Call of the Mountain

by Macgregor, Miriam

  The words clicked her mind into action, forcing her to step back and glare up at him. 'You demand? I'm not in the habit of bowing to the demands of any man. Nor have I anything further to say.'

  `Very well ' He turned on his heel and threw a

  terse remark over his shoulder. 'Let's get going—it's high time we were on our way home.'

  Despite her own burning resentment Lisa followed obediently, conscious that he was really angry and that her foolish tongue had caused a barrier to rise between them. They reached the track in silence, Brett flung

  the strap of the canvas bag across his shoulder, then strode along rapidly leaving her to hasten after him.

  She found the return journey less arduous because it was downhill, nevertheless there were difficulties caused by slippery areas where, without his helping hand, she found herself sliding on mud only lightly covered by leaves. And although she did her best to keep up with him his long strides gradually took him ahead to lengthen the distance between them.

  Nor did he trouble to glance back to assure himself she was not lagging too far in the rear, and, watching him disappear through the trees ahead, she felt hurt and depressed. It was obvious that he cared little about her, despite the ardour of his caresses to which she had been foolish enough to respond. You idiot! she chided herself mentally with inward raging.

  Very well, Brett Arlington, she fumed silently, you can break into a gallop for all I care—and when you reach the edge of the bush you can cool your heels and wait for me. And with this thought firmly in her mind she lessened her pace and deliberately loitered by leaning against a tree to catch her breath.

  But moments later she was on her way again, hurrying along the path and making sure she didn't veer from its main course. It would be easy to do this, she realised, because in some places there were side tracks, and it was while glancing along one of them that she tripped over a protruding root and was sent sprawling into a hollow beneath the curving fronds of low-growing tree-ferns. For several moments she lay winded and gasping for breath in a bed of leaf mould, and just as she was about to struggle to her feet she heard his voice calling her name.

  `Lisa—Lisa! Cooee, Lisa!'

  A devil prompted her to lie still and remain silent. `Lisa, Lisa, where the hell are you—?'

  His voice, vibrating with anxiety and frustration, was closer now, his footsteps nearer and heavy, and

  she knew he was hastening along the path to find her. However, she continued to remain still, smiling to herself as she realised his fear of her becoming lost along a side track had brought him pounding back in a frantic effort to find her.

  Peeping through the fern fronds, she saw that he was well past her hiding place, so she scrambled out of the hollow and without waiting to brush the leaf mould from her jacket she sped along the track. When she reached the edge of the bush she climbed over the stile with care, then went to stand beside the motorbike and await his return.

  At last she became aware that he was staring at her from the shadow of the bush on the other side of the stile. 'Hi there!' she called gaily, yet conscious of a guilty twinge. 'Where have you been? I wondered if you'd got lost.'

  Brett vaulted the stile and strode towards her, his face grim. 'Where the devil did you get to?' he rasped, disregarding her bantering tone.

  She sent him a faint smile. 'Oh, I climbed a couple of trees.'

  `Like hell you did!' His eyes narrowed as they observed traces of leaf mould still clinging to her jacket. 'You've been lying on the ground. Did you have a fall?'

  `A slight tumble into a hollow,' she admitted evasively, not daring to admit she could have stopped him from thundering past.

  'Hell's bells, you gave me the devil of a fright! It's so easy to wander off the main track.' The next instant he had snatched her to him, kissing her with a savage force that was both hard and cruel enough to bruise her lips.

  She knew he was giving vent to his anger, and steeled herself against response of any kind until he released her abruptly. Glaring at him furiously, she hissed, 'You kiss me like that once more and I'll pack

  my bags! I'll tell Catherine to find somebody else to edit her book. Or is that what you're really aiming at? You'd like me to leave, wouldn't you? Go on—admit it!'

  His eyes glittered as he drew a deep breath and grabbed the handles of the bike. 'Get on,' he ordered coldly. 'And hang on tightly or you'll be flung off at a corner. Nor shall I bother to stop and pick you up.'

  The next instant the motor roared, the bike slithered and skidded, then sped down the hill.

  The return journey took only a short time, speed being the main factor. Lisa clung to Brett, her arms clasped tightly round his waist, and although he swerved around corners, swept up hills and down gullies to almost bounce over small bridges, they arrived home without mishap.

  He stopped in the back yard, where she put her feet to the ground with the utmost relief. 'Thank you,' she said as she unfastened the motorcycle helmet. `Do you always ride like a bat out of hell?' Then she went inside, leaving him to put the bike in the shed.

  Catherine greeted her as she entered the kitchen. `Ah, you're back. I was beginning to fear Brett might have taken you too far along those bush tracks. Once he gets going he never knows when to stop. Did you enjoy it up there?'

  `Oh yes, I loved it,' Lisa admitted with enthusiasm, then was startled to realise she wasn't thinking of the trees or the bush tracks at all, but of the fact that Brett's arms had been about her, holding her close to him, his lips on her own. The memory sent a surge of quivering excitement through her, and, fearing that Catherine's sharp eyes might detect the flush that was making her cheeks feel hot, she said hastily, 'I think I'll have a shower and change out of this track-suit.'

  `A good idea,' Catherine agreed. 'It'll take any stiffness out of you and help you to relax before evening meal. We're just having Mary's special fish pie with

  mashed potatoes and green peas, and she's even made date scones to have with our coffee. She's in the lounge with Paul.'

  Lisa stared at her, but said nothing, and as she went to her bedroom her heart sank at the thought of Paul joining them at the table. He would be sure to come up with embarrassing remarks of some sort, either to make Mary jealous or to deliberately needle herself. Her best plan would be to ignore him, she decided.

  The hot shower streaming over her slim naked body had its soothing effect on her tired muscles, but did nothing to lessen the fears of what attitude Paul might take, or what tactics he might apply. To him it would all be very amusing, something to chuckle about for days to come. So ignore him, she reminded herself.

  She recalled his old habit of dropping hints and adding innuendoes to embellish an event, and she knew he was more than capable of giving Brett the impression that their previous relationship had had its moments of sexual intimacy, when in fact such had not been the case.

  Nor had this been through lack of pleading on Paul's part. He had done his best to get Lisa into bed, but for some inexplicable reason she had always drawn back before taking that final step from which there would be no return. Her continued refusal had infuriated Paul, who had declared she didn't love him, and this, she had eventually realised, had been the truth of the matter.

  She dressed slowly to prolong the moment of meeting him, and at the same time she became aware of her own confused emotions. Vague depressions gripped her, but they were swept away by the memory of Brett's arms holding her close, and she knew she wanted to appear attractive in his eyes.

  In an effort to do so she put on a pleated skirt and matching top of fine wool, the shade of deep cream contrasting with her dark auburn hair. Gold earrings

  and a gold chain pendant added just the right note, and as she surveyed herself in the long mirror on the wardrobe door she wondered if Brett would give her as much as a second glance.

  Irritation from Paul began the moment she stepped into the lounge. He was sitting on the settee beside Mary, but he stood up as he entered, an af
fable grin spreading across his face. 'Lisa, my dear, how charming you look!' he exclaimed with more force than necessary. 'But then you always did have a flair for clothes.'

  She sent him a brief glance but ignored the remark He went on, 'Isn't that the dress you wore on our last outing together?'

  `Certainly not,' she snapped crossly. 'It's almost new.'

  `But you had one like it—a sort of pale lemon colour?'

  `No, I did not,' she retorted angrily. Then, ignoring her former decision to disregard his remarks, she changed her mind and impulsively decided to stand up to him. 'Please don't try to give the impression that you remember my clothes, Paul, because that's too ridiculous for words.'

  A lazy insinuating smile seemed to emphasise his next words. 'You're quite mistaken, my dear. I do remember—everything.'

  `In that case you can stop calling me your dear, because you'll also remember it's a title that does not apply to me.'

  `Ah, but it did.'

  `Never in the sincere sense of the word,' she lashed back, then stopped abruptly as she became aware that she was on the verge of screaming at him in open warfare, and this, when she was a guest in the Arlington household, would be unforgivable.

  She also knew the other people in the room were listening to this exchange with avid interest. Mary's

  brown eyes were wide in a face that had gone suddenly pale, while Brett had taken on the attitude of a watchful fox. And although Catherine must have been aware of the tension between Lisa and Paul, she appeared to ignore it, and in fact began to make excuses for Lisa.

  Speaking to Paul from the depths of her armchair, she said, 'Take no notice of Lisa if she sounds tired. Brett has been dragging her up and down the mountain. I'm sure she's really delighted to see you, just as you must be pleased to see her.'

  `You can say that again!' The grin was back on Paul's face.

  Brett came to stand beside Lisa, the silver tray in his hand bearing a glass of sherry. His deep voice was sardonic as he said, 'In fact he's so darned pleased to see you he's brought a couple of bottles of wine to celebrate the fact that you're here.'

  `It's your old favourite,' Paul told her smugly.

  She felt nettled. 'My favourite? I never had a favourite!'

  `Oh yes, you did,' Paul argued. 'It's that Spanish one we had during the weekend your parents spent in New Plymouth. Do you recall how very well your father and I got on?'

  She shook her head, forcing herself to remain calm. `No, I'm afraid I don't remember.' Brash was the only term she could recall her father applying to Paul; nor had he hesitated to criticise her choice of male friends.

  Catherine appeared to sense the controlled irritation in Lisa's voice, and her desire to get away from the subject of Paul's reminiscences. She turned to Brett. 'I haven't asked you about your trip up the mountain. Was the Lynton track in good order?'

  He nodded. `So far there are only a few minor washouts to be reported,' he told her.

  `There was nothing of special interest?' she queried archly, with a quick glance towards Lisa.

  `Special interest?' He was thoughtful for a few moments before his perceptive dark eyes also turned to Lisa and appeared to scan the thoughts swirling about in her mind. `Do you consider we found anything—special?'

  She turned away, unable to meet his gaze and fearful of the telltale colour she felt creeping into her cheeks. 'You stopped to jot several memos in your notebook,' she managed to remind him calmly. 'I wouldn't know how important they were—in fact T wouldn't know how important anything was.'

  `How far did you go?' Mary asked.

  He described the position of the seat, then added, `Lisa saw her first growth of Jew's ear fungus today, but she couldn't get quite near enough to gather it.' There was a wicked glint in his eyes.

  Payul leaned forward. 'I'm sure I showed you Jew's ear.'

  Lisa shook her head, then looked at him steadily. `You probably pointed it out to one of the many girlfriends you had during those days.' She glanced at Mary, hoping she'd got the message.

  Mary had, but her irritation rebounded towards Lisa herself. She sent a look of anger across the room, but controlled herself as she stood up abruptly and said, 'Our fish pie will be ready now. I'll take it from the oven.'

  But when Lisa sat at the table she found her appetite had deserted her. Paul's eyes constantly strayed towards her and she was aware that Brett watched them both without appearing to do so. The knowledge caused an inner agitation that forced her to merely toy with her food, and she was filled with acute embarrassment when Mary spoke to her from across the table.

  `You don't have to eat it if you don't like it,' she said with a touch of irritation.

  Lisa pulled herself together. 'Oh, I like it—it's very

  nice. It's just that sometimes I eat rather slowly. Perhaps I could have the recipe for it?' Mentally she told herself to snap out of it. She was being a fool to allow the situation to get under her skin. And why was she in this state of nervous upset? She frowned, staring at her plate as she realised it was because of Brett. But why should he affect her in this manner? It was something she was unable to understand.

  Nor were matters improved when Paul leaned forward and spoke to her in earnest tones. 'I've noticed several Auckland firms advertising for qualified accountants. I'm toying with the idea of applying to one of them—especially if it's on the North Shore.'

  Lisa's heart sank at his words. She was afraid to look at either Brett or Mary, but before she could think of anything to say Catherine's voice came sharply.

  `Are you saying you'd leave your farm?' she demanded as she eyed Paul with surprise and sudden disapproval.

  He grinned at her. 'A change is as good as a rest. I'd put my share-milker in full control while I gave myself two or three years enjoying the city lights.'

  `Two or three years!' Mary echoed faintly. She had gone pale, and her brown eyes, now wide and full of accusation, turned to Lisa as though blaming her for Paul's decision.

  `You mean you'd be away for only a period?' Catherine persisted as though trying to pin him down to something definite.

  `Of course.' The grin flashed over his face. 'One always comes home to the mountain—at least, eventually.'

  `It's part of that old mountain magic,' added Brett, obviously making an attempt to console the depression he knew to be simmering in Mary's mind.

  `Magic, rubbish!' Mary snapped.

  `Well, perhaps not actually magic,' he conceded, `but everyone knows the upper slopes are supposed to he tapu—or taboo—to the Maori people. They won't go near them because some of the ancient chiefs were buried there and it's said their spirits refuse to leave the place.'

  `What's holding them back?' asked Lisa, thankful for the change of subject.

  Brett said, 'Years ago I tried to probe the answer from an elderly Maori woman, but she was vague.' His voice changed to a soft Maori dialect as he repeated her words. 'You know, it that old Taranaki fellow himself. He the magic mountain. The spirits of them chiefs, they just don't want to leave. In the old days, before you white people come to take our land, that mountain, he belong to them. When they die their spirits set off to go back to Hawaiki where the Maori people come from. But do they go? No. That old mountain, he call them back, and there they are to this day—'

  Mary cut in scathingly, 'Where they waft about in the mist on rainy days.' Her chin rose as she glared at Brett. 'I know all this is an attempt to convince me that Paul will be back, but I know better. As soon as he gets to Auckland he'll put down roots and he'll stay there.' She turned to Paul. 'Isn't that true?'

  `What makes you so sure about it?' Paul protested evasively.

  Mary's voice rose slightly. 'Because Lisa will be there, that's why! She came here to find you, she's been successful, and now she'll take you home with her!'

  `Control yourself, Mary,' Brett snapped angrily. `You're behaving like a silly half-witted schoolgirl!'

  Paul remained silent but had the grace to look embar
rassed, while Catherine and Brett looked at Lisa, waiting for her to say something.

  She found difficulty in searching for words, but at

  last she turned to Paul and looked at him thoughtfully. She didn't want to be rude or hurtful, but her concern was for Mary—and if Mary hadn't latched on to the previous message here was the opportunity to send her another. So she said in quiet but serious tones, 'I don't think Mary realises that your temperament requires constant change, Paul.'

  Paul's manner grew sulky. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  `I think you do,' Lisa pursued calmly. 'Where girls were concerned your watchword was safety in numbers—at least it was when I knew you in New Plymouth.'

  Mary sprang to Paul's defence. 'I don't believe a word you're saying!' she flared at Lisa. 'You're just being nasty to Paul. You're jealous because you know he's my—my friend!'

  Lisa's eyes were full of sympathy as they rested on Mary, then she turned to Paul. Choosing her words carefully, she said, 'Really, Paul, in all fairness to Mary you should explain that change is the name of the game.'

  Catherine's eyes flashed as she turned her attention to Paul. 'Is this a fact?' she asked quietly. 'Is this what you meant when you said a change is as good as a rest?'

  He lifted his shoulders in a faint shrug, then smiled at her disarmingly. 'You're too intelligent not to realise that the mind is made to be changed, otherwise it becomes static.'

  `I see.' She looked at him as though seeing him clearly for the first time. 'But surely you don't place fidelity within this reasoning?'

  `Of course not,' he denied swiftly. 'At least, not if a definite commitment has been made.'

  Lisa said nothing as she looked at him steadily, but he failed to meet her eyes. Nevertheless she felt a certain amount of satisfaction in having brought to

  light this particular trait in Paul's character, and perhaps it would give Mary something to dwell on—if only she'd be sensible enough to think about it.

  At the same time she felt a tiny twinge of guilt, fearing that she might have been somewhat harsh on Paul, but this feeling vanished when the image of Maggie Simpson and her small son with the fair hair and light blue eyes flashed across her memory.