sudden rustling of dry leaves. A banded rail poked its head out of the thicket to take a look at the intruder, then boldly crossed the road in front of her. Rosie had never seen one before and tried to catch its attention.
“Here chook-chook-chook!” she said, and immediately felt foolish. She was a city girl, and that was the only way she knew to attract a bird’s attention. She looked quickly around to make sure nobody had heard her. Farther on, the road dipped down toward what appeared to be an iron sand beach. She jumped again as a ruckus broke out in a pohutukawa tree on her left, and a black bird chased away two mynahs that had strayed onto its territory. Rosie held her breath. A tui! She’d never been so close to a tui before, and the bird seemed to know it. It strutted up and down on a branch right above her head, displaying its arrogant puff of white throat feathers, and rocking from leg to leg so that the feathers she’d taken to be black occasionally flashed deep blue and emerald. After a few minutes the tui became bored and flew up to a higher branch where it was no more than a dark silhouette against the sky. Rosie exhaled deeply. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. So this was Great Barrier. The view from the plane didn’t do it justice. It changed once you could smell the bush, hear the birds and taste the sharp, mineral freshness in the air. Her spirits lifted again, now that she’d begun to take in her surroundings, and lifted once more when she noticed the clay bank on the high side of the road. She realized she’d seen clay earlier. From the plane. Yes! A great bank of it as the amphibian had skimmed across Wreck Bay, and it was right by the beach with the jetty and moorings. At least one part of her speculations was accurate. Where there was plenty of clay, there was the potential to make pottery.
She strolled down to the iron sand beach, where she found an old bleached tree trunk to sit upon. She looked out toward Selwyn Island, where the last yachts of summer clustered in its lee. Her earlier apprehension had vanished and had been replaced by cautious optimism. She no longer minded that Red wasn’t there to meet her. She’d get her own back on the bastard one way or another. She’d teach him not to keep a lady waiting. Not this lady, at any rate. But optimism founded on finding clay and sighting two native birds no farther from her than she was used to seeing common sparrows was, to say the least, premature. Her introduction to Great Barrier Island was far from over, and it would be some time before she’d start teaching Red any lessons. He had a few lessons to teach her, and they’d not be ones she’d enjoy.
The sun had dipped behind Selwyn Island by the time Rosie returned to the Last Gasp. She’d kept an eye on the bay but had seen no boats come in. Col was waiting for her and called her into his shop. He showed her a box of supplies.
“I hope you don’t think I’m presumptuous,” he said, “but I’m blowed if I know what old Bernie was living on those last few months. All he got from me were jugs of sherry and occasional tins of stew or soup. I know this is just a look-see and you’re only planning on staying a couple of weeks, but I reckon you’ll need everything I’ve put in here. You better take this gas cylinder and four-gallon tin of diesel, too, in case your generator’s dry. Bill’s on top. Cash or check. Reckon your checks would be all right.”
“If you believe that you’d believe anything.” Rosie smiled as a look of uncertainty flickered across Col’s face. She pulled her checkbook out of her handbag, looked at the bill and began writing.
“Your neighbors have post office savings accounts with me. I just draw what they spend. They top it up when need be.”
“Sounds a good system.”
“We’ve taken the liberty of making you up a bed. If Red was coming today he’d have come by now. The trip around the top’s no fun at night, particularly when there’s a bit of a wind. Missus is making up a stew. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Only if you let me pay you something.”
“Thought you said your checks were no good? Nah. You’re a customer. We like to show a bit of hospitality toward new customers. Particularly if they look like being regulars.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Ahh … the boys are all right deep down. Got hearts of gold. You just have to prospect pretty deep.”
“In that case, couldn’t I have just borrowed some diesel instead of carting that tin in with me?”
“They’re not borrowing sort of people. Like I say, hearts of gold but you’ve got to dig deep.”
“So there’s no point asking for a cup of sugar, either?”
“You’ve got it. I gather they share their surplus. You know, if one catches more fish than he needs, or grows too many tomatoes. Sometimes Red brings us lovely fresh smoked snapper, but I’d never think of asking him for any.”
Rosie looked at the bulging box of supplies. Alone but not alone. Isn’t that the way she wanted it?
Col and his wife, Jean, were mystified how anybody could make a living talking about toilet cleaners. Rosie laughed along with them. Her hosts hadn’t pried exactly, but their questions made it clear they wanted to know more about her, if only to figure out why on earth she’d even consider living at Wreck Bay.
“How do you get to be a market researcher?” asked Col.
“If you’re anything like me, you get there the long way,” said Rosie. “My family expected me to be a doctor, and for years I was one. Even worked as a psychologist and social worker. But, in all honesty, medicine’s not my calling.” She laughed. “I don’t actually know what my calling is. I’ve been a teacher, medical reporter, librarian, waitress and picked apricots down in Otago. I even went back to university and got an arts degree.”
“You’re a doctor?” said Jean in awe.
“Was,” said Rosie. “I did have grand ideas of curing the sick, but do you know what a doctor’s surgery really is? It’s a complaints department. All people do all day is come in and complain.”
“All the same …” said Jean.
“Leave Rosie be,” said Col. “Her dinner’s getting cold.”
Rosie battled her way through a mountainous plate of stew and homegrown vegetables. She was trying to find a way to avoid the jelly-and-custard dessert, when someone knocked on the door.
“Now who the hair oil could that be?” said Col.
Rosie had a sinking feeling she knew. Her jelly shivered as Col walked off down the hall.
“Buggeration, Red!” said Col in amazement. “What are you doing here this time of night? Are you out of your bloody mind?”
Red wasn’t. In fact he had a very clear idea of what he was doing, even though he knew what he was doing wasn’t right. “If you’ll just pass me her things, I’ll put them in the boat.”
“Good evening, how are you?” Col waited for a response but his sarcasm was lost on his visitor. “Hang on a sec and I’ll come with you.”
“It’s okay, Col, I can manage.”
“The hell it’s okay! Come in and meet the lady.”
“Just pass me her stuff, Col.”
“Jesus, Red. Here, you take this.” Col shoved the box of supplies at Red. “Hang on. This tin of fuel, too. I’ll get her bags.”
Red put the box under his left arm and picked up the jerry can with his right hand. He turned and walked away without another word. Col caught him up at the wharf.
“Hell you playin’ at, Red?”
“She asked me to pick her up, I’m picking her up.”
“She’s a nice lady, Red. She doesn’t deserve this sort of treatment. She’ll be chucking her guts over the side before you clear Selwyn Island. What the hell’s got into you?”
“Earliest I could get here.”
“Bullshit! You could’ve waited