Bride in Flight (9 page)

Talk became general. Kirsty’s pulses stopped racing, her cheeks cooled. But she wanted to get away from the lounge where any moment Simon might reveal they’d recently come from Sydney by air, and have someone ask what trip and could they possibly have been on the one with the runaway bride.

She walked to the window, looked out on the lake, folded now in a purple twilight deepening to a navy-blue night.

Simon joined her. “Lovely, isn’t it? Let’s take a turn in the garden, Kirsty, it’s a charming one. The children’s windows are open on it, we’d hear them if they called.”

She assented gladly. “Yes, it’s like a picture of an English inn, isn’t it? Long and low, with roses and hollyhocks nodding in at the windows.”

The moon, shaped like a slice of orange, spangled a moori-track across the vast waters beyond which the mountains brooded. Tomorrow they would be the other side of the ranges, beyond the reach, she supposed, of recent newspapers. She would feel safer when the leagues of bush and mountain, glacier and torrent, lay between them and the newspaper world.

CHAPTER FIVE

AS they took the road to Lake Wanaka next morning Kirsty wished they’d been heading straight for the west coast. At Wanaka township the crowds seemed thinner, despite the fact that it was another glorious day.

“Quite a lot would leave last night,” said Simon, “to give themselves a day or so to get the kids back to school for the start of the New Year. This chap I was telling you of, Edward Campbell, will be getting his nieces back to Columba College in Dunedin. They live uplake, no access except by water or, in emergencies, plane. They had their primary education at home—governesses—but both Edward and Fiona thought it would be good for them to have their high school education in a crowd.

“They’re lovely kids, Victoria and Elizabeth. Their mother was an exquisite-looking woman and they both take after Rangi.”

“Rangi ... a Maori name ... though of course lots of people here use Maori names for their children, don’t they?”

“Yes, but these children have a right to them. Edward’s brother was married to a Maori princess. She died saving a couple of youngsters from drowning. Robert shot himself getting through a fence some years later. But since Fiona—Edward’s wife—came to the sheep station the family is very happy. I occasionally spend a week with them. We might be able to more often now they’ve got an airstrip.

“Edward told me to meet them at the bus stop, then we could go round with them to the crib for the morning tea before setting off.”

They had been at the bus stop just a few moments when the Campbell clan turned up. Fiona Campbell was a tall redhead, Edward Campbell grey-eyed, with brown hair bleached at the stubbly ends. He emerged from a pile of luggage, cricket bats, hockey sticks, tennis racquets, overcoats and straps of books.

“Really,” he groaned, “I’m sure no one ever travels with as much luggage as Elizabeth and Vicky. It’s a sin!”

A father bursts out laughing. “You’ve not got it all on your own, mate. Look at my daughter’s stuff! I’d not be that bus driver for quids.”

Elizabeth, dark, with glossy curls, an exquisitely patrician nose, big brown eyes and a golden-brown skin flushed with a dusky rose, chuckled. “Don’t get in a flap, Edward. You’ve no idea. We all handle our own luggage, don’t we, Jock?” she called to the bus-driver.

“Too right you do, Elizabeth, if you didn’t you’d bring twice as much. It’s a wonder that launch didn’t founder, with all that gear.”

There were two younger boys, William and James, and a toddler, with Fiona’s features and Edward’s coloring. He looked at Mark while the introductions were going on and said, pointing: “Bub
b
a!”

For once the placid Mark was enraged. He screwed his face into a horrible grimace and said indignantly: “Mark’s a big boy!”

Fiona chuckled. “Yes, bigger than you, Robbie.” She said to Kirsty, “What fantastic luck for Simon—and the kids—his knowing someone who would come and take charge of them. What an adventure—it’s as remote as our place, even if it does have a road leading there now. How does the idea appeal?”

Kirsty grinned. “Simon is afraid I’ll find it lonely, just because I come from Sydney, but it doesn’t necessarily follow.”

“Indeed no. After all, I came from Edinburgh, and the life uplake has got me completely.”

Vicky, a taller, older edition of Elizabeth, said with sparkling eyes, “It was a bit of luck for us. Fiona arrived to teach us and married Edward.”

They almost saw the idea hit her ... her eyes widened as they met Kirsty’s golden-brown ones. She involuntarily looked at Simon, who, Kirsty was thankful to see, was engaged in helping Edward.

“Vicky!” said Fiona warningly. “Now just stop it. Talk about the romantic age!”

“Well,” said Vicky argumentatively, “we knew you were going to marry Edward long before you did yourselves.”

“That doesn’t qualify you to run a marriage bureau, my pet. I hope you got those pyjamas in off the line, did you?”

“Yes. We’ll iron them at school. Give our love to the Clemistons, won’t you?” Vicky turned to Kirsty in explanation. “You see, they’re going up to Paradise for a few days.”

The next moment they were all convulsed at the look on Kirsty’s face.

Edward said, between gasps, “It’s all right, Mrs. Brown. She doesn’t mean we’re having a ‘fortaste of glory divine’ or that we’ll be rising wings to get there! Paradise is a settlement at the head of Lake Kakatipu. I’m taking Fiona up for a spell, because she always frets for a few days after the girls go back to school.”

The bus-driver was shepherding his passengers inside.

Elizabeth said in a low voice to Fiona: “Don’t forget, Fiona darling, that the end of November would be a good time. Lambing’s finished, and we’d be back to help as soon as school finished for the year.”

Edward caught this, looked mystified. He looked at Fiona, who was trying to wear a too-innocent look after a quick warning glance at Elizabeth. “What
are
they talking about now? What devilish plot are they hatching? All that time ahead too! Don’t let yourself be rushed into rash promises, Fiona. I know these two. What is it? I won’t be kept in the dark!” This had the effect of sending the two girls into convulsions.

“What gigglers they are!” said Edward disgustedly. “And you aren’t much better, Fiona. What’s funny about that?”

Elizabeth choked out, “Just that—she—she couldn’t keep it from you, Edward. She’d—er—need your—er—cooperation.”

“Girls!” said Fiona most sternly.

Edward snorted. “I know ... it’s some ridiculous featherbrained scheme you’ll spring on me at the last moment. Now, come on, out with it. So I can nip it in the bud.”

Victoria was mopping her eyes. She edged a little nearer the bus. They were going to be last on. “Oh, nothing feather-brained or last-minute about this, Uncle Edward. That’s the last thing F.P. could be!”

“
F.P.?
What the dickens is F.P.?”

Victoria’s eyes were sparkling. But she dropped her voice a little. “What else but Family Planning, dear Uncle!”

Edward’s jaw dropped. Fiona gave way to mirth. “They think it’s time Robert had a mate. They think he’s getting spoiled.”

Elizabeth said, “Just look at Edward’s face! The perfect picture of an outraged Victorian.” She added, “But don’t worry, Fiona, his mouth is crumbling.”

“I am
not
laughing,” said their uncle.

The bus driver leaned out. “Now, come on, you two. Last on as usual. Time you were aboard.”

“More than time,” said Edward.

The bus lumbered off.

Kirsty decided the Campbells were fun.

Fiona, making morning tea, said they kept the crib for holidays in Wanaka, often using it for the night if they had to go to Dunedin.

Edward said, “If you want to take the children through some time to see your sister, you’d better use it too, Simon, now you’ve become a family man. We’ve got a spare key. Remind me to hand it over, Fiona, before they leave.”

It was a delightful spot, with a sunny patio with deck chairs. Rebecca and Geordie disappeared with William and James, with William saying, “Yes, fair dinks, Hamish Macdonald the author and naturalist is my uncle. Well, Fiona’s brother, but that’s the same. He’s back in Africa, but he’s coming over here again next year. Boy, what he doesn’t know about bugs!”

Edward grinned. “Listen to the bragging, Simon. Come and have a look at the bottom of the property among the trees. There’s a tiny stream cuts across it, and I’ve an idea about damming it up so in the hot weather next year the kids can use it to splash about in. I’ll have to fence it off for Robert, of course.” His face creased into a grin. “Perhaps I’ll have another reason by then! Anyway, I’d like your opinion about it.”

They disappeared. Fiona looked after them indulgently. “What kids men are! Now you’ll be lucky if you get away by lunch-time. Not that I mind, we aren’t going up to Paradise till tomorrow, and this will give me a chance to get to know you.”

Her eyes were kind, sympathy for a young widow, Kirsty supposed. She hated accepting that under false pretenses. Fiona was making sandwiches and slicing up a meat pie. “I know Simon said the hotel had packed you some lunch, but having had great experience with children’s appetites in this mountain air I’m putting up some more for you.”

She slipped the packages into polythene bags, came back to sit by Kirsty. “If you’ve got room I’ll put these magazines in the wagon for you. It’s horrible when you live outback to run out of reading matter. By the way, did Simon get a paper at the store? Well, tell him not to bother. We’ve finished ours.” She slapped an Otago Daily Times on top of the pile.

“Oh, that reminds me ... I thought of it when Simon was telling us of the turbulence you experienced on the plane. He mentioned what time you got in. There’s an item of interest here—I meant to say at the time, but I got sidetracked with Robert spilling his milk. You must actually have been on the plane with that runaway bride, Christine Macpherson. Look.” Her forefinger traced the news item. “Read that. I wonder if she was sitting anywhere near you and Simon. A ghastly thing to do, wasn’t it? Leave that Gilbert Brownfield at the altar, waiting. Did you notice her ... extremely fair?”

Kirsty kept her head bent, the loose hair swinging forward over her cheeks. She strove to be normal, managed a voice that didn’t appear to tremble, said, “You mean they’ve given a description of her?”

“A photograph. Look, on page five.” Fiona flipped the pages over and there Kirsty saw her own face looking up at her. She felt frozen, but she couldn’t go on looking at it indefinitely, not uttering a word. But words wouldn’t come.

She looked up, the hair swung back. Fiona gazed at her, then her eyes widened, became startled, her hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh, no!” she said, shrinking back from the almost certainty. “No ... yet it is, isn’t it? Not Kirsty Brown, widow, but Christine Macpherson ... on the run! Where does Simon come into it?”

Kirsty swallowed, found her voice, said flatly: “He doesn’t know.”

Fiona Campbell looked incredulous. “He doesn’t know! But I’m sure he gave Edward to understand, on the phone, that he knew you well. If he doesn’t know why is he pretending you’re a widow?”

Her eyes flew to that hateful wedding ring.

Kirsty drew in a deep, necessary breath. Now she had involved Simon. Fiona Campbell would think they were running away together, that he was the reason she had left Gilbert. Simon’s name would be smirched. She said stumblingly, “He—he was given the seat that my husband ... I mean my fiancé, at least he would have been my husband by then if the wedding had come off—ought to have occupied. He had no idea of my identity. I—felt a bit faint on the plane. I asked him not to call the hostess. I was afraid they would put back if I seemed ill. I told him it was delayed shock. He leapt to the conclusion, seeing my new wedding ring, that I’d lost my husband before we had been married long. I thought—well, I just agreed. I’m not a liar normally. But I didn’t want anyone to know I’d come to New Zealand. I thought I’d say goodbye to my seat-mate at Christchurch, never see him again.” She put a hand to her head. “Then he began to tell me about his predicament. His sister, the children, where his work lay. It sounded like a refuge to me ... the end of „the earth, somewhere to hide till—but what’s the use? It’s followed me here. I’m found out.”

Fiona turned away abruptly, took a turn or two about the room, said, “It’s fantastic. I don’t know what to do. I—I had taken a fancy to you.”

Had! The past tense. This was the finish.

Fiona said: “Possibly it’s none of my business, but there are the children ... Simon. They’re going to be involved in something quite unsavory. But what can we do? The kids can’t go to an end-of-the-world spot like Haast without someone to care for them. Didn’t you think how you could involve other people?”

Kirsty said: “There isn’t anything unsavory, I—”

“But what sort of guardian would you make for these children? Anyone who could be so cruel as to leave a man at the very altar isn’t fit to look after little ones.
I
know.”

Kirsty looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Because it’s practically what happened to me in Edinburgh. Only at least Ian had the decency to come to tell me a few days before the wedding that he was jilting me. If your fiancé is going through the hell I did I’m sorry for him!”

Suddenly everything cleared for Kirsty. She stood up. “He isn’t,” she said crisply. “At least not in that way. He’s probably trying to explain to his wife how he thought he was going to get away with bigamy.”

Fiona got such a shock she took a couple of steps backwards. “What did you say?” she demanded.

Kirsty took an anxious, hunted look out of the window. The .men were not to be seen, but might appear at any moment. It looked as if she would just have to go on explaining to Fiona Campbell, and there would be the horrible moment of reckoning when the men appeared.

She said tonelessly, still standing, her hands clenched at her sides, “It’s a mix-up. It came on me so suddenly and so much has happened I haven’t properly sorted it out. I’ll tell it to you baldly, with no frills. I felt uneasy on my wedding morning, and I thought if I could see Gilbert I’d feel better. When I got there...”

Fiona heard her out without interruption, her eyes never leaving the other girl’s face. Stripped of any unnecessary words, she felt she saw and heard the whole thing ...the disillusionment of hearing the girl Dallas talking to the bridegroom, the Yorkshire voice of Gilbert’s wife, the sense of panic, the running away, the blackout on the plane, this snatched chance of earning a living and fading into obscurity.