Unknown (9 page)

He passed them and swung around in a wide curve to park in front of the homestead. ‘Come on.’ He lifted her cases out.

Katriona slid from her seat and followed him to the gate, then stopped, half in admiration for the house and surroundings and half in sheer terror at the coming meeting. There was plenty of reason to stop and stare by the wrought iron gate. The house looked, from a commanding position, over the Hope River and station flats, down to the main Lewis Pass road. Graceful mature silver birch trees made a fitting entrance to a lovely home. Katriona saw Morgan disappear through large ranch-slider doors and knew she would have to follow him.. She walked along the neat cement path; appreciating the green sweep of the well-kept terraced lawns and garden, the colourful profusion of flowers and shrubs and the sheer elegance of the superb standard roses blooming in all their glory, which formed a guard of honour each side of the path from the front gate to the door.

There was no sign of Morgan, nor anyone else, when Katriona reached the huge glass doors, so she stopped, wondering whether to go in or not. She peeped in and was instantly captured by the warm welcoming aspect of the attractively furnished room. This living room had been planned with excellent taste and loving care to a perfect blend of the old and new, from the modern richness of the deep pile carpet and comfortable easy chairs and couch to the beauty of the highly polished brasses and the dominating majesty of the centuries-old grandfather clock. Certainly the high point of the room would be the perfectly proportioned heavy kauri table, the matchless gleam of its polished surface reflecting the glowing colours of a pottery bowl of nasturtiums arranged with careful casualness.

Intrigued, Katriona inched a little further into the room, admiring the huge wide open fireplace and high old-fashioned mantelpiece, then saw beyond the cascading pot-plants on the room divider a magnificent modem kitchen, gleaming and shining, the model of efficiency, the snow-white curtains moving gently in the soft early evening breeze.

Suddenly a sadness that was a physical pain caught at her heart with tearing intensity, making her turn from the solid warmth and invitation of the room to the cool perfumed fragrance of the garden. Tears filled her eyes as she tried to fight off the bitter knowledge that all this beauty and security could have been hers. She could have grown up here, she could have swung in the swing that hung from the lower limb of the silver birch by the gate, as a baby she could have sat in the lovingly preserved colonial high-chair in the living-room ... she could have called this wonderful place her home.

A shrill cry made her hurriedly brush away her tears, and to her incredible delight she saw a peacock with its tail-feathers spread wide, displaying the iridescent blue and green glory with justified pride. Open-mouthed, Katriona watched it strut and parade in and out between the roses with a proprietorial air, until an extremely large white cat bounded on to the lawn with tail switching, followed shortly by an aggressive tortoiseshell cat, and the ensuing battle put the peacock to flight.

Morgan came out of the house and down the steps in a hurry. ‘They’re up at the new house.’

Katriona caught his arm. ‘There was a peacock in the garden—a real peacock in among the roses! It’s flown away.’

The frown on Morgan’s face cleared as he gazed down at the bright awed look in her blue eyes. ‘It’s okay. There are a pair of them here. You’re not seeing things. They range free. We don’t cage any bird if we can help it, except the kea, and I doubt he’d fly away even if he wasn’t caged. He lives like royalty on the biscuits the tourists feed him. Come along. Ross is up at the new house and Nivvy has just taken him up his afternoon tea, so we’re in luck.’

An appalling thought struck Katriona as she turned back to the open door and saw the bowl of orange and yellow nasturtiums ... a woman’s touch, without doubt.

‘Nivvy? Is she your wife?’ She was pleased that her voice sounded only a little breathless as she hurried to follow him down the path.

‘No, she isn’t. She’s my housekeeper.’ He held the gate open for her. ‘Do I
look
married?’ He was insulted.

‘No, but they’re the worst sort.’ Katriona giggled as she got back in the truck, although she knew it was no laughing matter. The knowledge of how shattered she had felt to think Morgan was married gave her an idea of the depth of her feeling for him. She backed away from that discovery.

‘That would be the voice of experience talking?’ Morgan questioned.

‘Of course!’ Katriona replied without truth. ‘What do you mean by tourists feeding the kea? Where is the new house? Whose new house?’

He swung the truck almost full circle and drove through an open cyclone gate by a barn filled with hay. ‘There are the deer ... see? This was one of the first deer farms in New Zealand' and the deer park was opened to give the public a chance to see the deer.’

Katriona was staring round-eyed at the deer in the enclosure which ran from the gravel road they were driving on back across the fields to a stream and the plantation beyond. An enormous stag stood at the edge of the trees, his head thrown back in classic stance as he gave his deep, full-throated roar.

‘You’re lucky to be here for the roar ... that’s the mating season ... March, April, May.’

‘You farm deer?’ Katriona wanted to be sure she had it correct. ‘How many? Where are they?’

‘We’ve over a
thousand now. We run them up on Mount Kakapo,’ Morgan explained as he waved to two small boys playing with a
Hereford calf by a
big pine in front of another farm cottage.

‘Head shepherd’s house.’

Katriona gulped. ‘My father owns a mountain?’

‘Several,’ Morgan answered casually. ‘Although we call them hills.’

'I'll call them mountains,’ Katriona promised him.

Morgan grinned, ‘I’m sure you will. You’d be just the sort to make a mountain out of a molehill, let alone an ordinary hill. There’s your father’s brain-child—his new house. You’d better like it... God knows what he paid the architect who designed it!’

‘I’ll like it,’ Katriona interrupted with a
swift fierce loyalty which surprised her. Poor old crippled man, enjoying a little pleasure from building himself a house while this domineering Morgan was critical! Naturally she would side with her father. Together they’d put Morgan Grant where he belonged. A little of her certainty drained away as Morgan followed the narrow twisting road through the trees for a short distance, then emerged on to a clearing in front of the new house.

‘Follow me,’ Morgan commanded as he leapt nimbly down and went up the wide smooth steps of the new house with confidence.

Katriona followed him on shaky legs. Her father might be getting a little pleasure, but he was building a
lot of house ... it was a mansion, perfectly proportioned, and artistically designed to blend in with the landscape. It was still in the raw unfinished state, but it spoke of elegance and charm, not to mention luxury.

‘Wait here,’ Morgan instructed her. 'Your father will probably be in his office. It’s almost finished. He has it furnished, and the kitchen is almost complete.’

‘I don’t want a builder’s report! ’ Katriona spat out the words.

‘Sorry, I am rambling on. Naturally you’re nervous ... It will be all right, little Red.’

Katriona’s head came up and her eyes sought his for reassurance, but found something else ...
pity
! Fear clawed at her throat, and she grabbed his arm. ‘You never did say what sort of a man my father was. Tell me now or I’ll walk out of here! ’

Aware that she was on the edge of panic, Morgan spoke quietly. ‘Your father is a fine man. He’ll do me to cross the river with ... Do you know what that means, little Red? Here, where the rivers run deep and swift, two men can cross more safely than one, but you virtually trust your partner with your life.’ He hesitated as if to add something and thought better of it, turned and left the room rapidly.

Katriona wandered over to the huge floor-to-ceiling picture windows which gave her a panoramic view of the station. She could see the head shepherd’s house, the deer park, and further away the homestead in the trees. She could see the Lewis Pass road snaking its way past the front gate. She hugged her arms across her chest, feeling cold in spite of the obvious warmth of the day. Progress was being made on a swimming pool and barbecue area to her left...

‘Good afternoon! May I help you?’

Katriona came round with a jerk to find a pleasant-looking dark-haired woman wearing a sun-frock watching her from the doorway.

‘Oh, no ... thanks. I’m just waiting to see Mr Carmichael,’ Katriona replied nervously.

‘That’s okay, then.’ The woman gave her a warm smile. ‘I’m Janet Niven, the housekeeper. Does he know you’re here?’

‘Yes, thank you. Morgan Grant brought me, and he’s gone to find him.’ Katriona was acutely aware that she had to clench her teeth to keep them from chattering.

‘If Morgan is looking after you, I’ve no need to worry. I’m just going to put on afternoon tea, so you’ve arrived at the right time.’ Mrs Niven gave her a friendly nod and then left.

Morgan was not looking after her, Katriona thought resentfully. He had been gone absolutely ages. What could be happening? Perhaps her father was angry at her for arriving unannounced ... worse still, perhaps he no longer wanted to see her. Perhaps she would be sent away
ig
nominiously. She flung back her hair in a defiant gesture and slammed her cap back on as this thought struck her. She
would
not care. She had a little money left and her return ticket. She was nobody’s charity child. She could look after herself, had been doing so for years. In fact she would leave right now. If he did not want a daughter, then she did not want a father. She had managed perfectly well without a father for twenty-one years.

She wheeled around and started back to tell Mrs Niven that she was leaving, and met Morgan.

‘Oh, Katriona, I was just coming to get you. Sorry to have taken so long ...’

‘Don’t apologise,’ Katriona snapped furiously. ‘I was a fool to come. I don’t know how I could have been so foolish! ’

‘Hey, girl, don’t get mad at the old man before you meet him. Don’t be scared.’

‘I’m not scared,’ Katriona hissed. That was the truth, because she was beyond being scared and was almost petrified.

Morgan caught her elbow and somehow propelled her up a short flight of steps, and flung open a door in front of her. He gave her a slight push of encouragement as she passed him and closed the door behind her.

Aghast, Katriona realised that Morgan had abandoned her, not even stopping to smooth the way with an introduction. She
hated
him! Morgan Grant was a mean, miserable, unfeeling beast. She glanced around her, noting that she was in some sort of an office, with book-lined shelves and leather chairs. Slowly she lifted her eyes to the desk in the corner, and then to the tall silver-haired man leaning against that desk. He was smoking a pipe and seemed to be scrutinising her carefully. He showed no sign that her precipitate arrival had disturbed him.

He levered himself off the desk and walked towards her, his hand extended. ‘Well, Miss Carmichael, Miss Katriona Carmichael, it’s a real pleasure to meet you at last.’

Katriona shook hands automatically. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered, feeling utterly ridiculous.

‘Now, if you’d be so kind as to take this chair here, I’ll sit myself down at my desk and we’ll proceed to get to know each other slowly. I’m sure Mrs Niven will make an appearance at any moment with afternoon tea. Or maybe, having travelled a long way, you would care for something a little stronger? Sherry? Whisky?’

‘No, thank you, a cup of tea will be fine, thank you.’ Katriona felt that she was in a state of shock. Nothing was as she had imagined it. Somehow she had built up a picture of a lonely, sick old man, heavily built, partly crippled. He could have been in a wheelchair, a little dazed and bewildered from being pushed around by an aggressive, impatient young man, namely Morgan Grant. Nothing could have been further from the truth, and she was hastily trying to adjust herself to the changed circumstances.

Her father was a tall, lean, athletically built and well dressed man, eminently capable of looking after himself. He had a strong masculine face, almost ruthless, tanned to mahogany, with bushy eyebrows hooding steel-blue eyes.

‘Did you have a good trip out from Scotland, Miss Carmichael?’ He stretched back comfortably in his expensive swivel chair, casually crossing his long legs.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Katriona stammered politely. She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, knees together, hands primly folded on her lap, almost as if she was being interviewed for a job. Why should she be so much on the defensive? She did not know why; just that she was. Somehow his polite, polished manner was rapidly reducing her nerves to pulp.

The door opened and Mrs Niven came in bearing an attractive afternoon tea on a tray. ‘Will I pour for you, Ross?’

‘Yes, of course. Unless Miss Carmichael would care to do the honours?’

Until they both looked at her, Katriona did not realise that it was a question. She shook her head emphatically. 'No. Thank you.’

Her mind was a chaotic whirl of impressions, sliding and jumping together. First and foremost was the fact that her father had said it was a pleasure to meet her. It was quite obvious that he lied. He was bored to his back teeth. Secondly, he was treating her like a visitor ... no, job applicant. He had more warmth in his tone when he spoke to his housekeeper than when he spoke to her. Katriona watched Mrs Niven pour the tea and hand her father a cup, then the sugar bowl. She started to do a long slow bum. She watched him smile at Mrs Niven as he helped himself to a freshly baked cheese scone from the plate she offered him. The long slow bum started to speed up, almost as if she was getting her second wind after a long and gruelling race.