Matai Valley Magic Read online

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fern Fraser opened her eyes, then shut them again quickly; the bright light made her head ache abominably. She knew she was in hospital, and that she had been moved into a larger room, and ... and ... She went to sleep again.

  The next time she woke up a nurse was standing beside her. 'Feeling better?' and a thermometer was poked into her mouth and that saved her having to answer. The nurse's hand felt cool on her wrist.

  'Would you like a drink? There's a fruit drink on the locker beside you. Do you think you can manage?'

  Fern tried but could not reach it, so the nurse handed her the glass and steadied her while she took several sips.

  'Nurse, could you please tell me how I got here, and what's wrong with me?'

  'You were in a car accident and the ambulance brought you in. Don't you remember? The crash, I mean?'

  Fern tried to concentrate, but to no avail. 'Sorry, I can't even remember being in a car.'

  The nurse smiled pleasantly. 'Don't worry, that's quite normal. You've been unconscious for twenty-four hours, and have some concussion. Your memory may come back and then again you may never catch up on the missing bits. Either way, it's not important. You only need a bit of rest and you'll be as good as new. You were very lucky really, just a bump on the head, and a few stitches in your foot. Did you see the gorgeous flowers that came for you this morning?'

  Fern turned her head slowly, feeling a sudden movement might make it fall off. She gasped as she saw the magnificent basket of flowers. 'Who sent them?'

  'Mr. Alexander. He was driving the car, and has been very worried about you. He wasn't hurt, but they kept him in hospital overnight for observation. He's going home this afternoon, but I'm sure he'll be in to see you before he leaves. He's over seventy, and has had quite a shake-up, but all he's done is drive us mad with questions about your pro­gress. I gather you were hitch-hiking and he picked you up, then shortly afterwards the accident occurred. Any more questions?'

  'No. I just feel tired, I think I'll go back to sleep.'

  'Good idea. Next time you wake up you'll feel much better.'

  Fern had another look at the flowers. Mr. What's-his-name must be a nice old man to be so concerned. She drifted off to sleep again. Some time later she became aware of men's voices close to her bed. She wanted to see who it was, but her eyelids felt so heavy she just lay there half awake, half asleep, listening.

  'Well, are you satisfied now? She looks all right to me.'

  'Poor little thing! The nurse did say she was just sleeping, didn't she? How can they tell if she's asleep or unconscious ... You can see she's lost a lot of blood, she's so pale. She was as bright as a button, a real cheerful little girl, chat­tering away nineteen to the dozen while we were driving along. I feel wretched about the whole business.'

  'So you should. I've warned you about picking up hitch­hikers. It's a very bad policy. You're fortunate that she's still alive, the way you drive. Now, let's get home. You've seen that she's okay.'

  That was a young angry voice, Fern decided. The other voice must belong to the old man who had been driving the car. There he was again. 'Don't be in such a hurry, Brett. I'd like to wait for her to wake up. Just to tell her I'm sorry. And she isn't okay. You were with me when the doctor said that they put thirty stitches in her foot and had to give her a blood transfusion the night they brought her in. And what about her concussion? The doctor said it might give her trouble off and on for years. He said any damage to the brain had to be treated as serious.'

  The strong, impatient voice broke in, 'He also said she would probably have no permanent damage, just a few headaches for a while. You needn't bother waiting to tell her you're sorry ... my guess is that you're going to have plenty of time for that. These footloose and fancy free types that get around the country bludging rides instead of paying their way usually have a pretty good knowledge of the law. You'll probably find yourself in court with a whopping damages claim.'

  'She wasn't a girl like that. I told you, she was a nice wee thing.'

  'Huh! Want a bet? When she finds out you've got a bit of money she'll hire a smart lawyer and take you to the cleaners properly. And serve you right, you silly old sentimental goat. Nice wee thing! You ...'

  'You shut up!'

  Both men jumped. Fern was awake with a vengeance. Her huge angry brown eyes seemed too big for her small white face. 'You've got no right to bully an old man, nor to take away my character before you've even had a chance to speak with me. I have no intention of putting in a claim against your father. He gave me a ride, and I'm grateful, even if I can't remember anything about it. I've never been to a lawyer in my life. So just because you've got a mercenary streak in your make-up don't judge everyone by your own standards!' Then to Fern's consternation she burst into tears.

  The old man was very upset. 'There, there, dear. Here, use my handkerchief. Don't take any notice of that stupid oaf .And don't you worry, I'm going to look after you. The doctor said they'd like to keep you in hospital a few more days, and then you can come and stay at my farm provided I take you into town each day to get your foot dressed. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You told me you were having a good look round, and weren't tied to a timetable.'

  The old man looked so genuinely anxious that Fern man­aged to stop crying. 'Sorry about that. I'm not usually the weepy sort.' She gave a wavering smile. 'It's very kind of you to invite me to your home, but I'll manage just fine when I get out of here. You must be the person who sent me the lovely flowers. Thank you very much. They're abso­lutely splendiferous.' Her smile was much more successful this time. .

  'Alexander, that's my name, Hamish Alexander. I'm glad I thought of the flowers.' He took Fern's hand. 'Promise me you'll come and stay at Matai Valley when they let you out. I know you've got nowhere else to stay. You told me that when we were in the car.'

  Fern felt too exhausted to argue. 'If you really want me to, but I don't think your son will approve.'

  'He's not my son. If I had a son he'd have better manners than this young jackanapes. He's my nephew, and if he doesn't approve of you coming to me it will make your visit all the more enjoyable. Promise, now.'

  'Yes, I will. Thank you.' She twisted a little to see how the young man with the angry blue eyes and dark hair was taking it. He looked very disapproving, but obviously was not going to dispute his uncle's invitation.

  Mr. Alexander stood up. 'We'll be off now, and let you get back to sleep. The hospital will let me know when to collect you. Is there anything else you need? Can I get in touch with your people ... you know, tell them you've been i in a crash and that you're all right, and that I'm looking after you? It would relieve their minds.'

  Fern shook her head, and was immediately sorry as she winced with pain. 'Not to worry. They wouldn't be interested in the slightest.'

  Mr. Alexander snorted, 'Fine sort of parents you've got, young lady, if they don't care whether you're dead or alive.'

  That wasn't what Fern meant and she was just going to correct the false impression when the tall, tanned young man, Brett, gave a short laugh. 'You sure know all the right cards to play to get the right tune on Uncle's soft heart!' He walked out of the room.

  Mr. Alexander peered at her. 'You won't let him make you change your mind?'

  'Never,' Fern answered with fervour What an arrogant, ill-mannered young man!

  'Good. I see you and I are going to get along fine, my dear. Good-bye now, and get well quickly. You and I are going to have some fun together.'

  He patted her hand several times, then said good-bye and left. Fern liked him. He was small and thin and had a brown weather-beaten face and bright blue, mischievous eyes, and a neat, well-trimmed goatee beard.

  Yes, they would h
ave fun together. She drifted back to sleep.

  Next morning in the mail Fern received a parcel. She un­wrapped it quickly and found two shortie nightgowns, each one a dream of shirred nylon and lace. One was a fuchsia shade and the other sea-spray. Although there was no note with them she knew Mr. Alexander to be the donor. He must have noticed the hospital gown of butcher's blue stripes which she had been wearing yesterday. A tall, blonde staff nurse admired them. 'Almost worth getting run over to get these! Which one do you want first... this bluey green would be my choice. Come on, I'll help you change. They tell me you had a hilarious time in the shower this morning ... Nurse Bronson was so particular about keeping your bandage dry that she ended up getting most of the water.'

  Fern felt miles better in the dainty feminine wear, and found the strength to do her long dark hair. It was a slow, tedious job because the nurses had been afraid of hurting her, and so had lightly smoothed it with their hands. One of the walking patients had gone down to the shop to buy her a brush and comb and some talc.

  The following day an enormous carton of fruit arrived. It was so artistically arranged it seemed a shame to eat any, but Fern couldn't resist the huge strawberries, and lifted one punnet from the box before asking the nurse to put the carton on the windowsill for the other three patients in her room to help themselves, and the staff also, whenever they came in during the day. They were at first reluctant, but as Fern pointed out quite logically, she could not eat them all if she stayed a month, and then they happily obliged.

  When the doctors came on their rounds the next day, they examined Fern's foot, pronounced that it was healing nicely and again mentioned how fortunate she had been that no tendons were cut. When Fern managed to wriggle around and get her first look at the angry hook-shaped gash on the instep of her foot she agreed wholeheartedly. After a few searching questions they told her she could be discharged that day, providing she could attend a doctor each day to have her foot dressed.

  The Sister-in-Charge, who had been accompanying the doctors' round, slipped over and said, Til let Mr. Alexander know you're ready to leave. He's been ringing regularly for news of you, so I should expect him to call shortly after lunch. As soon as your foot has been dressed you can get up and put your clothes on.'

  Fern lay quietly. Clothes. She really had not thought about her pack since the accident. She would have to make inquiries. It might be in the hospital somewhere.

  When the staff nurse had replaced the dressing and ban­daged her foot, Fern asked about the pack.

  Staff Nurse Roberts replied, 'As far as I know you only have what you were wearing at the time of the accident. I'll check the personal effects list.' She opened the top drawer of the locker. ' Hm . Bra, briefs, jeans and top, scarf, wristwatch, and wallet containing ten dollars and forty-five cents, driver's license, personal papers, and - oh, one sandal. No pack, perhaps the police took charge of it, or the old man. After all, it was probably left in the car.'

  'I suppose my clothes will be a mess?'

  Staff Nurse laughed, 'Well, I've got to admit they were a bit bloody when you came in, but one of the girls laundered them for you.' She took them from the locker. 'Can you manage by yourself?'

  'Sure can. And please thank whoever washed my gear. I really do appreciate that kindness. In fact, I've been so well looked after that I feel a bit sad to be leaving. Honestly, the view from these windows is just fabulous. The sea changes mood every hour, and I've never seen such spectacular sunsets. You'd think each night as the sun lowers down and sinks into the Tasman Sea that someone was running a com­petition to see which night could produce the most vivid colours , the most varied cloud layers. It must help people to regain their health much more quickly... and the staff. I've noticed as you each come into the room you look out across the Sea for a moment. You must find it relaxing when you're rushed off your feet, or feeling tense and anxious with a difficult or particularly ill patient.'

  'You could be right. I've never noticed it. Perhaps it's an automatic reaction by now. Now I must leave you. Mr. Alex­ander said he'd be here about two o'clock this afternoon. Oh. you said something about feeling sad at leaving. People who have been concussed, even slightly, often get a little depressed at times until they're fully recovered. I thought I'd mention it. If you know what to expect it won't worry you too much. If it feels worse than an odd fit of the blues then do mention it to the local doctor.'

  Fern managed to put on her underwear and faded striped T-shirt without much effort, but it was a different story trying to get her heavily bandaged foot through her jeans, even though they flared from the knee. By the time she slid to the floor to zip up her jeans and cinch the wide leather belt around her slim waist, she was perspiring and shaking. She sat down in the comfortable lounge chair with a sigh of thankfulness.

  Mrs. Marshall, the lady in the next bed, smiled and said sympathetically, 'You're not feeling too grand, by the look of you. It's always the same when you first get up and dress. You'll have to take it fairly easy for a while.'

  Mrs. White from across the room, who had also been given permission to go home, came over. 'My, those pants don't owe you anything! But you're looking better, your colour is coming back now.'

  Fern patted her faded threadbare jeans defensively, al­though she knew the remark was quite without malice. Well, she had no choice. If she had known she was going to end up in hospital she just might have worn something different.

  'Can I help you pack up, dear?' Mrs. Sinclair offered.

  Fern grinned, 'I've not got much, only two nightgowns and a hairbrush, etc., and nothing to pack them into.'

  After lunch, Fern felt much better and attempted one or two short walks around the room. Her foot was bandaged so firmly in the crepe bandage that it felt quite comfortable, except once when she overbalanced and put all her weight on it. She felt the perspiration break out on her forehead and had to steady herself on the windowsill for a few seconds before she could move again.

  At two o'clock she was sitting by her bed, clutching a brown paper bag containing her belongings, a happy, expectant look on her small, bright face. She was eagerly awaiting Mr. Alexander's arrival so that she could thank him for her presents. When his nephew came striding into the room and towered over her, her smile froze.

  'Where's Mr. Alexander? They said he was coming to get me.'

  'My name is Alexander too. If you want Uncle Hamish, you'll have to wait until you get home. He's not well, and has to stay in bed. If you're not happy to see me, I can assure you that the feeling is mutual.'

  Fern grimaced, 'Charming! What pretty manners you have.' Nevertheless, she stood up carefully. ‘I'm ready when you are.' She really had no choice.

  'You can't walk out of here barefooted. Where are your shoes?'

  Fern glared at him, then opened the paper bag, pulled out one very worn sandal and thrust it towards him. 'I have only one, the other must have been torn off in the accident. I can't

  wear this one because it makes me put too much weight on my sore foot.'

  'Do you mean to say you have only one pair of shoes?'

  'Why not? I can only wear one pair at a time.'

  Fern walked from the room and started slowly down the corridor towards the lift, stopping every few yards to say good-bye to the nurses who had taken care of her. One of them offered her a wheelchair, but she refused, laughing. 'I'll make it, given time.'

  Brett moved closer. 'Why didn't you accept? It will take ages getting out of this place at this rate.'

  'You go ahead if you don't like to be seen with me,' Fern replied angrily.

  'As a matter of fact, I was thinking it would be easier on you. However, now you come to mention it, you are a pretty scruffy-looking kid. Of course, I realize that it's the in-thing for your sort to dress in rags and be allergic to soap and water, as if there was some virtue in being dirty. Which group do you belong to, the beatniks? hippies ? ... or just a plain drop-out?'

  Fern stopped. 'Take your pick. But one th
ing you can be sure of, I'm quite clean. I had a shower this morning, and washed my hair, so you're not likely to catch any bugs from me.' She swung round, her brown eyes flashing. 'You talk of "my sort" in derogatory tones, but your sort smell of money, and that's not a special virtue in my eyes, so stop looking down your well-bred nose at me. Do you think you're su­perior just because you've got a pair of shoes on and ...'

  Fern gritted her teeth against the wave of pain that swept over her and clung to the rail that ran along the corridor.

  The next minute she was swept off her feet, and Brett strode grimly towards the stairs, ignoring her protests te be put down.

  Then, with Fern still held firmly in his arms, he went rapidly downstairs, out through the main doors of the hos­pital, and round to the car park.

  Fern was completely helpless in his iron grasp and to her

  further humiliation felt the tears running down her cheeks. Oh, she could kill him!

  Changing his grip suddenly he opened the door of a Holden Utility and pushed her inside. 'Fasten your safety belt.' He shut the door and walked quickly around to the driver's seat.

  Fern brushed the tears away angrily and obediently clip­ped the diagonal strap over her shoulder.

  Brett drove over the bridge and turned sharply to the right, heading south.

  'I suppose you feel almighty pleased with yourself, pick­ing me up like a bag of flour and carrying me out of the hospital in such an undignified manner. Well, it doesn't impress me. Brute strength may appeal to some, but not to me.'

  'I wasn't trying to impress you, young lady, if I may be forgiven the title as applied to you. You acted like a brat, so I treated you as I would treat any child having a tantrum.'

  Fern sniffed rudely, and decided to ignore him. It was a beautiful drive from Greymouth to Hokitika , with the road running parallel to the sea, and on the left the glorious sweep of the Southern Alps.

  As they drove into Hokitika Brett asked, 'Is there any­thing you want before we leave town?'

  'Yes, I want to buy a pair of sandals, please,' Fern replied coldly.