A Southern Star (5 page)

to herself, her face set, realising what she had sacrificed as she looked around the vast landscape. Suddenly she could not wait to get to Freshwater Landing, to start the tramp and explore Mason Bay.

Soon the water taxi was turning into the estuary and Christie looked ahead, watching for the jetty. “It’ll be a while yet.” She heard Blake’s voice, turned her head, striving for a neutral expression. Blake stood there, perfectly balanced against the angle of the deck. The sight of Blake’s thin woollen top moulded to his toned, lithe torso made her catch her breath; she watched as he folded his lightly tanned arms across his chest, fighting a wave of longing she couldn’t define.

Christie nodded briefly, anger at Blake’s presence on the water taxi still smouldering. He seemed unaware of her emotion. “A world away from inner city Auckland, isn’t it?” he continued, uncannily mirroring her own thoughts. Reluctantly, she raised her face to look at him, was unable to read anything in his face. “Yes,” Christie said, unaware her enthusiasm about the trip was showing on her face. “I went tramping a lot at university,” she said suddenly, almost unwillingly, Blake thought. “But not since?” Blake asked. “No,” Christie said, seeming preoccupied. “It’s good to be outdoors again.”

“Yes,” Blake replied. “Especially since your pack is so much lighter now.”
 

A reluctant smile curved Christie’s mouth as she heard his words.
Paul never teased me like that.
The thought was gone before Christie fully acknowledged it. “If I’d known you’d be here, I’d have made sure it was heavier,” she retorted, unable to keep the edge from her voice.
 

He grinned down at her. “And still not let me carry it.”

Still needled by Blake’s unexpected presence on the water taxi and unnerved by his casual reference to Auckland, Christie spoke vehemently, overreacting to his words. “So what if I don’t? I don’t need you to treat me like some sort of doll, Blake. If you really wanted to help you’d just leave me in peace!” She saw the hard anger in his eyes and stopped, appalled at her own words, looked away.
 

“Don’t sulk, Christie,” Blake shot back, his voice dangerous. “If you don’t know what you want, don’t blame me.” Her face burned with hurt as she realised he was referring to his words the other night. He saw the agony in her eyes, controlled himself with difficulty, furious at her words and her stubbornness.

Christie realised that the vibration and sound of the boat’s motor had camouflaged most of their conversation from those around them; was conscious of Blake walking away from her to the front of the boat. She remained perfectly still, bitterly regretting her outburst and hurt by Blake’s response, more so by its accuracy as she acknowledged her own childish behaviour. She exhaled slowly, looked over to where Blake stood, talking to Ian. Further up the estuary she could see a small jetty and a bridge; she realised they were approaching Freshwater Landing.

Christie stood up, filled with sudden resolve. Blake turned around just as she reached him, looking down at her impassively. “Everything they say in the pub about Aucklanders is true,” Christie said tentatively.
 

“Seems to be,” Blake said implacably, turning back to talk to Ian.
 

Embarrassed, Christie looked around as the boat bumped into the jetty, picking out the track leading away from the clearing, looking at her watch. Blake continued talking to Ian, both of them involved in manoeuvring the boat to berth it so the passengers could disembark. She walked back to her pack, knowing Blake would not help with it now, hoping he would, despite everything. Her hand closed over the padded strap as she tugged the pack upright, preparing to lift it up onto the jetty and then put it on her back.

“Just wait on the jetty, Christie, I’ll pass the pack up to you.” Ian’s gruff voice cut through Christie’s thoughts. She felt rather than saw Blake’s gaze on her as she let go of the pack, stepped up onto the jetty, relief and disappointment flowing through her in equal measure. Surprising her, Ian stepped up onto the jetty as well, holding the pack level so she could put it on. She thanked him, confirming the time of her return trip, before he moved off to help another passenger. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Blake still in the boat, obviously in no hurry to leave. Christie turned and fled towards the start of the track.

— # —

After a time she slowed down, enjoying the feeling of being out tramping again after so many years. The sky was cloudless but the air was slightly cool, despite it being almost the start of summer.
I’ve been on the island four weeks
, Christie thought to herself, her spirits buoyed as she thought back over her time on the island so far, the friends she had made, the people she had met. Her work, which was a complete change from her career and yet was so satisfying. She realised leaving Auckland, removing herself from everything that was familiar had been exactly what she needed.

The nightmares were fading and she was gradually catching up on sleep; she hoped the hut at Mason Bay would not be too busy and she could find an annex that would mean she could sleep without being disturbed. Christie continued thinking about Mason Bay, trying not to think of Blake, of the angry exchange on the water taxi, of Blake’s response to her approach as the boat reached the jetty.

Eventually, Christie reached a vast plain, catching her breath at the landscape, the tussock, the scale of the terrain. The heartbreak of Paul and Amanda’s betrayal seemed distant to Christie, unimportant in the face of such a raw, remote landscape. A boardwalk started to replace the track and Christie could see a huge sandhill across the swamp. In the distance the sky was turning grey. Her boots and trousers were already spattered with mud and she wondered if it would rain.

By the time she reached the hut, Christie was looking forward to a leisurely late lunch. She knew the bay itself was not far from the hut and as she ate lunch she studied her map, tracing the path she had taken, planning the next day. The silence was absolute as she sat in the cool sunshine, her mind drifting. On to Blake. She regretted her outburst that morning, realising with hindsight she had overreacted but still smarting at his response.
Of course I know what I want,
she thought.
Time to myself.

Christie walked inside to her pack, picked up her red jacket and an extra wool top, deciding to walk to the sand dunes, explore the bay. She set off, refusing to acknowledge she was starting to wonder where Blake was, when he would arrive. She started up the sandy incline leading between the dunes, looking forward to seeing Mason Bay. She caught her breath as she caught a glimpse of the ocean and the vast crescent of sand stretching into the distance. Christie stopped abruptly, watching the breeze whipping the waves, noticing the windswept pattern of the sand, the driftwood around the tideline. She could see no one else on the beach although she knew some of the tourists had walked on from the hut earlier.
 

Christie realised someone was walking up the incline behind her, turned around, her eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it—” She broke off in confusion as she realised Blake was standing there, watching her, his expression sardonic, daring her to finish her sentence. Christie swallowed as she watched him, finally found her voice. “It’s amazing. Like you said.” She saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes as he gave her a slight nod. Blake took a step forward, moving to walk down the incline towards the beach itself.

“Blake.”
 

He stopped, looked back at her. Christie’s breath caught in her throat as she looked at him, standing against a panorama of the sea and the sand. “I’ve still got a way to go to the hunters’ hut, Christie. What is it?”
 

Confusion swamped her. “The hunters’ hut? Why do hunters have a different hut?” she said before she could think through what she was saying.
 

“To keep themselves safe from girls from Auckland,” Blake said, watching Christie intently, a hint of sudden amusement in his eyes.

Despite her uncertainty, Christie smiled, unable to match his quick wit, not knowing what to say. She thought back over the day, her realisation about Paul, her joy at being out tramping again. Blake spoke before she could, his voice careful. “My friends fly in tomorrow morning and the booking doesn’t start ’til then. I’m just heading down to the hunters’ hut to see who’s around.” He shrugged. “It could be crowded if the previous guys are still there.” Christie studied the sand. “So I’ll probably be back at the main hut later. There’ll be dinner and kiwi watching on offer.” His voice became rough. “Up to you.”
 

Christie took a deep breath, holding on to her resolve like she was drowning. She would talk to Blake. She had to talk to Blake. Otherwise she would sit alone in the hut because of pride. Blake smiled at her. “Or you can talk to Mr Statistics from the taxi about a four hour tramp to a 22 bed hut next to a beach that’s 19 kilometres long.” Christie smiled back at him as she realised Blake was mimicking the tourist she had talked to that morning on the taxi.
 

“Life is full of difficult decisions,” Christie said recklessly, her voice deadpan but her eyes sparkling. She flushed slightly, keeping her eyes on Blake.
 

He shook his head slightly, grinning at her. “Out here, even the difficult decisions are easy,” he said matter-of-factly.
 

How does he do that?
Christie wondered.
Be so sure of himself but still pick up on my thoughts, echo whatever I’m thinking?
“I’ll take your word for it,” she replied, striving for a normal tone, feeling slightly sick as she thought back to her reckless remark.
 

Blake looked at his watch. “I’ll probably be back at the main hut between five and six; are you going to look around?” Christie nodded mutely. “Well I’ll leave you in peace then,” he said, his piercing gaze reminding Christie of her angry words on the water taxi.
 

“Hopefully I will have stopped sulking by dinnertime,” she said, meeting his gaze.

Blake burst out laughing, surprising her. “Christie, let’s just declare a truce for one evening.” He smiled disarmingly. “You can try to relax for one meal and I’ll try to keep the conversation on safe topics.”
 

“Like statistics?” Christie said before she could stop herself, stung by his perceptiveness.
 

“Maybe not quite that safe,” Blake said, giving her a quick grin. “So, truce?” Christie nodded, her heart pounding. “Good,” Blake said. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll head off.” He turned away, continuing down the sandy slope, walking along the beach purposefully. She watched him go, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, her senses still clamouring as she walked down on to the beach. Christie looked out across the beach at the wild sea, the waves churning as they broke on the sand, spraying flecks of foam.

She acknowledged wryly that she and Blake would be having dinner together, whatever she said about it, given the communal, basic layout of the hut. She walked along the beach for a time, following the tideline, her boots crunching on layers of shells. The breeze had become brisk, cool, and with a final glance down the beach, Christie put her jacket on and turned back towards the hut.

— # —

Blake stood in the doorway silently, watching Christie. She was curled up in an old armchair, holding an old magazine but talking to other tourists, her face animated, alive. She looked up, her expression smoothing out to a hesitant smile. His eyes narrowed as he registered her abrupt change in demeanour. He noticed the hut was almost full now; conscious of his rifle he looked for somewhere to put his pack so he could ensure the ammunition and bolt of the rifle were secure.

“Blake.” He looked around abruptly, realising Christie had got up from the armchair and come over to the doorway. “What about your gun?” she asked.
 

“You read my mind,” Blake replied easily. “It’s safe with the bolt and ammo kept separate but I’d rather keep it out of sight.” Christie fell silent, seeming to weigh something up. He realised she was looking up at him, her face slightly flushed.
 

“Is it a problem to have the gun in the main room?” she asked.
 

Blake looked at her, frowning. He shrugged. “It’s not ideal; hunters are discouraged from using this hut. But it’ll be fine; I’ll check the other rooms. And I can disable the rifle.”
 

He could not understand her concern, wondered where her pack was, unable to see it in the room. “I’ll just check the other rooms,” he repeated. Christie followed him around the veranda, her heart pounding. She had thought herself lucky to get one of the smaller rooms but now realised there was every chance Blake would want… Indecision, apprehension and desire mingled as Christie tried to think logically.

Like anything could happen in separate sleeping bags on bunks in a shared room,
she told herself roundly, ignoring the sense of disappointment threading its way up her spine.
What if I have another nightmare,
Christie thought,
what if…
She realised Blake had opened the door to the room, would surely recognise her pack leaning against the bunk in the otherwise empty room. He stilled for a moment; Christie tensed, wondering what he would say. He turned away, glancing at her, his dark eyes shadowed.

“That tramper might want to be left in peace.” Speechless, Christie watched him stride along the veranda to the other smaller rooms. As he opened each door he could see tramping gear strewn around; the rooms seemed full. Unbidden, she recalled tramping with the club at university; she had never minded sharing rooms or dormitories, had never given it a thought.
So why care now,
she thought, trying to rationalise it, finding no answers.