette… yet you
seem to find her———" She hesitated.


"I seem to find her irrestible?
Is that what you were going to say?"


"Well,
it will do."


"You think it odd that I
should disapprove of her yet fall for her charms? I admit she is charming.
Well, men have always been fools. I suppose the suitors of Mary Queen of Scots,
Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, Josephine, didn't always admire them, respect them,
but they had something."


His eyes were dancing. Judith felt
anger surging up in her. A desire to wound him with contempt came to the
surface. With an almost visible effort she subdued it. She always came off
second best in these encounters.


She said lightly. "Oh, I do
understand. Perhaps we women are just as foolish in the types we fall for. The charming rogues, the unstable rovers who have kissed the
Blarney Stone." She turned back to her pie, snipped the pastry into
scallops, forked the edges, lifted it to put in the
oven.


"Poor Judith," said Craig
Argyll. "The unstable rover! Leo Malone. And you
not the type to count the world well lost for love."


"How do
you know what type I am?'"


"Aren't you cold, calculating?
Don't you weigh up the advantages and disadvantages of every move?"


"No, I don't. If I have shown
you that side it's your own fault. Do you mind going? Lorette will be back soon
and I have no wish to explain why we're quarrelling."


He laughed, went towards the door.
He turned, had the nerve to say, "I've never had vegetable pie. It looks
quite delicious."


"Well, you're certainly not
having any of this. When we eat here in the east wing by ourselves it's
heavenly. I hate breaking bread with people I detest.'


Lorette was furious when the
holiday was mentioned. Judith hadn't said a word. Craig brought it up at
dinner.


"What
about me?" she asked indignantly.


Michael said evenly, "You'll
be here with me, darling. Won't that be heaven?"


Judith darted a glance at him. His
tone, though controlled, had held for a moment a slight hint of Craig's dryness
and disbelief.


Magda said lightly: "And cousin Christine and her two boys are coming to stay. It
makes a seaside holiday for them. Don't let her work too hard, Lorette."


Lorette's glance at Magda was
suspicious. Evidently she suspected her of irony too.


Magda added, "I rang her today
as soon as Craig proposed this and she leapt at the chance. Her husband will
come up at weekends. They live in Dunedin."


Lorette
said, "But I'd love to see the North Island and I adore hotels, why "


Craig said, "Well, Mike and I
can't be away at the same time, and of course you couldn't bear to be away from
him… could you? No doubt Mike is planning a North Island honeymoon. Are
you, Mike?"


Mike grinned. "Honeymoons are
supposed to be secret, old boy. Lorette and I will discuss it ourselves.
Besides, there's plenty of time ahead in the years to come for us to visit the
North. I suppose Judith will be going to Sydney after the wedding, so she
should see all she can now."


Magda said, "Oh, no. I've
promised Maggy and Danny they'll be here for the winter. They want to see
snow."


Judith felt a rare irritation with
Magda. These managing Argylls!


Craig said,
"But—— "


Magda cut him off. "Yes, I
know we only get snow in North Otago about once in a decade, but I've promised
the children I'll take them to visit Mrs. Grant in Queenstown when the skiing
season is in full swing."


Judith had an idea that Craig
hadn't been going to comment on the rarity of snow at Koraputai. That
"but" had been the forerunner of an objection to her extending their
stay.


Judith looked
up to see Craig regarding her closely.


Christmas, as it always does, made
a truce in hostilities. Magda was in her element.


Lorette said one day, kicking
contemptuously at the litter on the drawing room floor, "Can't think what
you bother with all this for, making paper chains, sticking glue and glitter on
pine cones and cedar cones and what-have-you, when you can buy all the stuff at
Woolworths."


Magda said gaily, brushing Epsom
salts off her blouse as she finished dusting cottonwool with it, for imitation
snow, "Oh, the fun is in the doing. And have you seen


Judith's Christmas murals?
Nothing bought could compare with those."


She looked at Judith, trim and neat
in a blue and white striped overall over a plain blue skirt.


Judith had her mural pinned up on
the wall and was busy on it, a second paintbrush held between her teeth. The
scene was a Maori whare with tree-fern posts. Inside was the Holy Babe, the
Virgin Mary, Joseph, and clustered round the crib the brown handsome faces of
Maori children in their flax puipuis (skirts), their exquisitely woven 'topares
(headbands), offering gifts, a Maori kit-bag, a headband, a huia feather
denoting the chief's rank… Craig came in, saw it, stopped.


Judith, as if unaware of his
nearness and scrutiny, painted on. Intricate work it was, getting the delicate
sheen on the breast of the tui. Not many animals were in the whare because New
Zealand had so few native animals, but all the birds were there, and outside
the whare was a framework where strips of shark were stretched drying. An
unusual touch was the Maori wahine with her little brown baby, with Mary
bending over it, baby-worship in her eyes.


He said to Judith, "When have
you been doing this? You couldn't have done all that today?"


She took the brush from her mouth.
"No, I've been on it some time. Ruahine was sitting for me; you'll notice
the baby is Hoani… the others are in it too."


She put the brush back in her
mouth, indicating that conversation was ended.


Craig said softly, "It's most
endearing. You should go far with your New Zealand illustrations. You have
caught the atmosphere, you have the feeling for
it."


Judith knew warmth at her heart, a traitorous warmth that she resented. This was the real
Craig, the one she wished she might have known from the first. As he might have
been had she not met him in unfortunate circumstances, colored by Lorette's schemings.


The days were incredibly busy,
never long enough for all they had to do. Judith worked steadily throughout the
New Year holidays making Dan and Maggy new summer clothes. They had grown
sturdy and tall and she couldn't afford to buy them all, much as she disliked
dressmaking. Yet despite that, her artistic ability showed in her choice of
materials and
Beenie and Magda both helped her with the finishing off.


Then she had to finish her other
illustrative work so that all was up to date before leaving. The Buchanans left
for Hawea the day before they did, so Judith had one whole day to herself to
pack her own things.


That night she was unintentionally
a listener-in to a scene between Craig and Lorette. She was caught on the porch
off the dining room, where she had gone to collect up her drawing materials and
put them away. Lorette and Craig had come into the dining room while she was
busy. She was just about to walk through the dining room when Craig's voice
arrested her.


"Never mind, Beautiful
One," he said. "What about getting Mike to take you shopping in
Dunedin one day while we're away?" He laughed. "I know enough about
women to realize it's not much fun if it's only window- shopping, so here's a
cheque. Get yourself some glad rags."


Judith stood very still. If she moved
there was a chance they would see her through the curtains. And there was no
way out other than through that room.


Lorette flung her arms about
Craig's neck, raised herself up on tip-toe, kissed him
full on the lips.


"You are a dear… since
you melted. Thanks, Craig darling."


He cocked an eyebrow at her.
"You aren't exactly the soul of discretion, are you? Lovely if Mike walked
in."


Lorette
shrugged. "Oh, Mike! Would he really care?"


Craig's voice was suave.
"Well, you should know, my dear."


Lorette turned to him swiftly, put
a hand carressingly on his lapel. "Craig, can't we———"


He turned from her abruptly, fished
out his pipe, his jerk of the head indicating someone was approaching.


Michael. "Isn't Judith here?
Mother thought she might be. She wanted to ask did she need the loan of any
cases."


Craig said, "If I know Judith,
she will have everything packed already. I don't know where she is. Perhaps
she's back in her own wing. I'll get her. You take Lorette for a walk in the
gloaming, Mike."


Without enthusiasm Lorette strolled
off with Michael. When Judith heard Craig closing the door into the east wing,
she emerged with her armful, went upstairs in search of Magda.


It hurt.
It hurt worse than his personal antagonism, this underhand dealing with Lorette.
She could understand Craig's distrust of herself, naturally thinking she and
Lorette were tarred with the same brush, and circumstances had gone against her
after that. And no doubt Lorette had made mischief, probably even told lies.
Judith remembered the night she and Craig had been deep in conversation and she
had looked up to encounter Lorette's calculating gaze.


However,
two weeks without Lorette's presence was ahead of her and to be with Magda and
Finlo was sheer happiness. To be also with Craig was… well, what was it?
Sheer torture, she supposed.


CHAPTER ELEVEN


It wasn't, though. The flight was perfect, the plane
rising like a silver bird into a lapis lazuli sky, Finlo and Magda across the
aisle, Craig outwardly courteous, and to fellow travellers they would appear
the best of friends.


He insisted on her having the
window-seat, pointed out items of interest on the coastline; they got a glimpse
of Aorangi, living up to its name by piercing the clouds, the tent-ridge peak
standing up above them, glittering white and majestic against the blue.


As it was a tourist plane it did
not keep to the regular, quick route, but went westward to soar above the Alps,
the narrow West Coast with innumerable bush-clad bays fretting the outline of
the Tasman Sea.


They rose and fell over mighty
gorges deep in the mountains, carved out by rushing rivers, saw the
frail-seeming span of the bridges, the railway viaducts; there was the
checker-board of the plains, the fruit orchards of Nelson, the incredible
detail of the fretwork of the Marlborough Sounds, then across the narrow Cook
Strait to Wellington, that busy, lovely city on its many hills.


These people did everything the
grand way, thought Judith, and knew a wistful moment for the fun of the way she
had travelled over the Continent on a shoestring, taking nothing for granted.


Then they were away up the West
Coast of the North Island, high enough above the shore to have it look like a
relief map as they came through Paekakariki (Pycock for short, said Craig) where
the island sanctuary of Kapiti floated like a jewel in a blue-green sea laced
with foam.


The lordly way of travel was
modified, Judith found, of necessity, for many of the pubs were very ordinary.
None of it seemed to worry Craig or the Argylls, she had to admit. They stopped
where they willed, taking the good with the bad, something Judith loved.


She made it plain to Craig that it
was for her first and foremost a business trip.


"I've just got to absorb the
atmosphere. I do it better without you always round."


She saw the corner of his mouth
quiver. "Find me distracting, do you?"


"Not in the usual sense.
Antagonism can be just as distracting."


"Just as distracting as what?"


"As… as attraction."


"And of course with your
emotions so strictly under control, my dear, you wouldn't allow yourself to be
attracted, would you?"


Judith allowed herself to look
amused. She met thrust with thrust these days. "I wouldn't say that. But
where attraction just doesn't exist, it can't be distracting. And I made it
plain I would have preferred to come alone."


"Would
you have seen as much?"


"No.
Transport has been easier. I concede that much."


'The icy Miss
Kneale! Honestly, I sometimes find it in me to be sorry for the unstable
Mr. Malone. Women have always followed their men—but not you. I must see if
you'll melt in the hot spring areas, or lose your severity in the enchantment
of the glow-worm caves!"


It was hard to remain aloof in the
spell-binding beauty of Waitomo. Hard to be aloof when you needed a hand in the
semi-darkness of the limestone caves, completely impossible not to be rapturous
over the cathedral-like formations, the fairy quality of the irridescent lights
in their millions, starring the vaults above like miniature heavens encrusted
with green-blue stars, gliding through on underground streams in tiny boats.


Finlo made sure Judith got her
impressions down right away, always insisting they were not too late back at
their hotels, so she had time to make a few lightning sketches, while he
himself, as a trained observer, made notes that might help her later.


"No wonder Diana Jeremy writes
as she does—with that pixie quality. This is wonderland," Judith said to
him.


Rotorua was another wonderland, not
only in its eerie, awe-inspiring thermal regions—steam issuing from bush- clad
valleys, the terrible, evil-looking mud pools, sinister and revolting, the
beautifully blue bubbling waters of the Champagne Pool, the suddenness of the
giant geysers, the feel of the hot, quaking ground coming up through the soles
of your sandals, the magic of hot and cold pools close together—but also in its
chain of beautiful lakes, strung like jewels among the green hills.


Judith had heard of the mighty
eruption that buried the village of Te Wairoa in 1886 and destroyed the
wonderful Pink and White Terraces. Diana Jeremy included much history in her
children's stories and this was part of the illustrative work. So Judith,
accompanied by Craig, who simply disregarded her preference for solitude,
strolled amidst the excavations, marvelling that such peaceful serenity could
ever have been overlaid with such terror and fearfulness.


Auckland was a semi-tropical
city, with small extinct craters rising out of its tall buildings and bright
with flowers that reminded Judith so much of Sydney; the fig trees, the
jacarandas in all the glory of their purple bloom, bignonia, bougainvillea,
trumpet flowers, the citrus orchards, the vineyards and the hops, the
evil-ooking mangrove swamps.


Then they came up the lovely
gentle country of the east coast to the Bay of Islands where New Zealand's
history had begun as far as white civilization was concerned. Through sleepy
villages they came, by great headlands and vast pasturelands till at last they
reached Paihia to look across the island-studded bay to Russell, the first
capital.


Paihia had a dreaming peace all its own in the late afternoon light with the bright houses
close to the shore, the fishing boats pulled up at the jetty, boats with
the tackle and gear necessary for this paradise for the deep-sea fisherman.


Finlo had booked ahead here; he
knew it so well, had written one of his thrillers around the big-game fishing,
and they were at a long low boarding-house overlooking the Bay.


He said now, "Let's go up to
Waitangi, the Treaty House, right away. I like it best on a still, dreaming day
like this."


The Treaty House was in Georgian
colonial style, set in gracious gardens, and roofed with kauri shingles, lay
amidst emerald lawns. A totara and an English oak grew close together,
signifying the pact between Maori and pakeha. Pohutu'tawas leaned lovingly over
the old building, a mass of scarlet brush-like blooms.


The Union Jack flew at the great
masthead in lasting memory of the day in 1840 when New Zealand was made part of
the British Empire. Judith had absorbed all this from Diana Jeremy's book and
now she stood by the old ha-ha wall that had once divided the ornamental garden
from the vegetable garden, and looked out dreamily over the scene. Here had
been erected the great marquee in which some six hundred pa'tehas and Maoris
discussed the terms of the Treaty, later signing the pact whereby the Maori
peoples acknowledged their submission to Queen Victoria and Her Majesty
guaranteed to the Maoris their possessions and her protection and extended to
them the rights and privileges of British subjects.


Judith felt a lump in her throat,
visualizing the great canoes waiting out on the land-locked waters of the bay,
the interpreters, the chiefs signing with their mark, or their tattoo-markings.
How tragic that later war had broken out… but now the two races lived
harmoniously together, for the most part, and were each proud of their
heritage.


They spent five idyllic days there,
absorbing atmosphere, Judith sketching, taking notes, going for long drives,
going out after big-game fishing. The atmosphere of the place
lulled their animosity to unawareness, there were no false notes here, no
discordant personalities… no Lorette. Judith felt refreshed and
relaxed, she even forgot to keep a guard on her words, her emotions, she became
her true self, laughing, gay, carefree.


Magda, too, away from the
disharmony of Lorette's presence, the constant irritant of being thrown into
company so far from kindred, bloomed noticeably.


There came the day when Finlo
wanted to go out big game fishing once more, Magda with him. Judith said to
Craig when they were alone, "Craig, do you think Magda would mind if I
didn't go this time? I'd like a day off from that. I—I—oh, you'll think this is
hopelessly sentimental, but———"


His eyes were unexpectedly kind.
"But your sympathies are all on the side of the fish?"


"Yes, I know it's a grand
sport for those who like it, but it doesn't suit me. Just as I would rather go bird- watching than duck shooting."


"I feel the same. It is rather
a thrill—they're so strong— but they are so magnificent in their struggles I
have a strong desire to cheer when one gets away. Don't look so surprised,


Judith Kneale, as if I were nothing but brawn and
muscle— no feelings!"


Judith said nothing. He added,
"But Finlo loves it. Lets not say anything about
our real reasons. Leave it to me, I can think up a good excuse."


His tactics consisted of saying to
the Quaynes, "Mind if Judy and I have a day on our own tomorrow?
We—er—well, you know how it is. We thought we might do a spot of climbing.
There's a bluff a few miles away that looks interesting. We can take the car
part of the way."


Magda beamed on them. "Of
course you want to get off by yourselves sometimes. You can get packed lunches
here if you order them the night before."


Craig's tawny eyes held a twinkle
as they met Judith's. He had achieved exactly the effect he had hoped. She felt
dismayed, not because Craig was misleading Magda but because it involved
climbing.


Judith set her teeth. This day to
come was going to be something to remember, the only day she might ever spend
alone with Craig. She wouldn't let a little thing like giddiness spoil it.


Judith's heart sank as they came to
the bay. The cliffs were by no means sheer, but they looked a long way up and
there was only a very narrow track.


"Not much of a climb,"
said Craig, looking up, his hands shading his eyes from the sun, "but very
interesting and a wonderful view. You'll be interested in the birds. Might be a
few you haven't seen before."


He adjusted her knapsack, giving
her the lighter one, tied her shoelaces more firmly. He looked eager, boyish.
Judith had to resist an impulse to touch the crisp, tawny hair as he knelt at
her feet.


Seabirds scattered as they came.
The tide was out, the sand pewter-colored and shining wet, arrow-marked by the
countless little feet. The ocean stretched before them, a shimmering expanse.
The first part was easy enough, with hand-holds and a fairly well-defined
track. They came to a grassy ledge, sat down to rest, taking off their jackets.
The sun struck warmly through the light green silk of the shirt Judith wore
tucked into her darker green tartan slacks. She put her head on her folded
arms, closed her eyes.


This was heaven. Craig wasn't in a
critical mood, he was in holiday spirit; all the topics had been kindred, safe
ones. He had helped her over the rough bits, his hand strong and warm about
hers, or taking her arm, neither patronizing nor impatient.


Suddenly
Craig said, "Well, mate, if we're to gain the top before we have lunch
we'd better get cracking on the last lap.


The last lap.
The top. Judith looked up and shivered. Craig didn't
notice. True, the crags didn't overhang, but… it was an awfully long way
down. The tide was coming in, the kelp wreathed snakily, as with sinister
intent about the sharp pinnacles of rock. Perhaps it wouldn't matter if you
didn't look down. If you didn't.


"Right.
I'd better go first, Judy, in case there are any tricky bits. Put your feet
exactly where I put mine. I'll reach back for you. But it's really just like
steps all the way, nothing hazardous."


They were halfway up when Judith
knew she could go on no longer.


She said simply, "Craig, I'm
afraid. I want to look down and I know I musn't. I'm
more than afraid. I'm petrified."


He said instantly, stepping back to
her rock shelf, "It's all right, Judy. Do you hear? It's all right. I've
got you. I wouldn't let you fall, you know. Keep looking up, it isn't far.
You're over the worst in any case. Only higher."


He came behind her, his arm
outside, between her and the drop. Warmth from his hand flowed into her,
confidence too. Besides, she musn't risk his life as
well as her own by sheer blind panic.


He said, "Perhaps I didn't
tell you we don't come back this way. There's tussock land at the top, sloping
down to the road again, practically level."


He felt some of the tension go out
of her. They came to the loveliest sight of all… the green grass verge at
the top of the cliff. She had only to lift her knee over and the climb was
finished. His hands were on her elbows, his voice encouraging her. She reached
over, took a firm hold on some scrub, and suddenly she was over and Craig
beside her.


She stood up, well away from the edge, drew breath into her
fear-tightened lungs, turned and clung to him, burying her head against his
chest.


He held her comfortingly, his hand on the smooth brown hair in its
ponytail, stroking it. He felt her shudder violently.


"Good girl," he said. "You did well, admitted you were
afraid, then climbed on."


She tilted
her head back in amazement. "I thought you would be cross… once you
got me to the top."


He stared
at her, then laughed rather shortly. "Now I am
cross. You don't credit me with any decent feelings, do you? You think I'm
impatient with any display of weakness. Fear of heights is a very real thing.
I'd not have brought you up had I realized you might suffer from it. It can be
sheer torture, but I heard you telling the children once about the way you used
to scramble about the cliffs at Parnka and imagined you didn't know what fear
of heights was. But it's nothing to be ashamed of."


Judith
said, "Oh, I never knew what it was till I had polio… then I knew
what it was to have one's limbs refuse to obey one. It destroys your
confidence. And even now, on heights, I suddenly think they will let me
down."


"Polio?
You had polio? When? There's not a trace


"In my
late teens. In England.''


"When
you were in England? What foul luck. How long were you in hospital?"


"A year. But I was lucky, it didn't affect my chest. No
iron lung. It interrupted my studies, though. But after a while they saw to it
that I did some. One of the engineers at the hospital rigged me up a drawing
board I could manage flat on my back."


"You would be all
alone?"


"Oh,
Dad came over when—when I was on the seriously ill list, but I made him go back
as soon as I was off it. Maisie ——— Lorette's mother—wasn't keen on being
left alone for long."


She saw a
strange expression go over the ruddy face close to hers. "So that was why
your father went to England," he said. Judith was still too shaken to
start puzzling out what that might mean.


She said, "And I had a gem of
a landlady. She'd been a masseuse, and how she worked over me! The credit is
hers that I recovered completely."


He looked down on her. "Well, you
would never know. You must have put a big effort into, your recovery yourself.
Let's sit down. I guess your knees are shaking."


"A
little." It was sheltered here, with another gentle rise behind
them and a patch of thick feathery manuka. The sun-baked ground was warm to
their touch.


"Lie down on your back and
completely relax," ordered Craig.


Judith clasped her hands behind her
head, gazed up into the limitless blue sky. A lark was soaring and singing up
there, a mere speck, filling the air with throbbing sweetness. She closed her
eyes against the too-brilliant sun—even her limbs felt drowsy, her whole body
bathed in warmth; she slid over the edge of sleep, deeply, naturally.


When she woke her first thought was
that she must have slept for hours; there was a shadow between her and the sun.
No, not a shadow, Craig Argyll's face. Her heart gave
a lurch. He was smiling, his look was even tender. And it wasn't possible here,
just waking, to look away. Not even possible in that unguarded moment, fresh
from the sincerities of sleep, to hide her feelings.


Craig said, an eyebrow lifted,
"Well? You once called it an insult, a punishment… still feel the
same? No, of course you don't!"


His hand was on her shoulder,
ready, she was sure, to hold her if she struggled to sit up, but there was no
steel in it this time. And his lips, while no less conquering, were giving as
well as taking. He lifted his mouth from hers, smiled down into her eyes, said
with a twinkle, "Much nicer, huh?"


She couldn't
hold the look, turned sideways.


He said,
"All right. Forgive me for the other time.'


Judith sat
up. "Time we had our lunch, I'm starving.5'


He laughed. "All right,
Judith. What is it the Manx men say? Tra di Liooar.' Know what it means,
Judith?"


Her voice was a little uneven,
breathless. "Yes, I know what it means. It means time enough."


She bent over the sandwiches. "What would you like— cucumber, or ham and lettuce?"


"Both,
thanks. I'll put them together."


Time enough, her heart was
repeating, time enough for what? This was a new Craig, one she hadn't seen
before. The real Craig? Was this just a holiday mood,
or was Craig losing his suspicions? She didn't know, but what did it matter?
There were a lot of explanations ahead of them— his peculiar attitude to
Lorette, for instance—but why spoil today with probing?


"One more full day here,"
said Craig. "Magda would like to go across to Russell again. We didn't do
it justice that other day. She'd like to go through Bishop Pompallier's
house—the Roman Catholic Bishop. Then the next day we'll go back to Auckland,
put up at a motel—they have some new very posh ones—then fly back to Oamaru.
I'll have the car sent back to Wellington to the rental people."


Judith was quite content to have it
as he wanted it. She had all her sketches complete, ready to work on when they
returned.


They took the early boat across to
Russell, now a dreamy little backwater, once, in the very early whaling days,
known as the most wicked spot in the Pacific. It was
hard to believe that there had once been twentyeight grog shops along the
waterfront.


After dinner at one of the hotels
Finlo said: "Now, if you young ones want to explore, you may. Magda and I
are going to sit in the sun and sunbathe. Perhaps take a little stroll along
the waterfront; it fascinates me."


Craig sprang to his feet.
"Come on, Judith. I'd love to explore the hills at the back of the
township. If we're late, just go on over to Paihia, and we'll get a later
launch. Okay?"


"I
love to explore a place I've never been to before," said Judith happily. "Must be that gipsy streak."


It was a glorious day, with the sun
spilling down, and only the faintest of breezes to fan their hot cheeks. The
grades were easy and the country open and rolling. Time seemed to stand still
and ever and anew another hill beckoned.


Judith had forgotten her watch. She
said to Craig as they flung themselves, panting, on the dry tussocky ground of
a headland, "What time is it?"


"Four.'


"Oh, I'd have thought it much
later. We've crammed so much delight into the hours."


His eyes met hers. "Do you feel that, too?''


Too. A funny little word, a
sharing word.


Judith sat up,
put her back against a sun-warm rock. "This rock must be warm clean
through to its centre. Isn't it a fascinating thought that the heat in it comes
from the sun all those millions of miles away?"


Craig sat up too, put his hand
against the rock, testing it, then sat against it, his
shoulder touching hers.


"So you don't even take the
warmth of a rock for granted, Judith. I've noticed you don't take beauty for
granted as so many do. Is it the artist's appreciation?"


"Could be, I don't know. Going
to England and seeing the war damage shook me out of my complacency, I think.
On the Continent too—there has been such a price paid for everything, even for
the preservation of beauty. Can any of us ever again take our world for
granted? Maggy and Dan, for instance. For their sakes,
to give them a life free from tyranny and fear, their father and mother crossed
a guarded border, suffered privations that led directly to Janos's death and
perhaps indirectly to Magda's."


Craig's hand came to cover hers on
her lap; his thigh was warm against her thigh. "I like a woman who thinks
like that,'' he said. He waved to the scene spread below them. "Even all
this was bought at a price. Misery and bloodshed and
exploitation." He produced some chocolate and a couple of apples
from his pocket. Judith drew her knees up and hugged them. She was finding his
proximity a little disturbing.


Craig tossed away his core, rose, pulled her to her feet. "I've a yen for going further. Round yon far headland. It looks like the end to me. I've
always liked to look round the next corner."


Judith chuckled. "And the next
and the next, there's always another corner. That may not be the last. Still,
if it's only about half-past four I daresay we could
make it.''


"Yes, we could have a snack in
Russell and get the seven o'clock launch back. It's all easy going, much like
this, by the look of it, no real heights."


"I don't mind this sort of
climbing. It's the straight up and down stuff I'm afraid of. Though I'm not
nervous with you—now I've admitted it."


"Aren't you? Good show."
His fingers caught at hers briefly.


The exploring was delightful. They
came down to sheltered coves, poked about for weird sea-creatures in the
fissures of rocks, examined rock plants they had never before seen, grew hot
and tired.


The last cove of all, round the far
headland Craig had made their goal, was bathed in sunlight, sheltered and
small, with still water just creaming slightly at the golden edge of sand.


"What an invitation to
swim," said Craig. "How about it? You didn't
leave your bathing-suit with Magda, did you?'!


"No,
I've got in in my knapsack. Have you?"


"Well,
I've got mine—not yours."


"Idiot!"
She threw a shell at him. "But we musn't sunbathe, it will take us a fair
while to get back."


Craig drew a map out of his pocket.
"This isn't in detail but gives us a fair idea of direction. I think if we
stick to the shoreline it would be quicker than cutting along those
hills."


Judith's eyes followed his tracing
finger. "Yes, looks like it-


She ran behind a rock, emerged in a
pink bathing suit, patterned with tiny stars. She had
bobby-pins in her mouth and was twisting her ponytail up into a knot on top of
her head.


"Let me do that," said Craig,
taking the pins from her. He tried hopelessly to open the spring clips, leg go
of the twist of hair, and it fell to her shoulders in elf-locks.


She took the pins from him,
laughing. "Your fingers are too big." She twisted it up securely.
"1'll be glad when it's long enough to put it up as it was before. It'll
be fairly soon now."


"Yes, I'll be glad, I liked it
that way. The first time I ever saw you, sitting on the wharf, with your hair
in that ring, I thought you looked like Juliet."


Judith, standing close to him,
looked up at him, blinked in amazement. "You thought… Craig, you were
too furious by far to think anything of the kind."


"Not at that moment. I'd been
observing you. I thought you were lovely, in your trim blue and white suit and
your air of calm. I thought you were frightfully young to be the mother of
those two children—thought you must be older than you looked. Then——— " He stopped.


Judith laughed. "Then you made
your frightful faux pas. I quote: "I gather she's a bit noticeable…
even perhaps flamboyant. Gipsy type, arty-looking, long gold earrings…"—wasn't that it, Craig?''


He laughed. "I don't quite
remember, don't want to, but I suppose that was the gist of it.''


"What
made you think that?''


He hesitated, then
shrugged. "Look, I've been trying to forget Lorette while we were away,
but since you ask, it was your stepsister who gave me that impression. Let's
skip it. Let's bathe."


The water was warmer than the
waters of the South Island, more like Australian waters. They stayed in longer
than they meant to, diving and swimming. They towelled themselves vigorously
when they came out, and emerged from the rocks, refreshed and invigorated,
ready for the long ramble back.


Craig was fastening his watch.
"How are we for time?" asked Judith.


He looked, gave an exclamation. "Ye gods! It's stopped. Still four o'clock by it. How
long have we been here, do you think?"


Judith looked
dismayed. "I've no idea, have you?"


"None
whatever. You remember we thought the time had gone slowly." He looked
at the sun. "It's much later than we thought. I wonder if I've got sand in
my watch. Well, it can't be helped; let's get cracking. Anyway, this is
probably a lot shorter. And the sand looks good and firm."


Judith thought she would never
forget this day, the sheer happiness of it, the delightful sensation of
teetering on the brink of new delights, an awareness of a response and
comradeship she hadn't dared to hope for. She was quite content not to analyse,
to probe, to wait for things to be cleared up in their own time.


Just as well they had sandals on,
for the rocks that sometimes barred their way were slippery. It was heaven to
be able to splash straight through the little pools.


They came to
a bay where the tide didn't go out so far and the water was deeper, but they
were both in shorts so it didn't matter. They rounded the next corner, stopped
in dismay. This bay was deeply bitten into the cliffs and quite inaccessible
even at low tide.


"So,"
said Craig. "Well, there's just one thing for it. We climb the hill,
strike in a bit, and hope the next bay isn't like that." He added
reassuringly, "It's a very gentle slope."


Judith said
curiously, "How is it you're so understanding
about my feelings for heights. I thought you'd be so scathing. Maybe I've misjudged
you as you have misjudged me.


He grinned,
"Know something? I rather like you being afraid of something. You were
rather terrifyingly efficient, Miss Judith Kneale. I don't like clinging vines,
but one does need to feel a little masculine superiority once in a while."


Judith
laughed and put her hand in his for the climb. They couldn't go on talking
much, they needed their breath.


At the top
they surveyed the coastline in dismayed silence; there were bitten-in bays as
far as they could see. Craig had put his watch on by guesswork. He looked at it
again. "Well, we certainly won't make the seven o'clock launch. We'll be
lucky if we make the next. Never mind, we'll take it as it comes. Are you
starving?"


"No,
not really, just feeling the first faint pangs. It doesn't matter,
we'll enjoy it more when we get back to civilization."


"Good
for you. Well, we'll make a fair pace, but if it's tiring you, tell me, Judith.
We could spend the night in Russell, I suppose, if the launches don't run very
late. Magda and Finlo will be back in Paihia and we could ring them and say
we'll come by the first launch tomorrow."


It took them
very much longer than they thought. They didn't get lost, but there were deep
gullies to circumnavigate, and the going grew very rough. Night came down more
suddenly here than in the south. This was semi-tropical. However, it wasn't
dense darkness; stars pricked out above them, they could find their way with
reasonable care, and Craig said once, feelingly."



"Thank goodness you
aren't reproaching me."


Judith's
laughter was spontaneous. "Why should I? It's glorious fun. I've always
wanted to be lost."


His fingers tightened on hers.
"You are the best possible companion to be lost with."


Judith said nothing, but happiness
broke over her like a wave.


He continued musingly, "Funny
thing, but I've never dreamed a girl could be such a pal. I've done most of my
tramping with Mike. We even did the Milford Track twice. It's a four day
affair—through the most exquisite scenery in New Zealand."


Judith's voice was surprised.
"Is it more beautiful than this—could it be?"


"It does seem impossible, but
it is… Mountains dropping down to the waters of the sounds, lakes caught
up in the hanging valleys and spilling over in great waterfalls, so many
waterfalls that the granite rock races are white, with them. Bush
that's like something out of Walt Disney… and the biggest rainfall in New
Zealand. You're either drenched or baked. You'll love it."


That last statement had an
implication that held Judith silent. It opened up a future for her. You'll love
it.


"Oh,
look," she said; "a light in the valley.''


"Yes, and if
I'm not mistaken, a road below it. We'll ask our way from there. There
may be a short cut.''


The former's wife in the cottage
told them it would take them at least another hour, but it would be by road.
She added, "Would you like a cup of tea? You must be tired and
thirsty."


He looked at Judith, who nodded.
"Thank you, we'd appreciate it very much—that's if the time spent won't
mean we'll miss the last launch back to Paihia."


The woman laughed. "You'll not
get there in time in any case. The last boat will be putting out now.''


Craig's glance locked with
Judith's. "That's torn it, we'll have to ring Magda from Russell and tell
them we'll spend the night there. Might I use your phone to ring Russell for a
couple of rooms?"


Mrs. Young looked doubtful.
"You're going to find it hard as it is to get anywhere to sleep; I heard
today it's booked out. There's an overseas conference on in Auckland and they
were coming up here for the weekend, arriving tonight." She seemed to be
considering. "I have a friend in Russell, right on the waterfront, who
used to run a bed and breakfast place. She's retired now, but occasionally she
lets rooms when she wants to make a bit extra for her pet charity… Corso.
I could ring her and explain how you're placed. How would that suit?"


"Beautiful,"
said Craig. "We'd be much obliged."


Mrs. Young pulled the kettle on to
the hottest place on the coal range. "There, that can come to the boil
while I get on the phone."


Judith took a seat as far as
possible from the fire. Mrs. Young returned, smiling. "She'll take you.
Now, I'll butter some of these girdle scones. Would you like lemon honey with
them?" She put out shortbread and jam tarts too.
They did full justice to them and she refused recompense. "I'm only sorry
my husband and son are away with the car; they could have run you in
otherwise."


Craig said, "Oh, an hour's
walk will seem like nothing now we've had the tea. It's a long time since I was
so hungry."


He was in great spirits as they
walked along, singing as they went, hand in hand. They
came into lighted Russell late enough, but there were still shops open. "I
believe they do keep the curio shops open during the tourist season, and with
all these overseas chappies, bound to tonight. Wonder if—oh yes, that looks
like one—come on in."


"Looks
like what, Craig?"


He grinned. "Like a shop selling underwear. I'm going to buy you a nightie, a
dressing-gown, toothbrush."


"No, you aren't. These people
know we're stranded. She may offer to lend me one—nighties, I mean. But I'll
have a toothbrush."


Craig grinned again. "From the
way Mrs. Young spoke of her I can imagine she's in the sere and yellow. It
would be old-fashioned winceyette, wrist-length sleeves. I can't imagine you in
a garment like that."


Judith giggled. "You don't
have to. I'm just not taking the money from you to buy anything like that, but
I'll have half a crown for a toothbrush, please."


He gave a snort. By this time they
were up to the counter, despite her restraining hand on his. An assistant came
forward.


"A nightgown for this
lady," said Craig; "something really nice. Slippers,
sponge-bag, toothpaste and brush, and a small case to put them in. We're
stranded here for the night. Judith, do you like this?"


It was
lilac and filmy and very expensive. Judith said, "Yes, I like it, but
something very plain would do. There's no need to—— "


Craig smiled at the saleswoman with
a conspiratorial air. "Wrap it up," he said, and strolled over to a
rack of dressing gowns. He chose one with equal speed, matter-of-factly
masculine in knowing what he liked. Judith found them de-ticketed and neatly
folded in the case before she could marshal her protests.


Craig bought his own things, chose
a couple of paper- backed books for them. "I can't go to sleep without
reading, can you?" he asked cheerfully as they gained the street again.


Judith said severely, "You
know, Craig, those were wicked prices—there was no need for all that. I don't
even wear nighties, a very plain pair of pyjamas would have done."


Craig
looked horrified. "All women should wear nighties. Much
more feminine."


It was no good. Judith burst out laughing.


"And now we're going to have a slap-up grill."


Judith
said, "But, Craig, we had that tea just an hour ago."


"Did that really satisfy you?
Aren't you ravenous? I feel as if my last real meal was a couple of days ago. I
want a T-bone steak, a couple of poached eggs, onions, salad, chips, all the
trimmings. And coffee, lots of coffee. Come on, lass."


"They
won't serve those things late at night.''


"Not
usually, perhaps, but they will tonight."


"All right, Sir Arrogance, but
one day you'll get a setback, and I only hope I'm there to see it."


"You don't really mean
that." He tucked her hand in his arm. 'Those were the things we used to
say to each other long, long ago."


Judith was almost afraid of her
feelings. She had a queer crazy feeling that she couldn't believe all this.
That it was a miracle, the rainbow after the rain, the promise of a bright
future—yet it seemed as intangible as a bubble, ready to burst at a touch.


She did full justice to the meal,
to her surprise. They sat over the coffee a long time, savouring the comfort to
the full after their long exertions.


Craig
suddenly looked at her. "You're almost asleep."


She smiled back drowsily.
"Yes, if we don't get out of here I'll drop off in my chair."


They came out to a soft, balmy
night with a tropical moon hanging over the pohutukawas at the water's edge,
found a telephone box, rang Magda, explained their
predicament.


Craig spoke. As Magda asked
something he grinned over the instrument at Judith. "I bought some for
her. Silly wench didn't want me to. We'll be over by an early boat
tomorrow."


They came up through a garden that
was bright with color in the moonlight even, that spilled all over the paths so
that they brushed against the flowering masses. There were aromatic herbs
between the stones, fragrance came up to them as they
crushed them. There was a welcoming light above the door and a kindly Scots
voice saying, "Come awa'in." The house was spotless, with
old-fashioned hangings and snowy linen in the two bedrooms.


Mrs. McAllister brought snowy
towels, fresh from the airing cupboard. "You'll be
wanting baths, I imagine, after a walk like yon."


Judith looked at the immaculate
shining shower room with its red-tiled floor. "I'll make it a
shower," she said.


Craig said, "So'll I. You have
yours first. Just give me a tap on the door on your way back."


Judith rejoiced in the feel of first
the hot water, then the cold. She had opened the case to find Craig had
included a tin of bath dusting powder too. Morny's June Roses. She slid into
the filmy lilac nightgown. M'm yes, there was something to be said for
nighties. She'd had a make-up kit with her, combed her hair, slipped on the
brunch coat he'd picked as a wrap—white, sprigged with lilac and green- slipped
her feet into the black velvet slippers, gathered up her towel, went softly up
the passage.


She tapped gently on Craig's door.
"It's all yours," she said.


It opened so quickly he must have
been standing waiting. His hand took her wrist.


"Just a
moment, Judith. You're much too tired to keep up any longer. We're off
on our travels again tomorrow; there won't be much time to get things straightened
out. If we had got back at the right time to Paihia we could have gone walking
in the moonlight. Perhaps we could have cleared things up as we walked tonight,
but I was reluctant to broach anything that might have marred that idyll. Take
me on trust till we find an opportunity. Traa di Liooar. Time
enough. Meanwhile… good night."


He gathered her into his arms,
kissed her. This time Judith gave herself fully into his embrace. Yes, there
were things to be explained—-later. Now was this incomparable enchantment, of
saying without words all they meant to each other. This was a loving and a
giving, all she had ever dreamed it might be.


His arms slackened. He was
trembling a little and the knowledge gave her a queer, fierce thrill.
"This is going to my head," he said, a smile in his voice. "I
must let you go. Thank you, Judith.''


Judith didn't read the paper-back.
She wanted no thoughts to overlay that moment just experienced. Craig wasn't a
man to take things lightly. That had been almost like plighting a troth. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips, conscious
of a glow right through her being, of magic in her heart and in the world
outside, the soft lap-lap of waters by the shore, the quiet peace of this place
that had once been named the most wicked spot in the
Pacific. She thought she liked the Maori name of it best, Kororareka, the Place
of the Delicious Penguin. She would make a drawing of that penguin and the
dying chief who desired it for his last meal; it could go in Diana Jeremy's
book and in years to come she would look at it and think: "This is where
Craig and I first really loved each other."


The dream-like quality persisted
the next morning. They had their breakfast in the dining room upstairs, which
they climbed up to by an outside staircase where bougainvilleas spilled in
flame and purple, and a fig tree grew close.


They had groper, freshly caught,
hapu'tu, Mrs. McAllister called it, after local grapefruit, delicious
home-ground coffee, aromatic, black, with a crop of thick cream, toast and
grapefruit marmalade.


Judith
wondered how many breakfasts she and Craig would share in the years to come.


They were
early for the launch, so they sauntered along the water-front looking at curio
shops. Craig went in for cigarettes, picked up a little blue velvet penguin. He
bought it, put it into Judith's hand, unwrapped. "A funny little souvenir of Kororareka for you."
Judith took it, smoothed its soft plumage, kept it in
her hand.


It was a
sparkling morning, deep-sea fishing boats putting out with eager fishermen, all
ready to be Zane Greys. The little town was bright with canna lilies, bananas
showed green fruit, Meyer lemons glowed like Chinese lanterns, everywhere was a
profusion of blossom. Judith looked back at it lovingly as she left it; she would
never forget it. She didn't meet Craig's eyes readily this morning; she felt
shy, confused.


They took
a position outside, up in the bows. He said in a low voice, "You're not
looking at me much this morning. Why?"


She didn't
answer, but the hot blood coursed into her cheeks.


He laughed
indulgently. "Oh, Judith, it seems odd to see you shy. You were once so
cool, so cutting."


She looked
up at that, protestingly. "Oh, don't, Craig. Don't remind me that we got
off on the wrong foot, that we said horrid cruel things to each other. It's not
the morning for that."


He
laughed. They came across the Bay in silence. Judith had her elbow on the rail,
her chin on her hands, dreaming, even when they were edging into the wharf. The
passengers waiting there to embark for the return trip were just a blur to her.


Craig
laughed, touched her arm. "Wake up, Judy, we're here. You're staring those
people out of countenance."


She came
to, laughed, said, "I was just wondering if we
need to leave here today. If we need to spend a night in
Auckland. Couldn't we leave early tomorrow morning—go to bed early
tonight—and still get that plane at Whenuapai?"


He pinched
her cheek. "Fallen in love with this place, haven't you? All right,
darling. I don't see why not."


It was as they were disembarking
that Judith came face to face with Leo Malone. He was preparing to come aboard.


His face lit
up.


She said, "Oh, hullo, Leo. Are
you sketching arou here?"


"Oh, hello,
Judy, my sweet. Not sketching"—he touched his camera. "Taking photos. Earning the regular crust I told you
about. Its paying well." His eyes were audacious.
"I'm a much better prospect than I was once, if you're interested."


Craig was standing stiffly by her
side. Judith said, "Oh, Leo, this is Craig Argyll, Michael's cousin.
Craig, this is a fellow-artist from home, Leo Malone."


They exchanged a few polite
remarks, mainly about the beauty of Northland, how photogenic it was. There was
little time, the launch was ready to leave.


Leo said, "Well, I'd better
get on. Are you staying at Russell?—Might I see you over there later?"


Judith shook her head. "No,
we're staying here." She didn't care what Leo thought about them coming
off so early a boat. "They want the gangway up, Leo. Goodbye."


Craig was looking up the jetty.
"Here's Magda and Finlo to meet us."


Things became normal. Magda and
Finlo teased them about their adventure. Magda said, "I didn't think you'd
ever get bushed, Craig. Still, maybe you had your reasons. Some men run out of
petrol, your watch stopped."


Craig grinned. "It was a grand
walk; I'd not have missed it for worlds."


Judith was hoping he would
understand about Leo calling her his sweet, that endearments came easy among
the artist fraternity. It didn't matter—she was silly to worry, things had gone
so far now between her and Craig that he would no longer think she had any
tender feelings for anyone else. She would explain it some time. Time enough.


CHAPTER TWELVE


They spent the day as a foursome, cramming in all they
hadn't managed to see yet, visiting the historic church, the graveyard about
it, making sketches, taking notes. Finlo had decided he could write another
book with this background.


Magda had arranged at the boarding
house that they could have an early breakfast the next morning, and that meant,
as it was a late afternoon plane they were getting, that they could still go
down by the longer route, by the west coast.


"Judith ought to see Walpoua,
the 'tauri forest I know she doesn't need it for this book, but she might want
to draw 'tauris for another. This Diana Jeremy might write a gum- digging
historical book for children. It's not as pretty—to me anyway—as the other
coast, but Opononi Beach is wonderful. Did you ever see the film they made
there of their playful dolphin, Opo, Judith?"


So the day passed, with little
joys, and always with the glad certainty of new joys to come.


Magda drove them to a really early
bedtime. "I don't want us to arrive home fagged out," she said, and
sped them to their respective rooms.


Judith had just drawn her blinds
when there was a tap at her door. The landlady.


"Miss
Kneale, there's a telephone call for you."


"For me?
Are you sure it's not for that Miss McNeill? I don't know anyone here."


"Oh, it's you. A man's voice. He wasn't sure where you were staying in
Paihai, he said, so he spelt your name out."


"Oh, I know. I met an old
acquaintance from Australia this morning as he was going over to Russell. I
thought he was staying there. I'll come.'


She sighed as she picked up the
receiver. She hoped Leo wasn't going to start anything. Seeing her had brought
it up again, she supposed.


"Hello, Judy. I just got back
from Russell an hour ago. Thought I'd try to trace you; it's not hard in a
small place lie this. Got you fourth go. How about coming for a walk along the
waterfront? Give me a bit of news about Lorette.5'


Judith kept her voice down. She
didn't want to have to explain Leo to Magda and Finlo. He wasn't their sort,
yet Magda might even ask him to Koraputai if Leo as much as hinted he was in
love with Lorette. And she wouldn't blame her, either, though Lorette wouldn't
ally herself with Leo's precarious life.


"No, of course I won't. I was
just going to bed; we're leaving at the crack of dawn."


"All the
more reason why I must see you tonight. Be a sport."


"I've
nothing to tell you."


"But you
can at least answer my questions."


"No. You should have asked me
how Lorette was this morning."


"Not the sort of questions I
wanted to ask. Not with the austere Mr. Argyll looking on."


"He is
not austere."


"Not? Oh, come. Aha—methinks I
detect partisanship. Is that the way the land lies?
Judith Kneale falls for someone at last. He really must be something to capture
your fancy."


"Leo!
Don't be silly."


"I will be silly if you don't
come out and see me for a few moments. I'll come along, and then you'll have to
explain who I am… with regard to Lorette, I mean. Michael's parents would
love that, wouldn't they? I'll introduce myself as the man she should have
married. Come to that, I know a better one… the man she probably will
marry."


"Leo!" Judith's voice was
quite despairing. He was completely irresponsible and capable of carrying that
out. Worst of all, he sounded as if he had had a little too much to drink. And
Leo with drink in him was twice as bad as Leo sober. How horrible if he came
here.


"Listen,
Leo, do you know where this place is?"


"Yep.
Noticed it before. Long low place with gay sun- blinds
and Norfolk pines. Big garden."


"Yes, well over on the south
side is a little gate leading into a patch of woodland. You can reach the
outside of the gate from a track that leads off the road. Ill meet you there. In ten minutes. Don't come to the front
gate; guests will still be coming in."


Judith decided that some time
during the next day she must tell Craig about Leo. Not Magda and Finlo, it
would only disturb them. She must convince Leo he must accept the inevitable.


The night was warm, she wouldn't
want a coat. She picked up a fleecy blue stole, wound it about her shoulders.
She slipped into rubber-soled casual shoes and let herself out of the side door.


She could see the tip of Leo's
cigarette glowing as she came to the gate where bushes crowded close. She
stayed one side of the gate, Leo the other.


"Well, Judith? I stayed away
before. Tried to be the little gentleman. No good. Doesn't work. Leo isn't a little gentleman."


He had had
too much drink. His speech was slurred.


For once Judith wasn't thinking of
Lorette but of herself. She was on the brink of happiness but not quite sure of
Craig yet. It was going to be very distasteful if Leo turned up at Koraputai as
soon as they arrived home. This new understanding between herself and Craig was
so recently arrived at, frail and precious.


Leo put a hand over the gate, took
her wrist, shook it. "Hey, wake up, you've gone into a trance. You are in love."


Judith looked up at him in the Bay
of Islands moonlight. Her hand came over his in a gesture of appeal.


"Please, Leo… don't. It wouldn't work. Living on a shoestring means
nothing to you, but it does to a woman. Especially to——
"


Leo's voice
was harsh, more manly than she had known.


"Especially
to some woman. But I've explained I'm really making a decent living now.
It still means travelling, never settling down. Judith, isn't there a chance?
Doesn't love matter at all?"


"Not in
this case, I'm afraid. Not—— " She checked.


She was going to say not with Lorette, but she mustn't
hurt Leo too much. And like this, a little tipsy, he was unpredictable. So she
said, "You see, there's too much at stake. You've just got to take
that." She turned nervously, looked over her shoulder. "What was
that? I thought I heard someone. A rustle."


He
shrugged. "Some loose-living cat, I suppose. Perhaps an
opossum. Do they have them here? Judy, don't go yet. You must— "


She pulled her wrist away.
"I'm going in. We could talk all night and never get anywhere. Please
don't try to see me again, Leo, you could spoil everything. Goodnight.'


Her knees were trembling as she
walked up the path. She felt desperately sony for Leo,
but knowing Lorette so well she was certain it was quite hopeless. Especially when Lorette had turned her attention to Craig.
Judith suddenly realized all that Lorette would say if and when her stepsister
and Craig became engaged. Judith was as certain as that. Memory of the little
scene she had witnessed that day in the porch stabbed at her. Lorette flinging her arms about Craig. His
giving her that cheque. Never mind, she'd have to trust him that far. It
might be as muddled as the situation Craig had assumed existed between herself and Leo. She would tell him tomorrow. The warm
thought enclosed her again, making her feel safe, secure. She dropped straight
into sleep, to be roused all too soon by Magda.


In the confusion of getting away on
time Judith noticed nothing different about Craig till they were actually
getting into the car.


He said in a tone quite devoid of
expression, "Would you like to be in front for a while, Finlo?"


Judith, handing Magda her bag,
stood quite still. It had been the custom all through the tour that she sat
with Craig and Finlo occupied the back seat.


Finlo's answer was surprised.
"No, of course not, we'll travel as before." He got in after his
wife, but Judith saw him shoot a sharp glance at Craig.


Judith
got slowly into the seat by Craig, sat as far from him as possible. Magda, fussing
with bits and pieces, hadn't noticed anything.


It was miles later that Magda said,
"Goodness, aren't we tired this morning? So much so we can't talk, and for
a family like ours that's astounding. Or are we all just sad that this
wonderful holiday is coming to an end?"


Craig answered her. "Oh, not sad. It's always good to get home. To get to work again. Holidays give you a false idea of
values. The setting is so glamorous, so misleading.''


"Good gracious," said
Magda, "I think your liver must be out of order. Some fruit salts,
perhaps. I've never heard you give voice to a creed like that before. You've
always played hard and worked hard and enjoyed both."


Craig didn't answer. Finlo began
commenting on the scenery.


After the first numbing surprise
Judith roused herself to respond to him; they were taking this longer way
because of her, so she must, for their sakes, appear to appreciate it.


Afterwards she realized she
remembered very little of it. They cut right across the North Island to the
other coast, through varied scenery, thick with intriguing Maori names, rich
with history. She made all the correct responses to Finlo and retained hardly
anything of it.


They entered the great kauri
forest, came into the Cathedral Grove and finally came to a stop beside the Big
Tree Signpost.


Magda said briskly, "Finlo,
while Craig is showing Judith the giant kauri which we've seen two or three
times, how about you and me exploring the other side?''


Finlo handed Craig his color
camera. "Two years ago when I was here it was pouring, so I didn't get a
shot of that twelve-hundred-year-old tree, Tanemahuta. Take Judith standing
under it—in that red jersey she'll give exactly the right
touch of color."


Craig took the camera,
punctiliously handed Judith from the car. She saw Magda give an indulgent smile
in their direction and realized she thought they had had a little tiff and was
amused because she thought it was the inevitable way of all lovers. But there
was no reason for this sudden coolness, and Judith was angry, cold angry.
Before, circumstances had always been against them—but this time there was no
reason at all.


They entered the forest across a
short bridge, came to the small clearing before the ancient kauri. Judith tried
to appear interested. "Imagine it standing there all those centuries…
they must be very slow-growing."


Craig nodded,
his tone curt. "Yes, you somehow expect them to be taller. But they last. More enduring than most things. Pity so many kauri forests
were ruined. Poor policy, though they're trying to retrieve it now. Better take
this picture since Finlo wants it. Stand underneath it, will you? Don't face me… look up at it. Makes a better picture. I'll take
it from the other end of the viewpoint."


Judith watched him walking away
from her down the aisle of trees. She made up her mind. He took the photo-
graph, began walking towards her, she towards him. They met at the junction of
the path in from the road. She stood in front of him, very straight,
her grey eyes steady, giving no hint of her inner tumult.


"Craig, while we're alone,
would you mind explaining your mood, what you said a little while ago? Why you
said it. I don't care for this blow hot, blow cold behavior. I like to know
where I am."


She saw his face harden. "Yes,
you like to know where you are, don't you! You like all things cut and dried,
even your emotions. You said that once in a different way. You like the i's dotted, the't's crossed. All right, I'll dot and
cross them right now.


"I meant exactly what I said!
Holidays undermine one's judgment. So you can wipe out everything that's
happened between us the last few days. Understand?"


Judith's face went white under its
recently deepened tan. "I don't understand it. Nothing has happened. But
I'll accept it. I can't do anything else. You aren't the man I took you
for."


They stood there, oddly unable to
move, yet without words.


Then Craig said: "I wish you'd
never come to New Zealand, attracting me against my better judgment. The
situation was bad enough with Lorette. It's been worse since you came. Lorette
at least is transparent."


Judith drew in a deep breath. How
could anyone change so? And for what reason? Anger
took possession of her.


"Oh, you
self-righteous prig! What about yourself? What about the way you—the way
you and Lorette, when Michael wasn't about—————————————-
"


"Oh, that!" He laughed
harshly. "I had some crazy idea about saving Michael from that little
gold-digger. Thought if I could show him it was the money attracted her, not
the man, he'd come to his senses. Then I found I couldn't go on with it
because————— " He turned his head. A carload
of people had stopped and were
coming across the bridge and down the short track between the sun-dappled
trees.


He said swiftly, "Leave it. I
don't want to discuss it any more. I almost made a fool of myself, that's
all."


They passed the people. Magda and
Finlo were still among the trees on the far side. As Judith arranged herself on
the seat she said quietly, "There's just one thing. I'll go right ahead
making arrangements to go back to Sydney as soon as the wedding is over. It
will give the children a term at school here. The people who took my flat only
singed up till May. If it wasn't for the children I'd have gone right away.
When you're on your own it's much easier, and the sooner I can get away from
you the happier I'll be."


"That goes for me too. But I
want no unpleasantness. I told you once that Koraputai had always been a house
of harmony. I want it to continue that way outwardly. But as soon as you can,
get out. And if Lorette does marry Mike, don't come across the Tasman to visit
her. There's no real love lost between you; it would be sheer hypocrisy."


As Magda and Finlo reached the car,
Judith drew her sun-glasses out. They were quite disguising; she didn't want
Magda to read what must be written in her eyes.


It was a long day and they were all
a little weary when they were finally seated in the plane. Judith said,
"Magda, I wonder would you mind if I sat with Finlo? As a writer he knows
exactly the things I should note."


It was restful with Finlo; she
could be natural, keep her thoughts at bay. Had Craig sat with her, in silence,
she had known the tears would fall, and it was a weapon she despised. Oh, for
the privacy of her own room, to let go, to weep it out.


At Wellington Airport, where they
had a cup of tea, Finlo said suddenly, "Oh, I forgot, I called for mail
before I left, just in case, and there was one for you, Magda, in Fran's
writing."


She tore it open, her eyes lighting
up as she read. "Oh, how lovely, Fran will be home. Christine went home
early, but as they got busy on the farm and would be needing
extra help for Beenie, she got a message through to Fran—by radio transmitter.
I'm so glad, we need Fran so." Magda's eyes met Craig's in a look Judith
could not understand. Not that it mattered. Soon Koraputai and all its
undercurrents would be no more than a memory—the Tasman Sea would roll between.


Things seemed to have changed at
Koraputai, Judith found. She had a feeling that things were rushing towards a
conclusion. That was odd, since the wedding appeared to be a whole term away,
yet it persisted.


Fran was lovely, tall and dark,
with winged eyebrows over unexpectedly blue eyes. She had a great sense of
humor;


"Everything
is fun to Fran," said Magda fondly, "or most things," she
amended quickly. "Anyway, her sense of humor will see her through.'


"Through what?" asked Judith.


Magda turned vague, waved a hand.
"Oh, through the sort of things we do have to face in life. She's faced a
lot now. She was in a very good orphanage before she came to us, but it was
still not—a home. She's wonderfully clever too, will be capped in May. We'll
all go to Dunedin for the ceremony."


The capping ceremony came up again
at lunch. Lorette said out of the blue, "Michael, we must fix the wedding
date tonight and see the printers about the invitations. I thought the second
week in May."


Michael laid down his knife and
fork. "It will have to be the last week in May."


'That's too late… it's getting
cold by then; that's early winter. The first week might be better. You said May
was a good time for a farmer to get married. I wanted February; since I gave in
about the month, I should have the say about the date."


Michael, who was always easygoing,
even to a fault, shook his head decidedly. "Not the first week either.
We'd be away for capping."


"Away for capping? But——- "


Michael interrupted. "Other
years I couldn't have cared less. This year I wouldn't miss. Fran is being
capped."


"You wouldn't miss it?
Michael, it's our wedding you're talking about, messing up, not a tinpot little
capping ceremony. It's not as if you were being capped!"


Judith put a hand out to Lorette
under cover of the cloth, a warning to restrain herself.


Michael said doggedly, "This
isn't a tinpot one, it's a mortarboard one—it's Frans."


Fran's eyes met his across the
table. "You're making a mountain out of a molehill, Mike. Lorette is quite
right. As long as Magda and Finlo and Craig are there it will be all
right."


There was an incredulous look in
Michael's amber- brown eyes.


"What? You don't want me there?''


Fran said quietly, "I didn't
say I didn't want you, I said it wasn't necessary. I don't expect it. The end
of May can be very cold. Too late for a hoi… a honeymoon.'


"Then it can be late in April
and we can be back for the capping. Who's taking you to the Arts Ball,
Fran?"


"I am," said Craig
swiftly. Judith thought Fran looked a little surprised.


Fran said, "How about Judith
coming too? I guess any of the Argyll Hills lads would be glad to squire her,
make a foursome."


Craig said suavely: "Oh, she
might have an old friend to take her. Who knows?" He looked across at
Judith. "Leo Malone is in Oamaru, but I daresay you know. I suppose you've
been meeting him."


Before Judith could speak Lorette
did. "Leo… in Oamaru! But—" she looked at
Craig—"how did you know him?"


Craig said deliberately, "I
met him at Bay of Islands. He was up there too taking photographs. That's his
way of making a living. Quite a good one too, by the sound of
it. He's staying at the best hotel in Oamaru. Not to be compared with
wool cheques, of course, but quite profitable. Then he's been out here before
to Koraputai, hasn't he, Judith? Didn't she tell you, Lorette?"


Judith sought for words, failed to
find them. She saw the suspicion in the glance Lorette sent her.


Lorette said,
"But if he's been here why didn't he see me?"


Craig's voice was bland, a hint of
cruelty in it." He came the night you all went to Sinclair's at Ngapara.
Judith didn't want to go, remember? They had a moonlit assignation in the
garden, most romantic!"


Judith pushed
her chair back, rose, went out of the room.


Lorette followed her a moment
later, came into their sitting room, shut the door, leaned
against it.


"Just
what is this about you meeting Leo clandestinely?"


Judith sighed. "He wanted to
see you—to make sure you were happy. I thought he would upset things, impress the Argylls and Quaynes unfavorably, so I
told him to keep away. We met by chance at Paihia."


"How
often have you seen him in Oamaru?"


"Not at all. I didn't know he was here till Craig
said."


Lorette
turned and walked out of the room.


In the middle of the afternoon
Michael came in. He said, "Oh, hello, Judy. I thought you were out."


;;why?" ^


"Your
car's gone."


"Somebody
must have shifted it."


Michael's
eyes narrowed. "Where's Lorette?"


Beenie came into the kitchen.
"Did I hear you asking where Lorette is? She's off awa' in Judith's car. I
saw her going doon the drive more than an hour
since."


The three of them looked blank, then Beenie sniffed and went out.


Michael said, "She took it
without asking you, did she, Judy?"


"I think
that's quite clear, isn't it, Mike?"


"Yes." His young voice
sounded weary. "I was just underlining it."


Judith said uncertainly,
"Perhaps I've been a bit hard on her. It must be galling to have no
transport of your own."


"No, you haven't been hard,
Judith. In fact you're soft with her. And as far as the car is concerned it's
too risky; she's an appalling driver."


He turned on his heel and went out,
pausing at the door to say, "Has she just gone shopping, do you
think?"


Judith didn't quite look at him.
"I suppose so," she tried to say casually. But in her heart she knew
Lorette had gone to find Leo. Craig had said the best hotel. It wouldn't be
hard to find in a town the size of Oamaru.


She said nothing to Lorette about
taking the car, or why she had, but took care to remove the ignition keys.


In Fran Judith found a kindred
spirit, but not only that, recognized in her something of the discipline she
herself had to exercise these days. Fran was as wary with Michael as she was
with Craig.


They became great friends, going
for long walks about the beaches and hills, riding together. Fran on a horse
was a poem in blended movement.


She was watching her ride off one
day, leaning on the white rails by the stables. She heard a movement beside
her, said without turning her head, "Isn't she lovely. Patrician
in every inch of her. There's breeding there.'


Craig's voice answered her,
"Indeed there is. What a contrast!" Judith flinched. He might have
meant Lorette. He could just as easily have meant herself. She said, "I
thought it was Mike," and walked away.


She said to Lorette later, born of
the deep unease she had been feeling, "Lorette, you're being foolish;
you'll drive Mike too far, yet."


"How am I being foolish?''


"The way
you're treating Fran. Can't you see it? You're treating her
like—like—well, you know that old rhyme… 'Little Orphant Annie's come to our
house to stay, to wash the cups and saucers up and brush the crumbs away.' They
don't look on her like that at all. She's their adopted daughter, but you're
treating her as a drudge. She's a gifted girl, hopes in time to become a
professor.''


Lorette's eyes were narrowed.
"Why did you say I would drive Michael too far? Why not
one of the others?"


Their eyes met. Lorette said
softly, "I know, of course… they hoped Fran would marry him."
She laughed maliciously and went away.


Judith wished she had left the
situation alone. Lorette was most marked the next few days in emphasising the
fact that she regarded Fran as an unpaid servant. She would hand her plate to
Fran with an impersonal air, say, "I'm going outside to help Michael this
morning. Dust my room, won't you?"


Fran took it all with admirable
unconcern, even with a twinkle in her periwinkle eyes.


Then came a morning when Lorette
came into the kitchen quite unknowing that Michael was in the scullery. She
passed Judith to come up with Fran, who had a linen bag over her arm and was
making for the laundry.


Lorette had a pile of nylon undies
in her arms. "Oh, there you are, Fran. Just going to do a spot of soft
washing, are you? Rub these out for me, would you?"


She put out a hand, went to open
the linen bag, but hadn't got as far as getting the undies in when Michael
arrived.


With one hand he pulled Lorette
back, with the other he scooped out the filmy undies as they began to tumble
into the bag. He thrust them at Lorette, who perforce had to receive them.


His face was dark with anger, his
eyes almost black with feeling.


"Wash your own damned
underwear, you lazy little wretch. Fran, you've got to stop waiting on her, do
you hear? I can't stand it any longer. Get out to the laundry, Lorette. I'll
finish what I've got to say to you out there. It won't bear an audience!"


Fran, recovering, said faintly,
putting out a protesting hand, "Mike… Mike, please?"


He turned on her too. "Keep
out of this, Fran. It's not the sort of thing you should be embroiled in. It's
entirely between Lorette and myself!"


Judith and Fran stood looking after
them as he marched Lorette out, his ungentle grip on her arm.


Beenie's voice from the other door
reached them, a voice rich with satisfaction. "Well, that one's got her
come' uppance for once. That lad's become a man this very moment. Now we'll see
something. And if you two lassies hae any sense in your heids at all, ye'll be
awa' off on the horses and no' come back for a gey lang
time."


Fran said shakily, "I—I think
you might be right, Beenie. Judy, come on."


They rode far into the hills, up
the slopes of the Dachshund, the other side of the Buchanan and Heatherleigh
estates. Beenie had come across to the stables after them and thrust a packet
of sandwiches at them, a flask of hot coffee in a knapsack.


"You let those twa sort
themselves oot on their ain. This has been brewin' a lang time syne."


Fran said, as they watched her
waddling back to the house, "Well, it will clear the air, but—Judith, I
know she's your step-sister, but what a life you must have had!"


Judith said in a sick, shamed
voice, "Fran, she's not fit to clean your shoes. Please don't be hurt.
It's not you—not just you—it's her whole attitude to life. I hate to see her
spoiling other people's lives."


Fran leaned forward, touched
Judith's cheek lightly. "Judith, I don't believe anyone has the power to
spoil another's life. They can inflict hurts, yes. But in the final analysis
it's one's own reactions to life that count, that do the spoiling. I've been
offered a very good teaching position at one of the biggest high schools in
Wellington in the second term. It means a terrific lot to me. If it hadn't been
for Magda and Finlo I'd never have got a higher education. It's enough just
now."


"Wellington? But it's so far
away, across the water. I thought there was a chance of a position at Waitaki,
in Oamaru?"


Fran swung up into the saddle, and
leaned forward to fiddle with a buckle. "Yes, I know, but it will be best
for me to be at a distance just now."


Judith was filled with bitterness.
What a trail of destruction had followed Lorette, and her mother before her.
Fran, who had been so alone in her childhood, was going to be alone again now.


Fran said, "Let's not talk any
more about it." Her eyes swept the scene before them lovingly. "Let's
take what offers."


They dug their heels into their
mounts, moved off into the gold and the green and the blue.


It was decidedly puzzling on their
return to find things outwardly normal. Of course Craig and Finlo and Magda had
been well out of it, so, all unknowing, they helped to bridge what might have
been an awkward meeting. People in love did quarrel, of course, said hot,
hurtful things to each other, cleared the air and made it up. That must have
happened now.


For the next few days Lorette
walked carefully, though she hardly looked at Fran, much less addressed her.
Judith did not refer to the incident, but was mightily surprised Lorette did
not.


Then Lorette announced she was
going to Dunedin for a week. "To do some shopping," she added.


Judith saw Fran's knuckles tighten
on her knife and fork and knew what she was thinking. Trousseau
shopping.


Judith tried to sound interested,
to cover up for Fran. "How are you going, Lorette, by bus or
express?"


Michael said smoothly, "I'm
taking her. I've a spot of private business to attend to there. I'm only
staying a night. I've booked Lorette in for a week. Be a change for her."


Later that day Craig said to Magda:
"Did you know Mike is selling his racing car? It's going down to Dunedin
by transport tomorrow. That's the business he's transacting."


Magda said placidly, "Perhaps
he's got an eye on an- other? None of them keep the same one for long, do
they?"


"He's not getting another. Says he'd rather have the cash at the moment."


Magda tucked a spray of coral into
the bowl she was filling with delphiniums and larkspur, and turned to look at
Craig. "I suppose he thinks he'll need it for his wedding, furniture ana
so on. It's about time I told him about those shares, that they're to come to
him. It can't matter now. Keeping him in ignorance didn't affect anything, I'm
afraid. They would be more than suff- "


"Hush," said Craig,
"we aren't alone. Did you think we were?"


Magda stared at him. "No, of course not. I knew Judith was there. Doesn't matter if she knows."


Craig said savagely, "Doesn't
it? She's Lorette's sister. She————— "


But Judith
had gone, flinging down her duster.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN


Thank goodness things were going ahead fairly well for
the recovery of the flat in Sydney. Lennie was handling things for her and he
reported that the people would be out by the time the holidays started. Judith
would book their passages soon.


The week Lorette was away in
Dunedin was almost heaven, except for a feeling Judith had that a storm was
about to break. That was foolish. Nothing much else could happen. And whatever
did, the situation between herself and Craig couldn't
be made worse.


She would be glad now when all was
ovfer—Lorette's wedding near the end of April, the finish of the school term in
May, and then she and Maggy and Dan would say good' bye to the House of the
Shining Tide. They would be away before the capping. She hoped Lorette would
say and do nothing to cloud Fran's big day. But Craig would partner Fran to the
Arts Ball. An unbidden thought came into her mind. Craig and
Fran. It could be the happy ending for both. Fran loved Koraputai.
Perhaps in the natural working out of things it would come to be. Judith
wondered why the thought did not stab her more. But perhaps she was now beyond
feeling.


Lorette came back with a colossal
number of packages and a certain sly look in her eye. Like a cat who has got
away with the cream.


Judith said, amazed, "Lorette,
where did you get the money for all this?"


Lorette smiled. "From
Michael, of course." She put her head on one side, looked mockingly
at Judith. "Oh, the disapproval. Judith, you really
are outdated, you know. Nobody thinks anything these days of a man buying his
bride's trousseau."


Judith thought that was probably
true. She couldn't have done it herself, she was too independent. But she felt
uneasy. That shopping bout must have gone into three figures. Well into that.
Magda would be horrified.


Craig Argyll strolled down to the
mailbox to post some letters. He caught Lorette up just as she posted some. He
was suiprised, for she didn't write many letters. He put his letters in and, without
meaning to, read the address on the top letter: "Mr. L. Malone, Milford
Hotel, Milford Sound."


He swung round. ''Who's writing to
Leo Malone? Oh, I suppose it's none of my business, but is Judith still keeping
in touch with that fellow?"


Lorette's hesitation was very
slight. "Yes, she asked me to post some letters for her. She's very
secretive; one never knows what she'll do, or why she does it."


Craig called his dog to heel.
"Lorette, what is the strength of that association? It has me
puzzled."


Her blue eyes were wary. "Why
do you want to know, Craig?"


"Just that I
have a dislike of anything underhand. I like things
square and above board. No personal reason. If she doesn't mean to marry
him why does she keep him hanging about? Why doesn't she send him about his
business?"


"I don't know," said
Lorette, as if genuinely puzzled. "It puzzles me too. It's almost as if he
had some hold over her. He always comes back to her. Sometimes I wonder if— but
no, that would be absurd."


"What
would be?"


"Well, I've wondered at times
if—if he and Judith could be secretly married. There's just something. She was
always wandering off somewhere to paint. So was he. They often fetched up
together. It could be, but perhaps I'm just imagining things. Ouch!"


Lorette spun round, made a dive at
some lupins bordering the drive, dragged Dan and Pekka out.


"You little horrors… you
might have killed me!" She snatched at Dan's catapult.


Danny burst out laughing. "It
wasn't a stone, only a piece of bark."


"And it wasn't where it could
kill you," said Pekka. "It hit you on the seat. Anyway, Craig's just
laughing."


"I am not, then," said
Craig, sobering up and assuming a grim expression. "Now clear off. Ill set
up a target for you, then you can use stones, or chestnuts, but you mustn't
fire any shots at people or at the stock or birds. Do you hear? I'll wallop you
good and hard if you do. And if you're spoiling for mischief you can come down
to the yards in an hour's time and do some hard work. Off you go."


"They should have been spanked
there and then," said Lorette. "Gosh, those brats do get in my hair.
Judith's the limit. How she could impose on you folk like this I don't know.
Thank goodness those kids are all going to be out for the day tomorrow."


"Are they? I didn't
know."


"Mrs. Buchanan's children and
Maggy and Dan have been invited to a birthday picnic somewhere. Maheno, I
think. The children go to the school here. It's a holiday, Anniversary Day or
something, isn't it?"


"Yes,
commemoration of pioneers landing at Port Chalmers in 1848. We'll be a
small party. Magda and Finlo and Fran are going to Dunedin to do some
shopping—some shops keep open and take the holiday in Festival Week instead.
And they are going to an Early Settlers' Association meeting. It's Beenie's day
off, so I suppose she'll be out too."


Lorette said, "Michael told me
this morning he'd be going to Dunedin too. Didn't you know?"


"No. In
that case don't you want to go along?"


"No." Lorette offered no
explanation, and Craig, looking at her face, decided not to ask why. He'd
probably not get the truth anyway, or only distorted
truth. He thought Lorette hardly knew when she was romancing and when she was
telling the truth. Much as he despised Judith, knew her for a schemer, and
resented her disturbing presence at Koraputai, he did not think she was
secretly married.


The House of the Shining Tide
seemed quiet and deserted the next day. Craig was out doing some fencing, but
even the Nukus were away, fishing with relatives at Moeraki.


Judith cooked lunch and Craig came
in and had it with them rather silently. Small talk seemed to languish. She was
glad when the meal was over. She changed out of her working jeans, donned a
fulbskirted frock of blue checked gingham with black velvet lacing in peasant
style at the bodice. Her hair was just long enough to do up in a coil again.
She clipped a black velvet bandeau round the coil with a gold buckle. It helped
keep the shorter ends in. She was going to read in the sunny window-seat of the
drawing room. There had been so little opportunity lately because of helping
with the harvesters. She hoped Lorette would settle with a magazine.


She did settle, with some new,
odd-looking nail vamish she was experimenting with, sitting up at the table
with it.


Judith, against the window, looked
up as she heard the crunch of wheels on gravel. It was not an opulent-looking
car, as were most round here, but a runabout like her own. Visitors.
Probably someone she didn't know. That would put paid to her leisurely
afternoon. Oh well, the tins were full, and as the others were out, the
visitors might not stay long.


Only one man got out—Leo! Leo, more debonair than usual. She watched him, puzzled;
even his walk was more assured, purposeful. He was coming to see Lorette. How
fortunate the others were out.


Then she saw Craig. He was coming
across the paddocks, putting a hand on the white rail fences that they used
close to the house and leaping over them. She saw Leo halt, wait for him.
Judith sat, not moving. Lorette, completely intent on her nails, did not look
up.


Judith had shut the window against
the slightly cool breeze coming off the Pacific, and could not hear what was
being said.


The two men greeted each other, then stood, with something in their bearing that hinted
antagonism. She saw Craig ask Leo something, Leo answer, she saw Craig's fist
clench, then slowly unclench. Judith felt wild alarm. How terrible if a brawl
developed. You didn't associate Koraputai with brawling.


The two men turned, came towards
the house purposefully. Judith said uncertainly, "Lorette…?"


Lorette caught the look on Judith's
face, the uncertainty in her voice, got up, came to her. Judith had risen.
There wasn't going to be time to tell Lorette.


Craig flung the door open, stood
there very much the master of the house, Leo slightly behind him. He looked
across at the window where the two girls stood. Craig's features could have
been carved in granite, Judith thought. She had a strange thought visit her.
This could have been the way the great Argyll had met his executioners long ago… Craig's voice held no expression at all.


"Leo has come for his
wife," he said. "I advise you to pack and go. Go before the others
come home.''


He gestured Leo in, strode away.
Judith, standing looking from Leo and back to Lorette again, heard his foot'
steps go down the steps, cross the gravel, fade out on the turf.


She could only repeat one word.
"Wife?'' she asked. "Wife?"


Leo said, triumph in every smiling
feature, "She married me a fortnight ago in Dunedin. I finished my
photographic contract earlier than I thought. She wanted to come away with me
secretly, but I wasn't having that. I don't know what game she's playing, the
little monkey, but I'm taking her openly now. Lorette, go and pack. We're
sailing on the Wanganella in two days' time."


Judith moved automatically to help
Lorette pack. It had to be done. Out of the window she saw Craig, on his mare,
emerge from the stables, set his mount at the fence, sail over, and thunder
down on his way towards the sea. Craig was going to ride his anger off. He was
going to keep out of it till Lorette had gone. Then, no doubt, his wrath would
fall on her, Judith.


There was only one bright spot. Now
Michael would never know the sheer impossibility of living in harmony with


Lorette.
Now Fran and he might——- As she reached the door in Lorette's wake she
said to Leo, "Did Craig give you any time?"


Leo grinned. "How well you
know him. He said he would give me exactly an hour and a half. I gather he's
not expecting the rest back till much later, but he said he would take no
chances of Michael and Lorette meeting. He said he wanted to tell Michael
himself."


Judith said fiercely: "This
was no way to do things. If Lorette had decided to marry you, why couldn't you
do it decently? Tell Michael, take Lorette away, then
marry her.''


Leo said, "This was the way
Lorette wanted it. I've no idea why, but as I'd have her on any terms I grabbed
the chance. By the next week, back here, she might have changed her mind. Now
she can't. Because she's going to stay married to me—and like it."


Lorette's
eyes were full of a curious triumph. "You'd better come, Judith.
Post-mortems won't alter things. Come on."


Judith
followed her into the bedroom that had been Lorette's.


"How
can you do this to Michael… this way?" she demanded.


Bright color flashed into Lorette's
cheeks. "How can I? Have you any idea what he did to me—that morning there
was the row over Fran? Told me he was through with me. That he loved her. Her! Without even a name. Said our engagement was off. I'd been
jilted. Me! I told him I'd sue him for breach of promise, he said—he said…" She choked. "He said that it would be cheap at the price. But I
knew he didn't have much money and though Craig has he'd never pay up. He'd win
hands down. He always does. So I settled for seven hundred pounds."


Judith recoiled from her.
"You—you settled for seven hundred pounds! Lorette!"


"Oh, don't Lorette me. But he
was cunning. Did it through a solicitor. Insulted me
by saying he wanted it finished once and for all. And as for
that solicitor… of all the sarcastic, horrible people——-!"


Judith said slowly, "You let
him sell his racing car… you knew what it meant to
him?"


Lorette's face was convulsed with
rage. "Yes… and he said it was cheap at the price,
that it was worth it for Fran. For Fran! That in any case when he got
married—if she would have him—he was giving up racing. Didn't think it was fair
on a wife. I hope she turns him down. He got nearly two thousand for that
Cooper, and gave me a measly seven hundred."


Judith came to a decision. She was
wasting time trying to get Lorette to see the enormity of her actions. The
sooner she was out of the house the better. She said so. She began dragging out
suitcases. Lorette had bought so much stuff her own wouldn't hold them. Noirtatter. Judith dragged out her own.


They were
finished under the hour.


Leo said, "Aren't you going to
give us a drink before we go, Judith? Wish us well?"


Judith's grey eyes met his calmly.
"No. I'm not going to be a hypocrite. The sooner you're both away the
better. Goodbye.'


She hardly knew how she filled in
the afternoon after that. Although she knew the others would not be back for
hours, she found herself listening and listening for car wheels crunching on
gravel. And always, always, for the sound of hoofbeats
returning. She would rather Craig let the vials of his wrath fall upon
her before the others got home. If his anger was spent, it would be easier for
them all, for Magda, for Michael, for Fran.


Finlo she didn't worry about.
Finlo, with his quiet wisdom and his philosophy and his memory of the years he
waited for Magda, would say it was all for the best and things would sort
themselves out. There would be time enough.


Judith, for something to do, prepared a cold tea, set the table, covered it with organdie
throwovers. It would be an awkward meal. She herself would have it in her own
quarters. They could say what they thought then, give vent to their feelings.


They would hate the sight of her;
she would only remind them of Lorette and all the trouble she had brought them.
She would have to go right away. In fact, if the children had been home she
would have gone there and then. She would cable Joy tomorrow, ask if she could
put them up till the flat was empty.


Bits of what Lorette had told her
as they packed came back to her. She had said to Lorette, "But why didn't
you just take Mike's money—if you felt you must—and send for your things, not
coming back at all? Why hasn't Mike told us you'd broken the engagement?''


Lorette said, "Oh, you wouldn't
understand. You're far too superior and all for playing the game. I've never
been jilted before. Never had to plead. I wasn't going
to have that Fran crowing over me. I begged Michael to save my face. Said I'd
go in a week or two when I could make arrangements over in Sydney with friends
I could stay with. He agreed.


"Then I met Leo. It was a
solution. I married him, and was just biding my time. I thought I might just
have succeeded in getting a bit more out of Michael. Then I thought I could
triumphantly announce I was already married and walk out. Then Fran would
always feel she had taken my leavings. She would never have believed Michael if
he said he had done the jilting."


"She would have, you
know," Judith had said quietly. "She's in the habit of believing
Michael. But you wouldn't understand that. Hurry with the packing. I've had
enough of you."


Beenie came in, all unaware, took
one look at Judith's face and said, "Now, what's happened?"


Judith told her. Be easier for the
family if she did the telling. Beenie heard her through to the last. Then she
took off her hat, stabbed a hatpin through it, laid it
on her machine in the kitchen. "Oh, well, good riddance
to bad rubbish. Now we'll settle doon."


Judith thought miserably there
would be no "settling doon" for her. It would be an uprooting, a
tearing out of her heart of all that Koraputai and the master of Koraputai had
come to mean to her. She would have to rebuild her world, a world without
Craig, for whatever was settled and cleared up, it
could not affect the situation between herself and the man she loved.


At that moment, out of the kitchen
window, she saw the chestnut mare come home, riderless, reins trailing, coming
over a fence from the direction of the sea.


Beenie had gone upstairs. Judith called
her, but got no response. Had she gone to feed the fowls? Judith couldn't wait.
She didn't even wait to change into trousers, she ran for the stables as she
was. The mare came up to her, blowing her nostrils, tossing her mane. Judith
saw in a glance that she'd been down; her foreleg was bleeding, she was
lathered with sweat.


Judith felt nausea pass over her,
followed by cold fear. She could imagine it. Craig riding off
his spleen, his disgust, tearing towards the cliffs. Perhaps the mare
had stumbled and thrown him. Had he been dragged? She looked at the stirrups.
There was no sign of that, but it mightn't mean a thing.


Halley came quickly to her call.
She wasn't saddled, of course, but what did a saddle matter to Judith, who had
learned bareback? She kicked her sandals off; you got a better grip with bare
feet.


Then she was off, riding fast but
carefully. Too much was at stake for carelessness. Craig,
perhaps Craig's very life. Her full blue skirt fanned out in the wind,
her knee gripped into Halley's sides.


The next hour was a nightmare. If
only some of the men had been at home, they could have spread the search then,
for there was no trace at all. And if she went back to the house to ring up any
of the neighbors it might mean all the difference between life and death to
Craig, who could be lying injured.


She rode up and down through the
shore paddocks, peering over the cliffs, first taking to the shore, with the
horrible dread in her heart that he might have been thrown into the sea. But
there was no one on the shore. It took a hideous amount of time.


She went through all the gullies,
through the burns, calling, calling, calling.


Finally she came to the Blowhole.
It seemed the only place not explored. She tied Halley securely to a gatepost,
went to the edge, looked over. From here it was
impossible to be sure. Great twisted ngaios hung out from the sides, obscuring
the view, a little stream cut its way down the mighty rocks at one end and
there were boulders lying amid the scrub that could have hidden anyone lying
there. And at the bottom, surrounded by shingle, was the great blowhole. Thank
goodness the tide was out and there were none of the horrible sucking noises to
make it even more eerie. But it wasn't going to be an easy climb down. Not for
anyone with a bad head for heights.


She gave a final last call before
she slid over the edge, but only the lonely cry of the gulls above her head
answered her. Her fear for Craig was so great that she knew no giddiness at
all, but she didn't like the loose shingle slipping under her feet, or hearing
a boulder dislodge and fall to toe bottom; it was a horrible thought that if
Craig was lying there injured even a small boulder could do him more damage.


She reached the bottom more quickly
than she had thought she would and began to explore it quickly but
systematically.


The area down here wasn't so very
large. But there was no sign of him at all.


She cupped her hands about her
mouth. "Craig? Craig? Where are you? Oh, Craig, where are you?"


Suddenly she heard his voice.
"Judith! Judith! For God's sake, what are you doing down there?"


It came from above her head. She
looked up, saw Craig on the skyline, on his hands and
knees, peering down at her.


The world spun round, the world of
sky and crumbling cliff edge, grass and cloud, and the sound of waters
beginning to tumble through the Blowhole. She put her hands to her face,
swayed, dropped to her knees.


"Hey… steady on down
there. I'm coming. What's the matter? I'll be with you in a moment."


He came slithering down. She took
her face out of her hands to call, "Oh, Craig, be careful, be careful,
don't come so fast."


A laugh was the only answer, and
the next moment Craig dropped beside her. He sprawled at her feet, sprang up,
seized her two hands, drew her to her feet, folded her
against him.


"Judith, where've you been,
what are you doing? I thought——-"


"I thought you were thrown.
Where have you been? When Romany threw you, why didn't you come back to the
house? I thought you were injured."


He stopped trying to finish what he
had started to say and said instead, "Would you have cared?"


Judith took one look at him, tried
to pull away. His voice held more emotion than she had ever heard. "Tell
me, Judith, would you have cared?"


She shook herself free. "I'd
have felt like this if anyone had been—apparently—thrown. If Michael's horse
had come home riderless, if Finlo's had…"


He had her fast again. His fingers
were under her chin, forcing it up so she must look at him. "Just
like that? Would you have felt just li'te that?"


She said breathlessly, her eyes
meeting his and looking away, "Will you please leave me alone? I know this
has been a terrible thing to happen… there has been nothing but disharmony
at Koraputai ever since we—Lorette and I— came. But
I'll go away too, I'll cable——"


Craig gave a huge laugh, tightened
his arms about her. "You'll do nothing of the sort. You just try it, my
love. I'll go after you to the ends of the earth and bring you back. You're
here for keeps, do you hear? Listen… don't you know what I thought? I
thought you were married to Leo Malone. He simply said: 'I've come for my
wife,' and Lorette, the lying baggage, had hinted at just that the day before.
I didn't believe it then, but when he arrived and said that…


"I've a very quick temper,
darling, as you know. You'll have to help me curb it. I announced him in that
silly dramatic way, blazing inside, and flung out of the house. I rode for
miles, right round here and finishing up at Yellowstone Ford, where, to my
chagrin, Roberta and Muir and Dugald were having a picnic. One look at my face
and Roberta demanded to know what the matter was.


"Muir forbade her to
interfere, to be curious. You ought to have heard Roberta round on him. She
trounced men well and truly… you would have enjoyed it… They were
proud, they were stupid, they were dense, they had queer codes of conduct, this
wasn't done and that wasn't done… women went straight to the heart of
things. Anyone could see I'd had a row with you… that was all that could
make me look like that, that it had been sticking out for a mile ever since you
came that I was in love with you, and she supposed it was just some darned fool
misunderstanding like she and Muir had had once that could probably be cleared
up with about two straight questions if only somebody had the sense and the
courage to ask them!


"I told her it wasn't as
simple as that in our case, that it was only too clear. You were married to Leo
Malone. And there was nothing I could do about it.


"She was flummoxed too for a
moment. Then she rallied. Simply flatly refused to believe it was true. Muir
took her to task, said no one argued with evidence. If Leo Malone had said you
were his wife, then you must be. It was simply ridiculous to go on saying she
didn't believe it. Roberta went on: 'It can't be true. He's always chased after
Lorette, not Judith.' She knows that crowd in Sydney; Muir sends her over there
every couple of years or so, and she'd heard things from mutual friends. She
said one didn't need to be told some things. That she could stake her oath on
it that you hadn't married him secretly, that you weren't the type.


"I said rather bitterly that
I'd thought so too, that we had practically declared our love for each other in
the Bay of Islands, but you still went out and met him secretly that very
night. I overheard most of your conversation… I followed you. I was smoking
on the porch when you slipped out. I was curious and followed, thinking you
were just having a breath of air and thinking how wonderful… despite Magda
chasing us off to bed I could have a few moments with you under that moon. And
you met Malone. I listened in shamelessly. Then, in my fury, I decided that
before we got off the launch that morning you had seen him and that was why you
had suggested another night there.


"Oh, it's all right, Judith. I
can realize how it was all ambiguous… we can sort it out some time—if
necessary —but not now. I've a lot to get off my chest, and it's a frightful
waste of time when I'd rather be… well, you know what I'd rather be doing.
Only we must get things straight.


"Even when I was talking it
all out with Roberta it still seemed pretty conclusive. Though she maintained
there'd be an explanation, that Lorette would come into it some where, that
she'd have snarled the lines and made mischief as her mother always did."


Craig looked down into Judith's
eyes, her incredulous, still unrealizing, hardly-daring-to-hope eyes.
"Among other things, sweet, she told me about your stepmother. Lorette
once told me you'd gone to England and insisted on your father being with you
and it had preyed on your step-mother's mind because she was having a baby. I
had realized when you told me about the polio that it hadn't been like that at
all, but I didn't know till Roberta told me what had really happened. That the baby was someone else's. She'd been lonely when he
was away… and how she had pleaded with him to allow her to have an illegal
operation when he had insisted instead that she have the baby, and bring it up
as their own, she had committed suicide. Oh, Judith, Judith, what a time you
must have had!


"But at the time I couldn't
really take it in, add it up. All I could think of was
Leo saying, 'I've come for my wife.3 There wasn't a thing I could do
about that.


"Finally Roberta told the two
of us that even if we weren't coming, she was going over to find out exactly
what had happened. 'In any case, she said, 'Judith
won't be gone—she would never leave the children, and they won't even be home
yet.'


"We gave in. We had to. She
was like a human tornado. Then we noticed Romany had got away. Shows how upset
I was. We piled into the car, took it too quickly, and got stuck. Water got in
the engine. Had to get a tractor to get us out.
Finally we got here.


"I found Beenie, realized you
were gone—Leo Malone's car was gone, you see—I asked Beenie where Lorette was,
I was going to shake the whys and wherefores of it out of her. I don't think
I'll ever forget it when Beenie said: 'Lorette… gone off with that foreign-lookin'
husband of hers, o' course. But ye kenned that afore from what Judith had time
to tell me. What ye're doing to that bit lassie I dinna ken. I'd hardly got my
hat off till I saw her tearin' hell-for- leather towards the beach on that
Halley that's not fit to ride. Barebacked too. I dinna
ken wh't's come over ye. Ye used to be a laddie wi'
sense… for guid sakes, wh'ts come over ye noo… are ye clean daft?'


"I
was going mad. I danced poor old fat Beenie round and round her kitchen saying:
'Lorette's married to him. Lorette' Not Judith?'


"When we got it sorted out
Beenie gave me the tongue- bashing of my life. Oh dear, I'm going to have to
eat lots of humble pie… between her and Roberta!


" 'Ye
must be mad an' all,' she said. 'Ye ought to have known Judith was no
double-crosser… why, I could tell by her floorcloths. Nae woman who's been
trained to air her floorcloths over the currant bushes by the back door is a
schemer!' Darling, you are looking dazed. You'll recover soon. I know this is no
time to be talking of floorcloths. Let me tell you, for goodness' sake, that I
love you, I love you, I love you! I can't possibly
live without you. I've loved you ever since I saw you sitting on Lyttelton
wharf in your pudding-basin suit."


Judith came out of her daze.
"Pudding basin suit… what a romantic thing to say! As
bad as floorcloths."


He laughed. "Yes, isn't it?
You know those blue-and- white striped basins on Beenie's dresser? You looked
exactly like that —only the stripes the other way—sweet and wholesome… and
mine. Always mine, my love. Darling, let's stop
talking, let's catch up on important things. Didn't you once say I'd never get
kisses in the plural from you? How wrong you were. Just as I
was wrong…


His mouth came seeking, found hers,
found her eyelids, her neck, her hair, her temples,
the lobes of her ears. He lifted his head, looked at her.


"You look wonderful," he
said. "Dirty face, hair falling down your back, your hands scratched and
grubby, bare feet, a gipsy lass. And
all for me. Come on, we'll get out of here and get you tidied up before
they get home. I'll wash your feet again. Remember? But you're not riding
bareback, you can come up before me and I'll send Rewi over for Halley. I'm so
terrified anything happens to you as soon as I've claimed my own. You have a
fair genius for unorthodox adventures."


Judith said shakily, "You'll
never know how I felt when I was calling, calling, and there was no answer. And
then when you suddenly appeared against the skyline I could have shot you…
you were so safe and sound. I've always thought it terrible the way some
mothers, looking for lost children, smack them when they're found, but for one
mad moment I could understand how they felt!"


Craig said solemnly, "Just the
same, I shan't allow you to smack ours under those circumstances. Oh, Judith,
don't you realize how wonderful this is? We have a future, we can plan…
you needn't think we're going to have a long engagement. We'll get married next
month. I'll ring the Reverend Donald tonight."


They came up into a bright world.
Over the mountains to the west, the sun was setting in a glory of color that
Craig said was to celebrate their happiness. It flung banners far and wide,
touching even the furthest breakers with amber and rose and saffron.


Craig held her against him.
"There are a few explanations to make to the family when they come home,
but you're not to be upset, my love. No one classes you with Lorette, they're
only sorry for all you have suffered at her hands." His face went very
serious. "Not only at her hands. Judith, can you ever forgive me for the
way I treated you by that big kauri? You must have been completely bewildered.
I'll try to make it up to you."


The sweet grey eyes lifted to his.
"You have made it up now, Craig." She took his face between her
hands, raised herself up, kissed him on the lips.
"No remorse, please, Craig. I should have trusted you more, explained
about Lorette and Leo. It was so foolish. Let's forget it. We've wasted a lot
of time, but there's plenty ahead."


"Yes,
traa di liooar," said Craig softly.


"Yes,
all the days ahead…"


"And the
nights," he added.


She came up neatly before him, he gathered up the reins in one hand, the other held
her tightly against him.


Judith was just beginning to realize
it, that all misunderstandings were over. He turned Romany loose in the home
paddock. "I'll attend to her later."


They came across the paddocks
together, hand in hand. Craig lifted her as carefully over the fences as if she
had been in a sheath frock and stiletto heels. They came to the gravel. He
swung her up into his arms in case it bruised her feet, strode to the steps,
put her gently down, kissed her as he did so.


They both turned to look back at
the shoreline. "Was there ever a lovelier place?" said Judith. "The House of the Shining Tide."


Craig bent to her again, but at
that moment the door flew open and people crowded out on to the terrace…
Beenie in her blue spotted print, Roberta and Muir, Maggy and Danny, Magda and
Finlo, Michael and Fran.


Michael and Fran… hand in
hand.


the end