Bride in Flight (22 page)

Simon grinned. “You wouldn’t have a hope. She doesn’t realize it, but this telephone call is going to cost her the earth. It’s going to be a marathon ... the most expensive call ever put across the Tasman. Jimsy, pray the line stays put. You know what it’s like here ... fading and going on. Pray the good lord that nothing happens. Pray to still the wind, to allow no trees to fall on that one little cable coming through the Pass.”

He paused in his striding up and down. “Jimsy, what do you suppose she’s ringing about?”

“It’s beyond me. We’ll just have to wait and see, though I’ve never known time drag like this.”

Simon felt he was willing the instrument to ring. When it did there were still a few delays. He spoke to them at Haast, begged them to keep the line, clear.

Jimsy said, “Would you like me to go away?”

“No. If I can’t convince her I knew nothing about it, you might be able to. Oh, hullo, there. Simon MacNeill speaking. Is that you, Kirsty darling?”

It wasn’t. The disappointment made the blood sing in Simon’s ears. It was Nicola, her voice full of controlled urgency.

“I thought it better to ask for you, Mr. MacNeill, not Christine. You might have more idea how to get her out of that isolated spot and over here as soon as possible. I’ve just got her letter—oh, if only she had written airmail! I can hardly believe what she wrote. You see, nothing about any other wife has come out here. What can have happened to the woman? My imagination is running riot. We’ve thought of everything from accident and loss of memory to murder!

“I knew there must have been something vital for Christine to clear off like that. I never liked Gilbert Brownfield anyway. But the thing is we have no time to lose. I heard a week ago—in a roundabout way—that Gilbert Brownfield is getting married this week—Friday, I think—in Brisbane, to a girl called Dallas Springston. That must be the girl Christine heard him with early the day of the wedding. I don’t think she heard the surname, but the Christian name is unusual enough for it to be almost certain. If this first marriage of his is valid, then it must be stopped. He can’t be allowed to ruin another girl’s life.

“Now listen ... my husband says we can’t act simply on Christine’s letter. We’ve got to get her here for questioning, to be able to substantiate this allegation. Can you get her here?

“What? She’s not with you? She’s already left? How far will she have got?”

Simon said, “I don’t know, Nicola. She may have stayed a day or two with my sister. She may even have stayed somewhere—anywhere—in Christchurch till she gets a seat on the plane.”

Nicola groaned. “She said in the letter she’d cable when she was leaving, so we could meet her at Mascot. But we’ve had no cable yet.”

Simon said: “Listen, Nicola. I don’t care what this costs. I’ll pay for it. But hang on till we get it straight. We’ve got to work out a plan of action. Can your husband contact the police till I get there? Yes.
Me.
I’ll come. I can’t let Kirsty face this on her own. I can’t go into too many details, but I’ll hope to explain to you in person. If I can get a seat on tomorrow night’s plane, I will. It’s doubtful. Though I’ll move heaven and earth. Everything depends on the weather here, if a plane can get in to take me off.

“I can’t get by without explaining something. I’ll try to make it brief. I just found out, less than half an hour to go, that Kirsty was the missing bride. Yes, I know she thought I knew, but I didn’t. I thought she had run away from a husband. I didn’t connect her with this affair at all. In fact, because absolute candor is necessary at this stage ... can you hear me? Good. Because of that, I must tell you we’re in love with each other, but quarrelled because I thought she had deceived me over the husband. I’d thought she was a widow. Get me? We were at cross purposes.

“Now, Nicola, if Kirsty turns up before I get there, tell her of my mistake. You’re to tell her I love her and I’m going to marry her. Oh, hell, isn’t this awful? Talk about proposing by proxy! Tell her I thought she was married and was going to get a divorce. It doesn’t matter tuppence that she was a runaway bride. I can only thank heaven the marriage never took place. I’d like to break Gilbert’s neck. But tell your husband to take what steps he can to start the machinery of the law moving. I’ll cable you from Christchurch when I know what flight. But whatever happens, when Kirsty turns up, keep her there.”

Jimsy’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. “My dear lad! It did my old heart good to hear you. Let’s get cracking chartering a plane to get you away from here. Or will the mail plane take you? Eh, but it’s a long time since I’ve got as het up as this!”

CHAPTER TEN

KIRSTY just endured the four hours’ crossing of the Tasman. It was full of a laughing, chattering mob of people on a conducted tour. Kirsty buried herself in a book. Four hours of inaction was enough to drive anyone mad.

The blaze of lights that was Sydney burst upon the velvet night. Its size and magnificence only served to remind her of the airstrip at Haast, where the woman who managed it had to clear stock from the runway on the homestead flats before the little Dominie could touch down. She could suddenly see that little plane, outlined against the sheer three thousand feet of the Marks Range ... the plane that would bring Lexie in tomorrow...

The great plane touched down, puffs of smoke rose from the friction of the wheels, lights glowed like golden pools across the tarmac. There beyond would-be groups of eager people to welcome the travellers.

Nicola and Patty would be there for her, but it was no joyous homecoming.

She came down the gangway, carrying one bag, the other case would be waiting in the customs. She joined the queue, she shuffled forward. She had nothing to declare. She had brought nothing from New Zealand but a memory.

She couldn’t see Nicola and Patty. She searched the crowd beyond the barrier with her eyes. One man was incredibly like Simon ... she turned away swiftly. That would be the way of it from now ... always imagining she saw him. She picked up her suitcase, surged forward with the others, went through the door.

Suddenly her way was barred. Why didn’t people look where they were going? She tried to dodge. He seemed to dodge the same way. She looked up, and quite incredibly, because this must be a dream, her eyes were looking into Simon’s eyes. She let her bags go. Her knees turned to jelly.

“Whoops,” said Simon’s laughing voice. “Now we have complicated things!”

He bent, retrieved the bags, tripping people up, grabbed her arms, propelled her to the wall, put the bags down, reached out his arms, gathered her close, bent his head...

But for his supporting arms she would have fallen. It was just too much to take in. He lifted his mouth from hers, the blue eyes, laughing and tender, held her toffee-brown ones.

There was an exultant note in his voice. “Kirsty Macpherson ... I love you, did you know? I’ve got a room over here, put at our disposal, I have things to explain. Quite a lot of things. But till I get you there, will you just hang on to one fact
... I didn’t know.
I didn’t know you
were
Kirsty Macpherson. I didn’t know you were the runaway bride. I thought you were Mrs. Gilbert Brown. I thought you had a husband living. I thought that we
couldn’t
marry. It was beyond bearing. Edward didn’t tell me. Fiona had kept the secret. But that’s all for now. Over here, darling.”

In a daze Kirsten let him guide her to a little room. Simon pushed her in. It had two chairs in it, a desk and a calendar.

“No one will come in,” he said, and kissed her again.

She looked up at him dumbly.

He took hold of her shoulders. “We’ll probably still be going over this at midnight, love, but I’ll have to be brief now, because out there, in another room, are Patsy and Nicola, Nicky’s husband and two police officers, who are investigating the attempted bigamy. Can you imagine what I’ve been through? Imagining you married to someone you didn’t love. Furious with you because it seemed you had treated your marriage vows lightly. I’d been through a bad time before that, constantly struggling with jealousy because you’d been married before. I thought it must have been very short, very sweet... thought that all my life I might have to battle the ghost of your first love. Then I realized I couldn’t turn the clock back, must love you as I thought you were ... a widow.

“The day Edward was there an Australian in that party recognized you. But he put it in such a way I didn’t get it clear.” He gathered her hands in his. “I shall never forgive myself for the fortnight and more of agony of mind I must have caused you. Oh, Kirsty, when I was packing I came across that pullover you must have knitted me ... at the very bottom of my locker. I knew then. Do you remember Henare saying the time of the rescue ‘Pity the poor
pakeha.
He’s afraid to show his feelings’? Well, this time the poor white man really did weep. Henare called me all the fools he could lay his tongue to when I told him the whole story the night Nicola rang me. The boys are going to give you a
haka
for a welcome when you go back. Henare is coaching them. But never mind. The others will want in soon.

“Oh, dear, I didn’t tell you. Nicola rang, just after Jimsy had told me what she thought and the whole lovely truth had come out. I must prepare you for a slight shock. I’m afraid Gilbert’s wife never turned up. And he’s about to marry that girl Dallas. On Friday, in Brisbane. So we haven’t long to work in. The police have some preliminary work done, but they need your help now, naturally. It’s an ordeal, but I’ll be with you. And to me nothing matters except that you are free ... and mine.”

Kirsten’s only answer was to look up at him, eyes shining, hands in his, reach up to him, kiss him.

The door flew open. “Break it up, mate,” advised the police sergeant with twinkling blue eyes. “We gave you a fair go, now there’s work to do.”

With Simon beside her and the knowledge that he loved her, that it had been a most understandable mix-up, it wasn’t the ordeal she had expected. In any case, in her work at the orphanage, she had often come into contact with the police in the matter of broken homes and had always valued the service they rendered the children.

No, it wasn’t an ordeal at all ... not at first, that is. Till the sergeant suddenly said, his twinkling good nature submerging into seriousness, “There’s just one thing that bothers us, especially in view of the non-appearance of this Mrs. Brownfield you told us of ... it’s distinctly disturbing that we’ve been unable to trace any trunk call from Brisbane to your number on the morning of the wedding, Miss Macpherson.”

Kirsten stared. As the implication of that struck her, the golden-brown eyes went dark with emotion, with fear.

They could think, then, that she had invented the whole thing. But for what reason?

Well ... to account for her flight from the wedding. But surely people didn’t behave like that? With a sinking heart she realized they did, confessed to murders they had not committed, even, drew red herrings across trails, complicating the work of the police hideously.

She swung round, looked at Simon, her eyes beseeching. He reached out a hand to her across the table, calm, unruffled. “Kirsty, it’s all right.
I
believe you. In fact the police are only trying to prove your story. There must be some explanation. Sweetheart, are you sure it was Brisbane? You might have been too upset for it to register properly.”

Kirsten did not reply immediately. It was not the answer you could just toss off. Because the knowledge that there was no record of the call had shaken her.

Then: “Yes. First of all the operator’s voice. A girl’s voice. It said a trunk call was coming through from Brisbane. Then Gilbert’s wife said she would contact the Brisbane police if she couldn’t raise him. Anyway, Brisbane was the logical place for her to go to first. And she said she had rung his office there, asking to speak to him, not saying who she was, only to be told he was here and on the point Of being married.”

The sergeant said slowly, “It was odd she didn’t ask you to go to the police here. Then you’d have been on hand when the Brisbane chaps contacted us.”

The only part of her that was warm was the hand in Simon’s.

She said hesitantly, “Later I thought that was odd, myself. Then I reasoned she might have been afraid that I loved Gilbert enough to want him nonetheless ... to run away with him. Even to advise him to cut and run. I felt her advice to me might have been her way of delaying Gilbert to the very last, getting him right to the church. She told me not to even let my matrons-of-honor know. She called them bridesmaids, of course.”

The sergeant nodded encouragingly. That sounded sincere, the correction about the term.

Nicola’s voice cut in. “We did—faintly—hear a ring, you know, officer. That’s not making anything up just to bolster up Christine. We told one of the reporters we had, wondering if it could have had anything to do with her running away. I was sorry I mentioned it because the paper asked was it possible some other man in her life had rung and persuaded her to skip the wedding and come away with him. But we knew Christine had never been serious about anyone else. We thought we heard a ring, said, ‘Poor Chris, she’ll have to trail down in that wedding gown. Won’t she bless us! Hope she doesn’t trip on the train.” Then when we got dressed we found her gone and a note we couldn’t understand. Though I’ve said all along, so has Patty, knowing Chris so well, that she must have had a very good reason.”

Kirsten relaxed a little. They had heard the ring.

Nicola added, “You can verify that from the newspapers, of course.”

“We’ll check again with the Post, Office. But there’s something here I can’t fathom. Something smells. I don’t mean there’s anything fishy about what you’ve told us. Just a hunch that ... oh, let it go. I take it you have no objections to flying with us to Brisbane tomorrow and assisting us up there, finally confronting Mr. Gilbert Brownfield and asking him for an explanation before his marriage to Dallas Springston?”

His eyes were piercing.

“No. I’ll welcome it. It isn’t pleasant, but it must be done. Even if—because of what I heard between Gilbert and this Dallas earlier—I don’t feel she is a person I could admire, nevertheless I couldn’t let there be any risk of a bigamous marriage for her.”

The sergeant relaxed a little. She hadn’t realized he was testing her to find if her story was true. If the whole thing was a fabrication to vindicate her defalcation from her wedding then she would not wish to face Gilbert Brownfield.

Kirsten added: “I want it cleared up for more reasons than one. If Gilbert Brownfield’s wife—for some reason—has never contacted him, then I would like him to know I did have a good reason for leaving him at the altar. Besides, something worries me. That woman sounded so genuine, such a nice warm Yorkshire voice she had. What can have happened to her? Could she have been knocked down and killed and remained unidentified? But surely, just having arrived in Australia, she’d have plenty of papers with her for identification? I mean she even said she had proof of the wedding with her. She must have meant her. marriage lines. If she had been seeking a runaway husband she
would
bring her lines, wouldn’t she? To enlist the aid of the police in finding him. Unless, if she did have an accident, the bag was stolen? Oh, I don’t know, it gets more and more preposterous and complicated.”

The detective-sergeant nodded. “The Brisbane police are working now on exactly those lines, checking up all accidents on that date or just after, identified or not. Also if there was any case of a woman losing her memory, even of being taken to a nursing-home in a state of collapse. She must have had a shock, finding out her husband was about to commit bigamy.”

Simon’s voice asked: “What time must we leave tomorrow?”

The sergeant told him.

“Good,” said Simon, “that will give us time to shop for an engagement ring before leaving.”

Nicola gave an involuntary cry of delight.

Simon continued, speaking to the sergeant, “And when this miserable business is all washed up would you be able to assist me to get a special licence? Marriage licence?” Kirsty swung round on him, eyes wide. His eyes met hers. “When you go into court to testify about this, Kirsten, you’re going in as Mrs. Simon MacNeill. Not to be stared at as the girl who just escaped a bigamous marriage, an object of pity. I gather the case will need some preparation? That we’ll have to hang round a bit, will we, sir?”

The big sergeant chuckled. “Dead right. So—”

“So it will give us time for a honeymoon on the fabulous Gold Coast...” He grinned. “As good a way of filling in time as I can think of, anyway! Besides, when we get back to New Zealand it will be a case of straight back on the. job. The Department will only just have recovered from the shock I gave them when I said I was off to Australia again and if they didn’t like it, I’d resign!”

Kirsty said, “I’m not marrying you, Simon, till I’m completely vindicated for my behaviour. I’ll involve no one else in this.”

He grinned. “You can’t keep me out. I’m in it up to my neck. And for the rest of our lives, your troubles are mine.” The strain in Kirsty’s eyes began to lift.

Nicola said, “Please, officer, say there’ll be room on that plane for me. I must be in on this. The wedding, I mean.” Her husband said, “I’m acting as Christine’s lawyer. I should think a lawyer could take his wife along, eh? Now I honestly think Chris has had enough. It’s well after ten. It will be a big day tomorrow. You can both sleep at our place. Simon is already settled in there, of course.” Patty turned up at the airport too. “Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away. I made Bill’s life a misery till he got me a seat. Soon as we mop up that bounder Gilbert, we must rally round Chris, get her a really ravishing outfit and stand by her at the ceremony.”

Kirsten felt tears threatening her ... they had no doubts of her. No one had suggested the whole thing was a figment of her imagination, brought on by her stress at finding Gilbert doubtfully involved with Dallas. It
had
happened. She must cling to that, or doubt her own sanity. Gilbert’s wife
had
spoken to her on the phone. Gilbert would crumple when faced with it, of course. He would know it could be proved. She herself knew what Yorkshire town he had lived in in his early twenties. If he brazenly denied the charge, records would be searched. But it would take a hideously long time.