Call of the Mountain

by Macgregor, Miriam

  Lisa had sensed that all was not well. 'Is something wrong, Mr Bishop?' she had asked.

  `You can say that again!' he had retorted with undisguised irritation. 'I'm wondering if you'll help me.'

  `Of course. What can I do?' She had been puzzled.

  The rest of their conversation ran through her mind with surprising clarity. It could have been taking place all over again as, lying in the bed, she recalled his words.

  `You're aware that this is a family business?' `Yes.'

  `Well, I'm in a spot of family bother. I've got my sister Catherine on my back. You've met her, of course.'

  `Oh yes—several times. The last time she was in Auckland we had lunch together at least twice, and we also went to the public library. You gave me time off to help her with research on some of the early Taranaki families.'

  `Later she sang your praises because you knew exactly where to find the books she needed. She's taken a real fancy to you.'

  `To me?' queried Lisa. 'That's kind of her. I enjoyed helping her.'

  `You did? That's fine, because your big chance to help her again is just coming up.'

  `I thought you said you wanted me to help you,' protested Lisa.

  By helping her you'll be assisting me. You'll get her out of my hair—what there is left of it. The whole trouble is this damned book she's been working on for years.'

  `She wants me to go to the library again?'

  `A little further than that. She wants you to go home to Taranaki with her.'

  `Taranaki?' She stared at him in amazement.

  `Yes. You'd stay at Lynton, of course. It's a mixed dairy and sheep farm owned by her stepson.'

  Lisa continued to look at him blankly. 'I'm afraid I don't understand. You did say—Taranaki?'

  He sighed and ran a hand over the few hairs on his head. 'I know I'm not being very clear about all this, but the time has now come when she's thrown down her pen and declared the confounded book to be finished. Now she wants the damned thing published—and by us, of course.'

  `Naturally,' Lisa agreed with understanding.

  `She imagines that because she's a shareholder with a fair-sized interest in the firm—and because I'm her brother—she can just waltz in, plonk the dratted tome on my desk, and I'll do the rest. She can't understand why the size of it sent me reeling backwards. Mind you, I've always known this day would come.'

  `And now you're finding difficulty in coping with it?'

  `You're dead right, I am! But nor do I want a break with my sister.' Gordon Bishop drew a deep breath, then went on, 'At least she's agreed to have it cut down, but then, in her usual manipulating manner, she's come up with the request for you to do it—at Lynton. So—what do you think about it?'

  `Is there more than just the cutting down to cope with?'

  `Not really. She's called it Mountain Memory—the mountain being Egmont. It's really a story of the Taranaki province, Maori wars and all—a history of the people as well as stories about the troubles and trials of the pioneer women. On top of all this there are reams of trivia to be cut out. When I mentioned the word trivia Catherine nearly blew a gasket with suppressed rage!'

  Lisa was sympathetic. She knew that dealing with some authors could be tricky, and she could see that in the case of his rather dominant sister Gordon Bishop was having difficulties.

  She said, 'I suppose she wants me to do the editing because I've already helped her with a little research—but why does she want me to do it in her home?'

  `So that she can keep an eye on the job, of course. She says it'll be better if you're there on the spot because there are sure to be hundreds of queries.'

  `She's probably right about that point,' Lisa conceded.

  `You could look upon it as a working holiday,' he coaxed.

  Lisa was momentarily silenced by the suggestion. What on earth was she agreeing to do? Go back to Taranaki? No, that was the last place in which she wanted to find herself. Yet Catherine needed her assistance, and it was not in Lisa's nature to refuse help where it could be given.

  Three years ago when she had come home to Auckland she had been running away from Taranaki. That had been after the affair with Paul Mason, and at that time she had no wish to lay eyes on the province again. Yet heaven knew she longed for another sight of dear old Mount Egmont, with its bush-clad slopes. There was something mystical about that huge peaked heap of extinct volcano with its aura that drew the eyes of all people.

  At last she said, 'Where, exactly, is Lynton? Is it near New Plymouth?' She stared at the desk awaiting his answer.

  `No, it's a long way out of New Plymouth. It's near Eltham, towards the south-east of the mountain. Does that make a difference?'

  `Yes, actually, it does. I'm not keen to work in New Plymouth and I suspect this could turn into quite a lengthy task.'

  `It's possible.' His sharp eyes glinted as they bored into hers. 'What's wrong with New Plymouth? Boyfriend trouble at some time?'

  `You could say that,' Lisa admitted coolly. 'I've no wish to set eyes on him again—ever.'

  Hmm. Well, you'd better come into my office and talk to Catherine. I'm sure she'll be delighted if

  you'll agree to go home with her. She's leaving on the

  five o'clock plane, which doesn't give you much time.'

  As they entered Gordon Bishop's office Catherine Arlington put her cup and saucer on the desk. She looked into Lisa's face searchingly as she said, 'Lisa, my dear, you've agreed to come home with me? Gordon said he'd talk to you about it.'

  `And in doing so we've both missed our morning tea,' he complained as he pressed a bell to order a fresh pot to be made. Then turning to Lisa, 'Well, what do you say about it?'

  She took a deep breath and made a rapid decision. `Yes, I'll do it.' Somehow the mountain seemed to be calling.

  `Oh, I'm so glad!' Catherine exclaimed. 'I knew you'd understand why it's so vital for me to be close at hand while it's being given whatever changes are necessary.' She sent a reproachful glance towards her brother.

  `Now you listen to me, Catherine,' he cut in sharply. `Lisa is an experienced editor. She knows exactly what's needed for a book of this type, she understands what I want and she knows our house style. If you interfere too much by trying to force her to include any of that daft trivia I'll be damned if I'll accept it for publication!'

  `Yes, Gordon.' Her tone was deceptively meek. `Actually I'm being a fool for allowing Lisa to go,

  because I need her here,' he declared wrathfully. 'And

  I want her back in this office—do you understand?' `Of course.' Again there was meekness.

  He looked at her suspiciously. 'I trust you haven't any matchmaking ideas in mind—ideas that involve that stepson of yours?'

  At the time these last words had barely registered with Lisa, but now the memory of them caused her to sit bolt upright in the bed. Matchmaking that involved her stepson? When they'd lunched together Catherine

  had mentioned a stepson and his sister, but only vaguely because her mind had been almost completely occupied by research for her book.

  And what had Brett said this evening? For one mad moment I wondered if Cathy had brought you home for a totally different reason. The words had puzzled her, but now their meaning was clear enough. They had meant that Brett also suspected Catherine of matchmaking, and the knowledge made Lisa's cheeks burn. This, no doubt, was the cause of his scowling expression when she had left the room.

  Sinking back against the pillows, she recalled Catherine's indignation when her brother had made the suggestion. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' she'd snapped at him.

  `Don't you? I think you do,' Gordon Bishop had replied. 'And let me say that if you weren't my sister, and if you didn't have so much cash tied up in this place—'

  `You'd see me hopping sideways,' Catherine cut in. `Well, I suppose we can do this small thing for you,' he conceded reluctantly.

  `Thank you, Gordon!' Relief and gratitude appeared to be keeping Cathe
rine's state of meekness to the fore.

  After that things had moved rapidly. Lisa had made sure that Catherine was well stocked with typing and carbon paper as well as everything else she considered necessary, and she had then hurried home to pack a suitcase.

  When she hurried into the house and announced her intentions her mother had been concerned. 'Isn't this a little sudden, dear?' she had asked anxiously. 'Are you sure you're doing the right thing?'

  Lisa had looked at her blankly. 'I don't know,

  Mother. I only know that something's urging me to go.

  It's—it's something I have to do. Don't ask me why.'

  `Then it won't matter if you come across that

  Mason fellow again? I must admit I never liked him.'

  Lisa had laughed. 'I'm not likely to do that, Mother. He'll be in New Plymouth, whereas I'll be miles away on the other side of Mount Egmont.'

  Later her mother had driven her to the Auckland domestic airport where, with Catherine Arlington, she had crossed the tarmac for the five o'clock flight. The plane lifted to curve out over the Tasman Sea, and by the time it banked to land at New Plymouth the last rays of the setting sun were glinting on Egmont's peak.

  Catherine's car was collected from a garage where it had been left during her stay in Auckland, and within a short time they were following the main highway southward. Farm homesteads were passed and they sped through the township of Inglewood. Later, when they reached the larger town of Stratford Catherine decided it was time to stop for a meal.

  As they got out of the car the chilly air reminded Lisa of her previous days in the province. She had experienced Taranaki's cool winds in New Plymouth when Paul had taken her out a lifetime ago. Thank heaven the memory of him failed to disturb her.

  After the meal, and with the mountain always looming on their right, they continued through dairying country until they reached the small town of Eltham where they left the main highway to turn westward.

  `We're nearly home,' Catherine had remarked with satisfaction. 'Brett and Mary will be surprised to see me arrive with a visitor. Have I told you about my late husband's son and daughter?'

  `No, not really.'

  `Brett was fifteen and Mary was ten when I married their father, and that was fifteen years ago, which brings their present ages to thirty and twenty-five. Their mother had died four years previously from a sudden brain haemorrhage. I'm sure you'll all get on well together. Ah, here we are!'

  The car turned into a drive where its lights flashed over the dark furry trunks of tall tree-ferns, some leaning out to shelter the way with their umbrella fronds. Lisa caught a brief glimpse of a white timber house frontage before they swung round corners to park at the rear where sheds surrounded a large yard.

  Catherine led her in through a back door and along passages to a bedroom. Her case was placed on a small stand, and, having taken off her coat, she was led to the lounge to meet Brett and Mary, who were unaware they had arrived.

  And there she had come face to face with Paul Mason.

  Even now, lying in the warmth of the bed, she was conscious that the unexpected meeting had left her feeling drained. He looked older, she realised, perhaps because his fair complexion had taken on an outdoor ruggedness, but these changes would be only cosmetic. Beneath the surface he would still be the same pleasure-loving, unreliable, fickle Paul.

  Lisa's mind went back to the days in New Plymouth when she had been hurrying about the city in search of news items or feature articles for the newspaper. Her friendship with Paul had ripened to the stage of being serious. At twenty she had found herself peeping at the diamond rings in jewellers' windows, while Paul had vowed she was the only girl he had ever loved. She had believed him and was radiantly happy until one of the older girls at work had taken her aside to utter a warning.

  `Lisa, I know it's not my business,' Karen had said, 'but I hope you don't imagine yourself to be the only girl in Paul Mason's life. We've all seen him out with others during the last few weeks. Everyone knows he's a womanising wretch, so don't lose your heart to him.'

  `Oh no, Karen, you're quite mistaken,' Lisa had protested.

  Karen had looked at her pityingly. 'Surely you know he's been engaged on at least two previous occasions?'

  `Perhaps so,' Lisa had smiled, her heart full of understanding. 'But even if it's true it means he will have sown his wild oats and is now ready to settle down.'

  `Huh! I know of one wild oat he's having difficulty in keeping underground,' Karen had said scathingly. `Haven’t you met Maggie Simpson yet? She usually waltzes up to him on every possible occasion. I believe she makes a real pest of herself.'

  `Who is Maggie Simpson?' Lisa had asked patiently.

  `She's a solo mother who does part-time work in one of the motels. I think it's on the waterfront

  But Lisa had brushed Karen's dark hints from her mind. It was only malicious gossip, she had told herself. Paul was too upright, too honourable to desert a girl who had borne his child. The story was quite ridiculous.

  However, a few days later she was having lunch with Paul in a Devon Street restaurant when a girl who appeared to be somewhere near her own age approached their table. Pale and thin, and obviously with little to spend on clothes, she was accompanied by a small boy in his pushchair.

  Drawing the child forward, she had given Paul a wan smile. 'Here he is, Paul. He's grown quite a lot since you last saw him, and he's saying more words. People say he's getting more like you every day. He's the spitting image, they say

  Paul had turned crimson, his eyes glittering with fury. 'What the hell do you want?' he had snarled at the young mother.

  The girl had smiled faintly at Lisa. 'I'm afraid it's useless waiting for him to introduce us. I'm Maggie Simpson, and this is little Paul. He's two.'

  Lisa had stared at the child's fair hair, light blue eyes and at the unmistakable likeness to the man

  sitting at the table with her—the man she had thought of marrying. Her bubble of bliss had burst and she had had a sudden longing to go back to Auckland where her parents' home on the North Shore had loomed as a haven of refuge.

  But now, after a lapse of three years, she was back in Taranaki. And just along the passage in the lounge of this same house Paul Mason sat chatting complacently. So what? she asked herself with a touch of irritation. So she would just get on with the job she had come to do, and forget he was the neighbour. And if he came to the house she would ignore him.

  Her lids fluttered and closed, yet before she fell asleep it wasn't Paul's face that hovered about in her mind—it was the dark-browed image of Brett Arlington, watching her with an expression that could only be regarded as veiled antagonism.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHEN Lisa opened her eyes next morning the vision of Brett's face leapt into her mind, almost as though it had been waiting for her to regain consciousness. The memory of his expression nagged at her, and, pondering over it, she decided it was one of distrust rather than actual antagonism. Obviously there was something about herself that disturbed him, and she came to the conclusion that its cause lay in her reason for coming to Lynton.

  However, there was little she could do about it, and as she stood under the warm shower she decided to ignore his attitude; nor would she take more than the barest notice of the man himself. Nevertheless she applied her make-up with extra care, and instead of flinging on a casual blue dress she stepped into one of her more formal office suits. Its green and grey gathered skirt, grey blouse and short green mandarin-collared jacket had the effect of giving her more confidence, which was what she needed at the moment.

  A short time later the appetising aroma of sizzling bacon and eggs led her towards the kitchen, where she was given a seat at the breakfast table opposite Mary. Catherine took her place at one end while Brett occupied the head of the table.

  He stood up as she walked into the room, his face expressionless. 'You slept well?' he asked politely.

  `Perfectly, thank you,' Lisa
returned with equal politeness, allowing herself to glance at him only briefly. She then turned to Catherine. 'I've decided to work my normal hours.'

  `In that case you'll not be working today,' Brett cut

  in suavely. 'Have you forgotten it's Saturday? I doubt that your normal hours include Saturday.' His dark eyes held a mocking glint.

  She sent him a level glance. 'Nevertheless I shall make a start on reading the manuscript, which is where I have to begin—no matter what day it is.'

  She turned her attention to the food on her plate, still making a determined effort to keep her gaze from the thick black hair, the handsome features and broad shoulders of the man at the head of the table. She had been conscious of them the previous evening, but the shock of meeting Paul again had obliterated almost everything else from her mind.

  As though reading her thoughts Mary said quietly, `I know Paul was surprised to see you—and I think quite pleased, too.'

  Lisa had no wish to discuss Paul but hid the fact beneath a casual exterior. 'Really? What makes you imagine he was particularly pleased?'

  Mary hesitated. 'Well, he was smiling, so happily.'

  `Wasn't that his usual perpetual grin? I seem to recall he was always grinning—like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.'

  Brett drawled. 'You and Paul appear to have been old friends.'

  `I think I can say I know him fairly well,' Lisa admitted calmly as she met his penetrating gaze. Then, turning to Mary, 'If it's not a rude question, how well do you know him?'

  Mary flushed. 'He's quite a—a constant visitor—at least he has been lately. We—we like him very much, don't we, Brett?' She turned to gaze at her brother anxiously as though desirous of his confirmation on this point.

  `Her blushes tell you everything,' he prevaricated.

  Catherine came to Mary's rescue. 'There's nothing to tell.' She turned to Lisa. 'To be honest, we don't know the man very well at all, because it's only during