A Southern Star (3 page)

“Try it,” he urged. Christie was rewarded with a burst of flavour, realised it was fresh fish, really fresh, not like the fish in city restaurants Paul had taken her to. Pushing thoughts of Paul to one side, Christie realised Blake was watching her eat, obviously pleased to see her enjoying the fish. She glared at him as he politely asked how her wine was, ungraciously acknowledged how much she was enjoying it, unable to resist adding it was not what she would have chosen herself.

“So you’ll be working at the hotel then,” Blake said casually, ignoring her barb. Christie took a deep breath, nodding, answering his further questions. “And so, apart from wanting to see the island,” Blake was saying with a smile, reminding her of her statement from the ferry, “why come here, from Auckland?” Christie gave him what she hoped was a convincing explanation, simply telling him she was tired of life in a big city, the rat race and long hours working behind a desk on design projects, the constant pressure of demanding clients. His joking, his arrogant single mindedness, was gone; Christie realised with a start Blake seemed genuinely interested in her responses, was not simply being polite.

Christie shook her head when Blake suggested dessert after the meal. “Coffee then?”

Suddenly nervous, Christie glanced at him quickly. “No, thank you, no, I should be going.” She stood up abruptly. His eyes flashed; he stood up also. Again she was aware of his imposing height; she swallowed convulsively.
 

His voice was absolutely without inflection. “I’ll walk you back to where you’re staying.”
 

“No, I…” she looked out at the darkness of the promenade with the inky blackness of the sea beyond.
 

“You should be perfectly safe walking on the island. Not like the city,” he said, realising her dilemma.
 

Blushing as she realised he had so easily guessed her thoughts, Christie took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said. “But, as you said, I’ll be fine.”
 

She started threading her way through the still crowded bar towards the door, conscious of him walking immediately behind her. Blake reached out to push the door open for her just as she got to it, shepherding Christie into the lobby. “I don’t need an escort home,” Christie repeated stubbornly, looking up at him in the muted light of the reception area.
 

“Of course you don’t,” Blake said, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “God forbid you should ever need any help from me.”
 

Unbidden, Paul’s face appeared in Christie’s mind and the pain of his betrayal blotted out her awareness of Blake. Her troubled emotions were evident in her face and dimly, as if from a great distance, she heard Blake’s voice asking what was wrong. Shaking her head,
 

Christie stepped back, turning away hastily and walking quickly to the main door, focusing only on getting back to the crib.

Blake moved after her, realising she had already struck out along the promenade. Powerless to stop her, powerless to go after her in the face of her opposition, he nevertheless stood watching her until she disappeared around the cliff road several minutes later; his face contemplative as he turned to walk back into the bar.

Chapter Two

Christie stumbled into the crib, wrenching off her red jacket and throwing it down, uncaring, on the nearest chair. She sank down onto the sofa, noticing the pamphlets she had been looking at earlier. The previous optimism she had felt earlier mocked her like a living thing.
How did I ever think I could do this?
Christie thought to herself. Tears seeped over her eyelids. She allowed herself to think back to Paul’s matter-of-fact tone as he told her it was over, their engagement off, heartlessly spelling out for her that he didn’t love her anymore, and for good measure, letting her know he was hoping to make a go of it with Amanda. Amanda, Christie’s best friend, her closest ally.
 

Christie’s memory replayed Amanda’s helpless tears, her endless, meaningless apologies and trite justifications. Weary, numbed with shock, too hurt even for anger, Christie had just walked out of the room. If anything, Amanda’s betrayal of their friendship had hurt just as much as Paul’s behaviour; the combined effect had been almost unendurable.

In a daze, Christie had moved out of the rental apartment she had shared with Paul, found a flat, cancelled the wedding plans she had started to make. In the close professional circles she and Paul—and Amanda—had moved in, the situation became the latest gossipy scandal, Amanda’s involvement sending a double shockwave through Christie’s friends and acquaintances as the new couple wasted no time in being seen around town. Christie’s only thought had been to get away, ignoring the well-meaning advice of her parents and friends as they cautioned her against making hasty decisions.
 

And now here she was, a new place, a new job and—Blake. On a rollercoaster of emotion, agonising, Christie thought back over the day, the casual meal shared with Blake in the rowdy atmosphere of the pub. Half laughing, half crying, Christie could not help contrasting the evening with Blake, here on the island, with a meal with Paul in Auckland, focusing not on her preference but being seen at the “right” restaurant, the most fashionable bar.

That fish was beautiful,
she thought.
Blake was right.
Her face flamed as she stared unseeing out over the perfect blackness of the bay, as thoughts of Blake pushed Paul from her mind. His brazen, almost arrogant behaviour had annoyed her even as she was uncomfortably aware of his imposing presence, his teasing eyes displaying unfeigned interest as he had asked her questions about herself, her career.
And when was the last time Paul spoke to me like that?
a small voice inside her asked silently. Overcome by weariness, heartsick at recalling Paul’s deception, Christie stood up, intent on sleep. Her dull gaze fell on her discarded red jacket as she walked sleepily into her bedroom and eventually fell into a troubled sleep.
 

The next morning Christie slept late. She had arrived on the island a few days earlier than her start date, wanting to settle in and have a look around before starting work. Christie realised there were several tramps she could do on the island, extending through the National Park as well as day tramps around the settlement itself. She was drawn to the vast wall map of the island in the information centre, focusing on the coast where a long beach was depicted.

“Mason Bay.” The ranger walked up behind her. “There’s a hut there, you can see kiwis.” Christie thought back to the exhibit of New Zealand’s rare national bird she had seen as a child at Auckland Zoo. She mentioned this to the ranger and he laughed. “No, kiwis in their natural habitat. In the wild.” Embarrassed but fascinated, Christie pressed him for further details, already wondering whether her work schedule would allow her a block of days off so she could go on an extended tramp.
 

— # —

On Sunday, Christie set out to walk to the Ackers Point Lighthouse, the peaceful coastal walk being another one recommended by the helpful ranger. As she walked past the hotel on her return, Lisa called out, suggesting a drink when her shift finished in ten minutes, gently teasing Christie about her dinner with Blake on Friday night. Smiling, Christie nodded, took a seat at one of the outdoor picnic tables, relaxing in the sunshine and waiting for Lisa.

Half an hour later, Christie was deep in conversation with Lisa, enjoying a glass of wine and the platter of snacks they had ordered. Christie had politely parried Lisa’s good- natured comments about Friday night; smiling neutrally as Lisa observed Christie was the envy of the island’s female population. Christie was starkly aware she had no one to confide in about Blake, about the turmoil he created in her, but was cautious about telling Lisa too much. Instead, Christie steered the conversation to the national park and to the information she had about Mason Bay.

Too late she saw Lisa’s face change to a look of mischief as she stood up, draining the last of her glass of wine. “Hello, Lisa, Christie.” Blake’s deep voice was unmistakable and Christie realised with a slight panic that Lisa was preparing to leave.
 

“Hi, Blake,” Lisa replied. “I’ve got to be off, but Christie is trying to get information on Mason Bay. “Doesn’t Tony organise tours there?” She turned to Christie. “Tony is Blake’s friend, he has one of the tour businesses here.” Christie nodded politely, remembering Blake mentioning Tony on Friday night. Lisa’s tone was completely natural but Christie blushed at the obvious ploy, realising she could not now leave with Lisa.

Blake gave Christie an assessing look as Lisa walked away. “You want to go to Mason Bay?” His voice was friendly.
 

“Yes,” Christie said nervously. “But I’ve already spoken to the ranger and— ”

 
“You don’t need my help,” finished Blake, giving her a slight smile. Christie could not meet his eyes; the silence between them drifted. Blake exhaled heavily. “Well I don’t have time to stop anyway. I’m meeting my mates to watch the rugby at the pub. Have fun planning your tramp.” He walked away without another word, leaving her sitting at the picnic table.
 

Christie had never felt more alone in her life. She was bitterly aware that she had easily asked the ranger questions, thought nothing about seeking information from a total stranger. Yet she had frozen when Blake, ideally placed to also assist her with her plans, stood in front her, to the extent he had simply walked off, no doubt exasperated by her contrariness. The exchange played on Christie’s mind over the next few weeks as she settled into work, thriving in the informal friendly environment, easily picking up the hotel systems, her natural intelligence and people skills bringing her more responsibility and praise from Murray.

“Take a few days off later this week,” he said one day while thanking her for the long hours she had worked. “You deserve to relax, you’ve seemed tired lately.” Christie nodded, realising she could go to Mason Bay, thinking also of the way working long hours had distracted her from thoughts of Paul and Amanda.

Immediately after her shift finished, Christie grabbed her bag, intent on making confirmed plans to go to Mason Bay. Her face tense, she walked down to the shore, where she knew Tony’s office was, not acknowledging she was also hoping Blake would be there. As she walked in she realised there were several people there; almost lost her nerve as she saw Blake talking to others. Shannon, the girl Christie had seen on the ferry, saw her first, came over. “You’re here to see Blake.” Shannon assumed, turning to call out to Blake before Christie could say anything. Christie saw the shock on his face before he quickly assumed a mask of polite indifference, moving over towards her. She flinched as he came closer and she read the slight contempt in his eyes.
 

“Christie.” Blake said nothing more, simply stood waiting, keeping a polite distance. Christie ached as she recalled his closeness on the ferry, at the pub.
 

“I want to go to Mason Bay at the end of this week. What options are available?” She realised her voice sounded formal, stiff.
 

Blake shrugged casually. “It sounded like you already had everything sorted out a few weeks ago,” he said cuttingly.
 

Some welcome steel came into Christie’s spine. “I’ll just get the information from the pamphlets then,” she said acidly. “Thank you for your help.”

Gracefully, she moved over to the display, scanning the pamphlets, burning with anger and humiliation at Blake’s cool dismissal. Guiltily, she remembered her earlier rudeness, realised that she had pushed Blake too far, and that he was strong enough to push back.

The only pamphlets Christie could see were advertising guided tours; she frowned, wanting to travel independently, something the ranger told her was possible
. Perhaps I should talk to Murray
, she thought.
He would know.
She was uncomfortably aware Blake was still watching her, had not moved even after she had walked away.

Blake stood, as if fixed to the spot, noticing Christie’s figure—definitely noticing her figure, he thought wryly—the narrow waist, the impossibly long legs, the slightly unruly dark hair spilling down her back. But also noticing the slightly hunched shoulders, the tense stance. He swore to himself and walked over to her. “Christie.” Again he said her name; she looked around, her face uncertain. He could see anger mingled with hurt in her eyes. “I’m just racing to catch the ferry,” he said quietly. “But I’ll call into the hotel in the next couple of days to make sure the ranger has answered all your questions.” Without another word he walked out of the office; Christie watched him walk towards the ferry terminal, disappear inside.

— # —

Christie did not have a chance to talk to Murray until late the following day; he came into reception just as she was about to finish her shift. “Tell you what, Christie, Ian is probably in the bar as we speak, come through now and I’ll introduce you.” He led her through to the bar, introducing her to an older, weather-beaten man sitting with others by the pool table. “Ian, Christie wants to go to Mason Bay at the end of the week. What are the tides like?”

Satisfied Ian would be able to take Christie, Murray left them talking to confirm the details. Gruffly, Ian emphasised that because the estuary was tidal, Christie needed to strictly observe the times he had given her, otherwise she would be stranded until the next high tide. Christie took out her wallet; Ian eyed it suspiciously. “We’ll sort it out later,” he said briefly.